Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I swear, Wei Ying, you’d be late for your own funeral!”

Nie Huaisang stands in the doorway of the dressing room, tapping their folded fan against their palm. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! The traffic was ridiculous, and…”

“It’s Manhattan. The traffic is always ridiculous.” Huaisang says. “You’re just time blind. Come on, get in here. You’re a mess, and we don’t have forever.”

Wei Ying sighs as he pushes past his friend into the dressing room. What they said is true. His brain just doesn’t work like other people’s, but it makes up for its deficiencies in the executive function department by being terrifically creative. Since he has found a way to make a decent living in one weird niche, he’ll forgive his brain for being such a little bitch.

Wei Ying drops his duffle bag with a thump. He shrugs off his leather jacket and works the red scrunchie out of his tangled hair while Huaisang bustles around, pulling various articles of clothing off racks and holding them up to Wei Ying’s lean frame. 

“What do you think? Inscrutable Asian rope master…” they say, displaying a pair of wide-legged, high-waisted palazzo pants and a black haori with a red cloud pattern, “or hot twink?” That option consists of cuffed black jeans with artful rips and a black mesh crop top.

“Both! Both is good!” Wei Ying laughs, unable to resist the joke.

“Freakin’ bisexuals!” Huaisang mimes smacking him upside the head. They pause and move the hangers around, recombining the pieces. They tilt their head and squint, then hand Wei Ying the jeans and haori. “Fine, have it your way. You paid enough for those tattoos; you might as well show them off. And the jeans will make your ass look good.”

Wei Ying steps behind the privacy screen to change while Huaisang arranges makeup and plugs in the hair clippers. “I’m gonna trim your undercut, okay?”

“Thank God,” Wei Ying says, his voice slightly muffled by the screen. “It’s been driving me crazy, but I keep forgetting to do it until it’s two in the morning. Jiang Cheng says he’ll break my legs if I wake him up again doing my fucking hair. Direct quote.”

Wei Ying emerges from behind the screen and settles into the chair, and Huaisang draws the barber’s cape around his shoulders.

“So. Today’s shoot. You ready?”

“If by ‘ready’ you mean ‘about to lose my little mind,’ then yes. Is he here?”

Huaisang nods. “He’s in the other dressing room. I did him first because he was on time, unlike some people.”

“What’s he like?”

Huaisang gets a funny look on their face, one that Wei Ying doesn’t trust.

“What? He’s not one of those guys with a smoking hot body and a face like a mashed potato, is he?”

“I don’t think you’ll have any complaints,” Huaisang smirks. “He’s just your type.”

“Fuck. I almost hoped he was ugly so I wouldn’t freak out so much. How am I going to do this, Sangsang? He’s, like, the whole reason I do rope. Those pictures. Why did you ever show me those pictures?” Wei Ying wails.

“Because I am the very soul of generosity. Hold still, I don’t want to clip your ear.”

Wei Ying tries to stop jittering, but he can’t keep quiet.

“Okay, so he’s good-looking. What else? Tell me everything!”

“You’ll meet him in a minute. You’ve been mooning over him for how long now? You can wait another ten minutes.”

“Do you not get how huge this is?”

“Oh, I do,” Nie Huaisang says. “Do you, I wonder? I hope you got Sabine to agree to residuals for this video. Who’s not going to want to see the Jade Rabbit getting tied by the quote-unquote Yiling Patriarch?”

Wei Ying laughs. He knows his stage name is ridiculous. He’ll be 25 this month, hardly old enough to be “patriarch” of anything. Whatever. He picks up a makeup brush and idly twirls it between his fingers while Huaisang tames his hair into a soft top knot and secures it with two jade hairpins. 

He likes watching Huaisang work their magic, transforming Wei Ying from the block into the Yiling Patriarch, rope top extraordinaire. Huaisang applies a startling array of products to his face, all the while lecturing him on his appalling lack of a skincare routine—“What are you washing your face with, Dial? Wode ma ya, you’re killing me!”—but when they’re done, the results speak for themselves. Wei Ying looks hot as fuck. Dark eyeliner and smokey shadow give him bedroom eyes, and Huaisang has done something to his lips that make them look fuller than usual. They’ve even darkened the mole under Wei Ying’s bottom lip to make it show up better on camera. Moles are, according to Huaisang, dead sexy.

“You look fabulous,” Huaisang assures him. “Because I made you. Never forget that, Wei Ying,” they add with a look that feels only slightly threatening.

Wei Ying grins. “Duly noted. I owe you.”

“We’ll talk about that after the shoot,” Huaisang says over their shoulder as they glide out of the dressing room.

Wei Ying hears the tech people moving around the studio now, adjusting lights. While they’ve got the ladders out, he might as well do a safety check. He grabs his duffle and goes to check out the set.

There’s no bondage frame in sight, so Sabine must have settled on a floorwork shoot after all. Not having to worry about unstable hardware makes his job much easier. When he’s got someone in the air, part of his mind is always focused on the rig, and that makes it harder to relax and enjoy the scene. That creative flow, where the rope whispers to him about where it wants to go—where his brain’s ability to hyperfocus works for him, not against him—is a big part of what he gets out of tying. Besides, he enjoys the intimacy of tying a new partner on the ground, where he can gauge their reactions from up close: the subtle muscle movements, the heat radiating off their skin, their tiny gasps. He knows that the camera will pick up the difference between a merely technical performance and one with real connection, and he’s much more likely to find that spark when he can be right up in his partner’s space, touching their body, moving them around, breathing with them.

Wei Ying sighs as he sets out his rope on the low table the crew have put in place for him. He’s still unabashedly enthusiastic about tying people up, not to mention getting paid to do it, but more and more often these days, he comes away from shoots feeling hollow and dissatisfied. He’s tied some pretty people, done some fun scenes, but it just feels…flat? Like he’s phoning it in? It’s a job, and he doesn’t expect every gig to be off-the-charts hot, but the erotic charge that rope holds for him just doesn’t translate into these settings. He’s too young to feel this jaded.

It reminds him of the way he used to feel at play parties, when he was first starting out as a rope top. People would see him tie and approach him, but he soon realized they were more interested in fulfilling their own fantasies than in sharing a scene together. Tired of being used as a fetish dispenser, Wei Ying stopped going out altogether and spent most of his free time locked in his room, developing new ties on his emotionally undemanding mannequin.

Apparently keeping to himself worked as a learning strategy, because when Wei Ying finally emerged from his isolation to perform at one of Huaisang’s fashion shows, his inbox filled up with offers: film consulting, fashion shoots, music videos. He did a fair number of live shows at clubs and kink events, too. When Huaisang started doing costumes and makeup for a queer-owned porn company—one committed to showing the full spectrum of genders, orientations, races, body types, ages, aesthetics, and kinks—it seemed only reasonable for them to recommend Wei Ying to the director, the intense blonde woman who hurries up to him now.

“Wei Ying!” Sabine says, pulling him in for a genuine hug but air-kissing to avoid mussing his makeup. “Are you ready for this, darling? Are you ready to meet him? Huaisang, is he ready?” Sabine calls. “Bring him out here!”

Huaisang emerges from the far dressing room. Behind them walks a tall, graceful figure in a sheer robe of white lace, with an underlayer of baby blue silk. Willing himself to focus, Wei Ying drags his eyes up the man’s body until they come to rest on his exquisite face. To his utter shock, it’s not the face of a stranger, but one he knows better than his own.

“...Lan Zhan?”

* * *

If Wei Ying is the young iconoclast of the bondage world, Mianmian was the trailblazer. A striking and charismatic Taiwanese-American woman, she’d started out as a pro domme specializing in rope bondage before retiring from sex work to open her own art studio. Three years ago, she’d brought the contemporary art world to its knees with an iconic photo series known to aficionados as the Jade Rabbit shoot.

Wei Ying remembers the first time he saw those photos. He was on his break at the café, chilling at the corner table and scrolling through social media when Nie Huaisang appeared and slid a large-format glossy magazine across the table. A bright pink sticky note was peeking out of the top, marking a certain page. 

“You need to see this,” Huaisang had said before disappearing back into the midtown crowds. Wei Ying picked up the magazine, curious. It was hardly the first time Huaisang had passed a particularly juicy bit of eye candy on to Wei Ying—they’d been trading porn for years—but Art/Mode Quarterly? That was new. Well, Huaisang was in fashion school, so maybe they just liked the clothes? Wei Ying opened to the marked page, and his world shifted on its axis.

Wei Ying still remembers—viscerally—the effect the photos had on him, including the fact that he’d spent more of the rest of his shift furiously jerking off in the tiny café restroom than he did making $10 lattes for bored Manhattanites. Wei Ying is young and healthy; he figures he has a normal refractory period for a guy his age. But he’s pretty sure that many orgasms in that short a time is world-record material.

The fantasy depicted in the series is easy enough to describe: Mianmian appears as Chang’e, the Chinese moon goddess. She ensnares and ties her masked companion, the Jade Rabbit, suspending him on a circular web of lunar-white rope. That’s the gist of it. But that bare description cannot hope to capture the artistry—and the sheer blazing hotness—of those photos. Photos that made Wei Ying decide that, if he did nothing else with his life, he was going to get really, really good at rope bondage.

After the success of the series, Mianmian had a few more collaborations with the mysterious model, who never showed his face in the photos. Then, a year or so ago, the flow of pictures had stopped. Mianmian moved on to conceptual installations, pleasing the art establishment but leaving her kinky fans bereft.

A few dozen photos. That was all Wei Ying had to go on. He’d pored over them until he had memorized every line, every shadow. For research purposes, of course. To learn the ties. To hone his craft. Certainly not because he had stocked his spank bank with elaborate and extremely disrespectful fantasies involving masked rabbit men and then spent the last three years of his life replaying them on a nightly basis. Surely not. Wei Ying might be a pervert, but he’s not a monster.

* * *

Wei Ying’s brain comes back online just enough to realize that he must be standing there with his mouth hanging open because Sabine has one eyebrow raised in amusement, and Huaisang looks as smug as the Cheshire Cat.

“Wei Ying,” Huaisang says, “may I present the Jade Rabbit?”

“Lan Zhan! Wow, long time no see! You look great!” Wei Ying splutters. He’ll deal with Huaisang later. Right now he has more important things to do—like attempting to form coherent sentences in what is hands-down the most awkward situation of his entire life.

Lan Zhan looks him up and down. It’s an appraising look, one he’s seen from men enough times to recognize, but nothing he’d ever have expected from Lan Zhan, of all people. Huh.

“It has been a very long time. I am glad to see you again, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying has a moment about hearing his name in that deep, resonant voice, and it takes the crash of a falling ladder to remind him that they aren’t teenage boys anymore, but grown-ass men on a porn set preparing for a shoot. A professional shoot. Where Wei Ying will behave professionally. With a person who is also a professional performer doing a professional shoot. Professionally. Who just happens to be Lan Zhan, his high school best friend and unrequited crush.

Fuck.

Sabine ushers them toward a table, and Wei Ying takes the chance to sneak a peek at Lan Zhan. He is older, of course—they both are—and his face has lost the softness it had in their teen years. Huaisang has lined his eyes with something silver and shiny, and there’s a sweep of fine glitter along his high cheekbones, making him look like some kind of Chinese fairy prince. (Wei Ying makes a mental note to keep his rope away from the glitter. He loves glitter as much as the next queer, but once that shit gets embedded in natural fiber rope, there’s no getting it out.)

Sabine sits them down and runs over the film concept. The stars—two viewer favorites named Shakti and Jaz, who are a real-life couple—watch an erotic bondage performance and then engage in a dominant-submissive role play scene. The pair won’t be filming with them; in fact, they’re not even scheduled to be in the studio until next week, after Sabine has had a chance to make a rough cut of today’s footage for them to watch. As in most of Sabine’s films, the focus is on the female stars’ pleasure. The bondage scene between the two men will take up perhaps six or seven minutes of the finished 20-minute film. Sabine estimates she’ll need only about 30 minutes of total footage from Wei Ying and Lan Zhan.

“This is the first time you’re partnering for rope work, right?” Sabine asks. Both men nod. “Wei Ying, you should know that, although he’s an experienced bondage model”—Sabine smiles at Lan Zhan—“this is Lan Zhan’s first video shoot.”

That, at least, doesn’t surprise Wei Ying. God knows he’s searched. The only images of the Jade Rabbit—who is somehow also Lan Zhan, his Lan Zhan—are the ones by Mianmian. The Jade Rabbit has no social media presence. No OnlyFans. Nothing but those tantalizing, luminous photos.

Sabine continues, “That being the case, I’m sure you’ll want some extra time to negotiate and plan out your scene. I know you’re expert bondage guys, but don’t make it too technical. We don’t want our audience to think they can try this stuff at home without proper training.” 

“So decorative rope? Sexable shibari? I can do that," Wei Ying confirms, glancing over at Lan Zhan, whose ears are suddenly pink.

“That’s right. We want to focus on the sensuality of rope. Don’t think of this as performance art. Think of it as a real scene you might do with a partner. You know what I’m looking for, Wei Ying. It’s all about…”  

“Authentic, passionate connection,”  Wei Ying finishes for her.

Sabine laughs, “That’s right! You get a gold star! The marketing team will be very happy to hear that our tagline is so memorable.

“I’m going to leave it up to the two of you to decide where to take this. Your clip will be short, so I’ll need to edit it down, but let’s consider manual and oral on the table, okay? Lan Zhan, I know your work has been more suggestive than explicit, and if that’s where you want to keep things, that’s fine. In the past, Wei Ying hasn’t wanted…” She glances over at him. “Well, I’ll let you discuss that.

“You’ve read and signed our waivers," she continues, "so you know we follow industry standards with regard to safer sex: regular testing, condoms at the discretion of the performers. Here are both of your test results. Everything’s great, no worries there.” She extracts two pieces of paper from her clipboard and places them on the table within easy reach. “I also have to ask if you’ve had any sexual contact that could result in disease transmission since the date of your last tests.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head.

“Yeah, no,” Wei Ying says. “No changes for me.” These frank discussions are routine on set, but Wei Ying shoots another glance at Lan Zhan. His face is as composed as ever, although there are two small spots of pink on his cheeks. 

“Okay, great!  If you’ll just initial here and…sign down here?”

Lan Zhan takes the pen he’s offered, signs the form, and then passes the pen to Wei Ying, who follows suit.

“And then one last form. This one just says that we’ve discussed the parameters of the shoot as described in this paragraph here and that you understand and agree to them. Sometimes people get cold feet, particularly if it’s their first time.” She pats Lan Zhan’s hand. “We’re all about full and enthusiastic consent. If anything we’ve talked about isn’t going to work for you, we can change things up, or you can bow out now; no harm, no foul. Understood?”

Without the slightest hesitation, Lan Zhan takes the pen and signs the form. Wei Ying catches his eye as he takes the pen, but Lan Zhan has always been hard to read.

“I’ll leave you two to talk, then. Let me know if you have any questions. I’d like to get rolling in maybe half an hour? Will that work?”

They nod, and Sabine leaves them alone. 

Wei Ying’s mouth is dry. He tries to wrap his mind around the fact that he is about to do a porn shoot with the person who has, in one form or another, been the object of his desire for the better part of ten years. His brain does not know what to do with that information, but his dick does, and that is not helpful right now, thank you very much.

Lan Zhan is looking at him expectantly. Wei Ying realizes Lan Zhan is waiting for him to take the lead; he’s the top, and more important, he’s been on set before. He can do this. He can do this.

“So, hey,” he starts, willing himself to make direct eye contact and hoping he doesn’t look as flustered as he feels. “It’s really good to see you, Lan Zhan. You look fantastic.”

Lan Zhan lowers his eyes. “Huaisang is very talented. Wei Ying looks good too. You are well?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good! Great, in fact. I mean, I have the best job in the world, right? It was kinda touch-and-go there for a while, you know how it is, but everything’s much better now. Really good.”

Wei Ying knows he’s babbling. He looks at Lan Zhan, who has apparently not become any more chatty since high school.

“So, Lan Zhan, what have you been up to? Fill me in!”

“I am in my second year of the graduate program for music composition at Columbia.”

“Cool cool! Not piano? I thought…”

A small crease appears between Lan Zhan’s brows.

“I started my undergraduate work in piano, but I found the performance aspect…trying. Anxiety-provoking. So I switched to composition.”

“I bet you’re really good at it. You were always a whiz at theory.”

That was an understatement. Wei Ying remembers the first time they’d met, in Lan Zhan’s uncle’s sophomore Music Theory class at the arts academy. Wei Ying had played his harmony homework, which was apparently so bad that Wei Ying was afraid Lan-laoshi was going to suffer a qi deviation right there in class. He didn’t, but he did call on his unfairly good-looking nephew to point out all the ways in which Wei Ying’s work failed to conform to the Rules of Harmony. Lan Zhan proceeded to list, after a single hearing, every measure with a consecutive fifth or octave, missed root or third, overlapping part, and half a dozen other flaws. It was only later that Wei Ying found out Lan Zhan wasn’t even in the music program, at least not technically. He wasn’t a sophomore either, but a first year, having missed the age cutoff by two months. He’d been accepted to both the piano and ballet programs—apparently the first time that had happened in over fifty years—and although he’d chosen ballet, he sat in on as many music classes as his schedule allowed.

“So…I guess we should talk about the scene, right?”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying launches into his regular negotiation checklist, scrolling through the questions on his phone. They quickly settle on the studio’s standard system of verbal safewords: green for go, yellow for slow down, red for stop. Wei Ying has had bottoms go completely nonverbal during scenes, so he also suggests a physical cue: three quick hand squeezes or tugs on the rope will indicate a problem.

Next, Wei Ying runs down the list of physical limits. Lan Zhan is in excellent health. No circulation problems, no breathing problems, no history of seizures, no medications.

“Any fresh tattoos or piercings?”

Lan Zhan pauses. “What qualifies as a fresh piercing?” he asks. Wei Ying’s eyes tick to the diamond studs in Lan Zhan’s ears.

“For rope work, we’re mostly concerned with piercings below the neck, yeah?”

Lan Zhan nods. Okay, then. Below the neck it is.

“For those, I’d say six months with no issues, just to be safe.”

“Mn. The most recent was—” Lan Zhan pauses, “almost nine months ago. I believe it is fully healed.”

Wei Ying’s brain has a moment about that. “Most recent” implies there are…several? Lan Zhan has several body piercings? His shushu would definitely suffer a qi deviation over that; Wei Ying clearly remembers the withering look he got from Lan-laoshi when, part way through his junior year, Wei Ying showed up to class with his ears pierced.

Finally he comes to a part of the list that makes him falter. Injuries.

“How is…your leg? Any lingering issues with that?”

Lan Zhan pauses a moment before answering, his eyes on the table between them. “I had surgery again last year, so the range of motion in the knee is better. The hardware in the thigh does not cause me any problems on a day-to-day basis. I can balance on the leg for short periods, with the foot flat or heel lifted. But I cannot hold those positions for very long, or jump.”

His face is neutral as he reports all this, but Wei Ying sees the way his eyes cloud. He remembers the long weeks after the accident—the incident, as Lan-laoshi called it, convinced that Lan Zhan had not fallen down the long flight of marble stairs but had been pushed by a jealous classmate. The emergency room. The surgeons’ devastating reports. Lan Zhan’s pale face, slack from the morphine. Complications. More surgeries. The endless physical and occupational therapy appointments. Then the fights with the administration to let him transfer to the music department after all, which only ended when the entire piano faculty threatened the board of trustees with a walk-out. Wei Ying had been there for all of it, holding Lan Zhan’s hand and keeping him distracted while he fought his way back from a hell littered with the shards of his dreams.

“I’ll be careful, Lan Zhan. You know that. Can you kneel at all?”

“Mn. On a soft surface.”

“Okay, good, good. Are there any leg ties that work well for you? There was that one shot of you, with the futo? But that was your right leg, I think.”

“It was. That was before the last surgery. I haven’t had the opportunity to try a futomomo on the left. Ladder ties are fine, and thigh and ankle cuffs work. Hip mobility is normal.” (Wei Ying is acutely aware of what Lan Zhan’s idea of normal is, having seen him casually do a split up a classroom wall on multiple occasions.)

“As long as my weight is not on that leg,” Lan Zhan says, “you can do anything you want to me.”

You can do anything you want to me.

“Cool cool! Um, then there’s the…specifics of the shoot today. I feel like I have a good handle on what you can do physically in terms of the ties. But I need to know what you’re willing to do about…other stuff.”

This is not Wei Ying’s first porn rodeo, and he’s as sex-positive as they come, so why does he feel like he wants to fold himself into his own pocket and disappear?

Lan Zhan nods, and Wei Ying continues.

“Do you have any hard limits? Not in terms of safety, but…consent? Any body parts I shouldn’t touch, I mean? I know the photos you’ve done have been, like, PG-13? No full frontal? I can totally work with that if it's what you want.” 

“I am fine with nudity. And there is no part of me you cannot touch.”

“Cool cool cool! Very good to know!” Wei Ying says, as if there were any part of Lan Zhan he hasn’t fantasized about touching. Extensively.

Wei Ying swallows hard. He knows he needs to say more, use his words like a big boy. “So…hands, check. Mouth? Is...kissing okay?”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrow quirks up. “Is kissing unusual in this context?”

Wei Ying laughs nervously. “Some performers have limits around it. Kissing feels…intimate. Romantic. Some people save that for their partners.”

“Mn. I do not have a limit like that.”

A limit like what? Does Lan Zhan mean that he doesn’t mind kissing on set, or that he doesn't have a partner who would object? Wei Ying wants to ask, but something holds him back. Maybe he doesn’t really want to know?

“So…kissing, check?”

“Mn.”

“Um, how about biting? And how do you feel about marks? Your skin looks like it would mark really easily.”

Wei Ying swears that Lan Zhan’s eyes darken. Fuck, why did he say that?  

“Full and enthusiastic consent to both.”

“Excellent!” Wei Ying takes a deep breath and says, “And other oral contact? Below the waist? Either of our waists? If that seems…appropriate? In the scene, I mean?”

Lan Zhan’s cheeks color more deeply, but he holds Wei Ying’s gaze as he answers. 

“Yes, I…would like that.” Lan Zhan says quietly. “If you want to, that is. Tops should also consent."

"Right! Lan Zhan is so smart.” 

“You also consent, then? To everything we have talked about?”

Wei Ying laughs. “Lan Zhan! Have you even seen yourself? How could I say no to someone as beautiful as you?”

“Wei Ying, do not tease.”

Wei Ying looks into Lan Zhan’s face then. He is still flushed in that charming way, but the tiny worried crease between his brows is back. Something in Wei Ying’s chest contracts. 

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching across the table to place a hand on Lan Zhan’s arm. “Yeah, I consent. Fully and enthusiastically. I don’t know how we got here, but…I’m glad it’s you.”

Lan Zhan’s face softens into what only long experience allows Wei Ying to recognize as a smile. He feels some of the tension drain from his own shoulders. He can do this. They can do this.

The production assistant checks in to make sure their negotiations are complete, and Sabine calls for everyone to start taking their places. A tech asks Wei Ying if he has any music he’d like to use while they film. Their scene won’t have a voice track—Shakti and Jaz’s reactions will be overlaid—and music will be added during the editing process. Still, the atmosphere on set is important for the performers. Wei Ying thumbs through the playlists on his phone, cues something up, turns on Bluetooth, and hands the phone over to the tech.

Sabine directs Wei Ying and Lan Zhan toward the center of the studio, where the crew have set up a folding screen patterned with clouds behind a soft, blue carpet. Wei Ying points Lan Zhan to a spot at the center discreetly marked with tape. The low lacquered table that holds Wei Ying’s rope and a basket of condoms stands off to the side but within easy reach. Wei Ying checks to make sure everything’s where he wants it, his mind already spinning with plans for what he’s going to do with Lan Zhan. He grabs one small bundle from the table and stows it in his pocket.

Sabine calls for quiet on the set. The camera operators take their places; the lights shift.

Wei Ying takes a deep breath. He nods to Sabine.

Action.

Lan Zhan stands with his eyes closed and his head bowed, as if he’s meditating. Wei Ying steps toward him, almost close enough for their foreheads to touch. Wei Ying’s brain is screaming and his heart is pounding, but he needs to be right here now, his whole attention focused on this man and what they’re about to create together. He closes his eyes, too, breathing in rhythm with Lan Zhan, centering them both. 

The music begins, a simple tune played on the dizi, the classical Chinese bamboo flute. It’s an old melody Wei Ying wrote back in high school, one of the few pieces that Lan-laoshi hadn’t hated. One that Lan Zhan had asked him to play over and over during his recovery. The melody reminds Wei Ying of the way rope dances around the body, sinuous but held in tension until the very last moment of resolution.

At the first notes, Lan Zhan startles, his eyes wide. Wei Ying holds Lan Zhan’s gaze for several long moments, then murmurs, “You okay?” The words come out in Mandarin. Lan Zhan visibly relaxes, gives a minute but clear nod, looking into Wei Ying’s eyes. Wei Ying smiles and runs a finger along Lan Zhan’s jaw, traces the sharp line of his cheek bone. Lan Zhan tilts his head, leaning into even this gentlest of touches, like a cat demanding attention.

“Unfair, Lan er-gege!” Wei Ying whispers, the old, teasing nickname coming back so easily to his lips. “Who gave you permission to be this beautiful?”

Lan Zhan’s nostrils flare, and he exhales sharply. Wei Ying can almost hear the word he’s not saying: Ridiculous!

Wei Ying moves his hand around to the nape of Lan Zhan’s neck and curls his fingers in his long, heavy hair. He gives it a sharp tug, exposing the elegant line of Lan Zhan’s throat, and is rewarded with a soft moan. The sound lights a fire in Wei Ying’s belly.

“Yeah? You like that?”

Lan Zhan draws a shuddering breath. He can’t nod—Wei Ying’s holding his hair too tightly for that—but the heated look he gives Wei Ying is affirmation enough.

Wei Ying leans in, pressing his mouth to the soft skin of Lan Zhan’s neck. He leaves a trail of kisses along his throat up to the tender spot at the corner of his jaw. Here he pauses, sucking lightly, then gently presses his teeth into the flesh. It’s just a whisper of a bite, but Lan Zhan trembles.

Wei Ying runs his tongue over the pink mark he’s left, and whispers, “Color?”

Lan Zhan’s voice is low but sure. “Green.”

“Good boy.”

The sound Lan Zhan makes in response is breathy and high, almost a whimper. Wei Ying wonders how on earth he’s going to make it through this shoot with his sanity intact.

He releases Lan Zhan’s hair, which results in what can only be described as a glare. Now that’s the Lan Zhan he remembers! Wei Ying chuckles and moves behind him, trailing a hand across the lacy fabric that hides the body underneath it far too well. He breathes in the scent of Lan Zhan’s hair, sandalwood and bergamot, and it’s all he can do not to bury his face in it. He’s always loved Lan Zhan’s long hair and wanted to play with it. He’d convinced Lan Zhan to let him French braid it once—but only once. Lan Zhan claimed it was because he had to wear it in a bun for dance class, but Wei Ying now has a sneaking suspicion there were…other reasons he’d refused.

Well, if Lan Zhan wants a bun… Wei Ying pulls a length of his signature red ribbon from his pocket and loops it around Lan Zhan’s hair, drawing it together. He finger-loops the ribbon over and around the silky length, binding the ponytail into a simple tie. Lan Zhan breathes the gentlest of contented sighs as Wei Ying twists the bound hair up and secures the resulting bun at the back of Lan Zhan’s head. On impulse, he removes one of the jade pins from his own hair and tucks it gently into Lan Zhan’s. Then he presses a kiss to the nape of Lan Zhan’s neck, nipping playfully at the exposed flesh, and is rewarded with a deep shudder of pleasure.

Circling around again to face him, Wei Ying says, “You are wearing entirely too much clothing. I’m going to have to do something about that.”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrow flicks up. “You should.”

“Oh, we’re sassy now, are we?” Wei Ying lifts Lan Zhan’s chin, running his thumb over his lower lip. “Let me give you a better way to put that pretty mouth to use.”

Wei Ying fists his hand in the lace and silk at Lan Zhan’s chest and drags him forward into a kiss. In an instant, Lan Zhan has his hands on Wei Ying’s hips, pulling him close.

For all the times Wei Ying has fantasized about kissing Lan Zhan, he somehow never imagined Lan Zhan kissing him back. But he does. Oh, he does.

No chaste and demure first kisses for Lan Zhan. His mouth is hungry, desperate, hot and sweet, stealing Wei Ying’s breath until he is dizzy. Wei Ying pulls back, catching Lan Zhan’s jaw in his hand.

“Easy, baobei. We’re just getting started here.”

Wei Ying steps back and to the side, giving the main camera a sight line. Lan Zhan is flushed, his lips wet and kiss-reddened, so different from the picture of poise and self-control Wei Ying knows. It’s intoxicating, the way he’s coming undone. Wei Ying thinks he could get used to this.

He hooks a finger under the wide satin belt that holds Lan Zhan’s robe in place, running it along the fabric until he finds the tie at the back. Even through multiple layers of fabric, he can feel Lan Zhan’s powerful abs tense. The belt is fixed with a simple bow—Huaisang knows better than to make costumes hard to get off—and one quick tug releases it, letting the robe fall open. Wei Ying trails his fingers along Lan Zhan’s collar bones, working his way under the neckline of the robe and back over his shoulders. Wei Ying holds his gaze for a moment, then whispers, “Let me see you, gorgeous.”

With a flick of Wei Ying’s wrists, the robe slips off Lan Zhan’s shoulders and cascades down his body to pool at his feet. 

There was a time when Wei Ying would have said that Lan Zhan’s body was almost as familiar as his own. He had certainly spent enough time staring at it. Lan Zhan sitting at his accustomed table in the school library, back perfectly straight, writing out clean copies of his theory homework. Lan Zhan walking upstairs, with Wei Ying somehow always two steps behind him, definitely not ogling his ass. Lan Zhan in a sunlit studio wearing tights and some mysterious thing called a dance belt (hnngggh).

Still, there had always been a distance between them. As much as Wei Ying tried to get close to him—throwing an arm around his shoulder, tugging his sleeve, deliberately bumping into him as they walked together—Lan Zhan had always held himself apart. Even during those horrible dark days after the accident, when he wanted to crawl into Lan Zhan’s hospital bed and cradle him while he cried, the most Wei Ying could do was hold his hand.

And the Jade Rabbit? He was a creature of art, a glossy image, something shimmering and inhuman.

But Lan Zhan’s body, here and now, warm and real, is a revelation. Wei Ying allows himself—and the camera—a chance to revel in the clean perfection of it. It is still a dancer’s body, slim and long-limbed, muscular without bulk. Lan Zhan stands with a slight turnout, the result of early training that molded his growing form to centuries-old standards of grace and elegance. The ethereal beauty that set him apart remains undiminished, but Lan Zhan inhabits his body more fully now, more consciously.

Wei Ying circles him, predatory and possessive, running his hands over Lan Zhan’s chest, shoulders, and torso, taking his measure. Here he discovers the first surprise. Pierced brown nipples pebble under his fingers as he pinches them. When Wei Ying leans in to lick them, tugging gently on the silver rings with his teeth, Lan Zhan makes a noise deep in his throat, like a low growl. Wei Ying’s cock apparently approves of this development, and for a brief moment, he wishes he’d chosen the soft palazzo pants instead of the jeans. 

Further exploration uncovers a vertical barbell piercing in Lan Zhan’s navel, tipped with small aquamarines. A gentle glide of Wei Ying’s fingertips over Lan Zhan’s belly also reveals that Lan Zhan is ticklish, a fact that Wei Ying resolves not to exploit on set but which delights him nonetheless.

The area below that remains terra incognita, covered by a blue silk thong trimmed with lace and tied at the hips. With no dance belt and no artful photo cropping to get in the way, Wei Ying finally has the answer to a question that has plagued his poor, overheated brain for years: Lan Zhan is huge.

He is also very, very hard, and Wei Ying hasn’t even got any rope on him yet.

“So pretty, er-gege,” he purrs. “Now be a good boy, and let me tie you.”

There’s fire in Lan Zhan’s eyes, but he waits patiently while Wei Ying fetches a hank of red jute from the table. Wei Ying holds it up and pulls sharply on one loop, releasing the bundle with an audible snap as the rope unfurls. It’s a showy performance move, but it’s an effective one, if Lan Zhan’s response is any indication.

“Arms up, hands on your head.” Lan Zhan assumes the position, a familiar one for a rope bottom of his experience.

Holding the center point of the doubled line, Wei Ying passes the rope around Lan Zhan’s torso, above his pecs and under his arms. Lan Zhan’s eyebrows twitch, and Wei Ying smiles. Most chest harnesses start under the pecs, to accentuate breasts; Lan Zhan must have been expecting that. But Wei Ying has something else in mind, a bulldog harness that sits high on the upper chest. He’d developed this tie for a transmasculine performer who didn’t like the sensation of rope against his top surgery scars. It will show off Lan Zhan’s well-muscled shoulders to perfection.

He continues to lay the rope, up and over Lan Zhan’s shoulders then down and under the center band. He can do this tie with his eyes closed. In fact, he practices most of his ties that way, so while he’s working, his attention can be on his partner, not the rope.

Lan Zhan’s eyes are closed, and Wei Ying whispers sexy nonsense to him as he works, enjoying how his words and his rope weave a spell that drags Lan Zhan into that elusive fairyland called ropespace. Lan Zhan’s face is calm, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening, but when Wei Ying places his palm in the center of Lan Zhan’s chest, he feels how fast and hard his heart is beating.

Chest harness complete, Wei Ying leans in to lave Lan Zhan’s nipple with the flat of his tongue before biting down sharply on his pec. Lan Zhan hisses and breaks form, burying his hands in Wei Ying’s hair, not pulling him away, but pressing his mouth harder into the tender flesh, urging him on. When Wei Ying finally lets up, Lan Zhan drags him in for a kiss, sucking and biting at Wei Ying’s lower lip.

“So fierce, Lan Zhan! Are you going to eat me alive?”

The look Lan Zhan gives him is so filthy that Wei Ying thinks he’ll never recover. How did he not know that Lan Zhan was such a freak? 

Wei Ying steps back to catch his breath and to let the camera pan over the scene. Lan Zhan is radiant, his lips parted, eyes glazed. But Wei Ying needs his hands on him, needs Lan Zhan to feel exactly what he’s doing to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying works a thigh between Lan Zhan’s long, muscular legs, grinding against him slowly, letting him feel Wei Ying’s arousal through the layers of rough denim and soft silk. Lan Zhan rolls his hips in response, pressing into Wei Ying’s touch. He nuzzles at Wei Ying’s neck, kissing and nibbling at the soft skin there.

Wei Ying licks a stripe down Lan Zhan’s neck before worrying the soft flesh just above his collar bone with his teeth. He is glad he thought to negotiate marks because there’s a purple bruise rising on Lan Zhan’s neck that no amount of concealer is going to hide.

Wei Ying pulls his hips back and palms Lan Zhan’s cock through the lacy panties. The blue silk is damp and barely managing to contain him. 

“These are very pretty, Lan Zhan, but they’re in my way. Time for them to go.”

Wei Ying pauses, holding Lan Zhan’s gaze. He lifts his eyebrows slightly—yes?—and Lan Zhan nods and whispers, “Green.”

Wei Ying grabs a few more hanks of rope, then sinks to his knees in front of Lan Zhan. He looks up at him through his eyelashes, smirking. Heat radiates off Lan Zhan’s body, and sweat trickles down his belly, as Wei Ying leans in and tugs the bows at his hips loose with his teeth. First one, then the other, and the ruined thong falls to the floor. 

Lan Zhan’s cock is hot and flushed deep red. A flash of silver at the tip catches Wei Ying’s eye. 

“What do we have here?” He lifts the heavy cock to reveal a barbell piercing right below the head. "You’re just full of surprises, gege."

Wei Ying strokes Lan Zhan’s length a few times before taking him in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sweet spot on the underside of his cock where the piercing lies. He gives a few quick sucks and then lets go with an obscene pop before he looks up again at the groaning man above him.

Wei Ying isn’t done with him. Not yet.

Sunk in a crouch, Wei Ying snaps open a hank of rope and passes the doubled length around Lan Zhan’s hips, cinching it tight before slapping Lan Zhan’s thigh.

“Open!”

Lan Zhan complies instantly. He’s tucked his hands neatly behind his back, folded at waist height, his posture perfect even now.

Wei Ying passes the rope between Lan Zhan’s legs, separating the lines, taking one to each side, before tying the ends off at the back. He hitches a second rope to one of the lines, forming a series of lark’s heads at the back and front, weaving down Lan Zhan’s hip, and pulling the line away to frame his cock. Wei Ying repeats the process on the other side, completing the crotchless hip harness.

By the time he's finished, it’s all Wei Ying can do not take Lan Zhan in his mouth again. His beautiful cock is right there. Above him, Lan Zhan is barely holding it together. His head is thrown back and he’s fighting for breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Ying sees Sabine give him a grin and an excited thumbs-up.

Wei Ying knows he could end the scene here. Sabine is happy; he doesn’t need to take things further for her sake. He could untie Lan Zhan and that would be that.

But Wei Ying doesn’t know if he’ll ever have this chance again. Maybe Lan Zhan will get dressed and walk right back out of his life, and Wei Ying will spend the next decade pining and kicking himself for not having the courage to ask for what he wants. For what, if he’s honest, he’s always wanted. He’s not willing to risk that, not now, not after tasting the intoxicating sweetness that is Lan Zhan in his rope.

He rises to his feet and takes Lan Zhan’s face in his hands. 

“Lan Zhan, look at me.”

Lan Zhan opens his eyes, and his gaze holds such heat that any lingering fragments of doubt Wei Ying might have are burned away.

“Down on your knees!”

Wei Ying stands ready to spot him, but without a second’s hesitation, Lan Zhan gracefully sinks to one knee, then the other. He looks up at Wei Ying.

“Wei Ying,” he breathes. “Please.”

“What do you want?”

“You. I want you.”

“I’m right here.”

“Wei Ying!”

“Use your words. What. do. you. want?

“I want to…suck your cock. To make you come. In my mouth.”

Wei Ying looks over at the low table, at the basket of condoms, raises an eyebrow in question. Lan Zhan follows his gaze, then shakes his head minutely. 

Wei Ying has never been known for his impulse control. Self-restraint was always Lan Zhan’s strength, but apparently even he has given up trying. That’s all the permission Wei Ying needs. He unbuttons his jeans and takes his cock in hand, stroking it slowly, spreading the pre-come around the head. Lan Zhan licks his lips. His eyes are dark with desire, pupils blown wide.

“Is this what you want, pretty boy?”

Lan Zhan nods, mesmerized by the movement of Wei Ying’s hand.

“Then give me your mouth. Make it good for me.”

Lan Zhan is on him in a heartbeat, swallowing him down.

How many times has Wei Ying imagined this, alone in his bed at night, pretending his fist was this man’s mouth? The Jade Rabbit, bound and on his knees. Lan Zhan, in his bed on a lazy Sunday morning, suckling him gently awake. Wei Ying no longer knows or cares where one fantasy ends and the other begins. All he knows is the tight, wet heat of Lan Zhan’s mouth.

This is not a porn blowjob. There are no coy licks or seductive teases, no playing to the camera. There is only Lan Zhan’s mouth—his hot, sweet, wicked mouth, lips stretched wide around Wei Ying’s cock. The slide of his tongue and the sloppy, wet sounds he’s making turn Wei Ying feral. His world has narrowed down to this one perfect thing, and he never wants it to stop.

“That’s right, baobei," he breathes. “You’re doing so, so well. My good boy, my sweet Lan Zhan.”

A shudder runs through Lan Zhan’s body. He pauses, looking up at Wei Ying, eyes wide, questioning.

“Wode,” Wei Ying whispers. Mine.

Lan Zhan’s eyes press closed, and for a few horrible seconds, Wei Ying is sure he’s said exactly the wrong thing, that his brain has betrayed him, offering him the worst possible choice in a moment with no do-overs.

But when Lan Zhan’s eyes open again, they are full of such devotion that Wei Ying is sure he’s dreaming. This, this is what he wanted. Not just the fulfillment of all his horny teenage fantasies, but this: Lan Zhan’s gold-flecked eyes meeting his, the two of them tangled in each other’s gaze, drawn together. How could he have ever let the chance at this go? How is he going to survive now knowing what this feels like?

Wei Ying takes Lan Zhan’s jaw in his hands, tips his head back, and fucks into his mouth with hard snaps of his hips, deep enough to hit the back of Lan Zhan’s throat. Lan Zhan takes it, all of it, his head thrown back, body arched.

Wei Ying is so close, when Lan Zhan pulls back with a moan and shudders. Crazed, Wei Wing grabs Lan Zhan’s head and thrusts back into his mouth, once, twice, and comes down his throat with a harsh cry.

Breathless, Wei Ying sinks to the ground, dragging Lan Zhan off his knees and into his lap. Lan Zhan melts into his arms, his head falling back on Wei Ying’s shoulder.

“Lan Zhan, I didn’t hurt you just then, did I? Holy fuck, you make me crazy with that mouth.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes are closed, and he hums into Wei Ying’s neck.

“Do you have words? Can you talk to me, sweetheart?”

“Mn. Good.”

“Do you need…anything?” Wei Ying’s voice drops to a whisper. “Let me take care of you, baobei? We can go somewhere private, the dressing room… ”

“No need.”

“Lan Zhan! I’m pretty sure the cameras are off. I want to. I want to so much! God, if you knew how long I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you…”

“Wei Ying. There is no need.”

Lan Zhan lifts his chin toward a conspicuous wet spot on the rug.

Wei Ying’s mouth drops open. “You…?” He looks down at Lan Zhan, just to be sure. “Just like that? Just from…?”

“Mn.”

* * *

While the crew moves around them, packing up, Wei Ying gently unties Lan Zhan. He can’t resist running his fingers over the lines of rope marks embossed on Lan Zhan’s chest and hips.

“You might be a little sore here,” Wei Ying says, stroking the tender crease of Lan Zhan’s thigh. “I have a good cream for that in my bag.”

“Mn. Will do whatever Wei Ying says.”

Lan Zhan is slow to emerge from the embrace of ropespace, but Wei Ying eventually manages to get them both upright enough to drink some water.

A few minutes later, the production assistant settles down on the floor next to them.

“You both doing okay? Can I get you anything?” Her voice is quiet and soothing.

Wei Ying shakes his head. “I’m good, I think. Are you okay, Lan Zhan? That was a lot. Especially for a first time.”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying laughs. “That’s a yes, but I promise I’ll get the details later. What time is it?”

“Quarter to five. We need to be out in forty-five minutes,” the assistant says. “Wei Ying, I know you have my number, but here’s my card, just in case. Lan Zhan, here’s one for you. Text me if you need anything. First-time shoots can bring up a lot of stuff, and I’m here for you.”

Wei Ying takes the card and passes it over to Lan Zhan.

Huaisang appears, carrying both of their phones and smirking. “You’ll be needing these, I guess?”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes but takes the phones. He unlocks his and passes it to Lan Zhan. “Hey, can you put your number in my contacts? So I can check in?”

Lan Zhan nods and takes the phone. His mouth quirks up into a shy smile as he taps in his number and passes the phone back to Wei Ying along with his own. “I would also like to be able to…check in. To be in touch.”

Wei Ying looks down at the screen of his phone and sees that Lan Zhan has put a bunny emoji next to his name. How is he so fucking cute? He takes the phone, enters his information in Lan Zhan’s contacts and, telling his brain to shut up and let him enjoy life for once, adds a fox emoji.

He passes the phone back to Lan Zhan and says, “So, um, hey, I know we’ve gotta get changed and out of here, but I’m starving. Do you want to get something to eat? There’s hotpot down the block. My treat!”

“I would like to have dinner with Wei Ying. But only on one condition. You must let me pay.”

“Lan Zhan! No! That’s totally unfair. Top’s treat. It’s…tradition!”

Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow. “I have never heard of this tradition.”

“But it’s a special occasion! You popped your porn cherry! You deserve to be treated.”

Lan Zhan frowns and huffs, but that’s not a no, is it?

“Meet you back here in, like, twenty minutes? Not wearing porn clothes, unfortunately?” He winks and smirks when Lan Zhan blushes again. He’s so easy to tease!

Wei Ying stumbles into the dressing room on his way to the shower. Huaisang is waiting for him.

“What do you say?” They sing-song the question at him.

Wei Ying glares at them but dutifully answers, “Thank you, Huaisang. For everything.” He pauses, then adds, “Really. Like, everything. Holy fuck."

“You’re welcome, Wei Ying. And if you don’t rail that boy within the next 48 hours, I’m never doing your makeup again.”

“You’re a monster, Huaisang.”

“I love you, too, Yingying. Now go get showered, or you’ll be late for your date.”

NOTES

The title is from a song by Bob Dylan that has zero to do with the story except the play on LZ’s family name and a cheesy rope pun.

In this AU, I picture Wei Ying looking like 2019 XZ in the “Faded” video. I envision Lan Zhan looking like Hu Xiaoling.

Nie Huaisang is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns in English (and 无也 in Mandarin).

The on-set dynamics are based on personal experience as well as BTS footage and interviews from several queer- and/or women-owned adult film sites, but this is not meant to be a realistic description of a porn shoot.

The arts academy that Wei Ying and Lan Zhan attended as teens is not meant to refer to any particular real-life school.

The hair tie

The bulldog harness

The decorative hip harness (In reality, it takes a lot longer to do this harness than Wei Ying has time for in the shoot.)

Lan Zhan’s dick piercing is a frenum.

Chapter Text

When Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang emerge from the dressing room, Lan Zhan is standing by the window, looking out toward the Hudson River. The sun hangs low in the sky, and he is bathed in golden autumn light.

He’s wearing white leather leggings, paired with a soft, flowy boat neck tunic that opens halfway down his back, leaving a tantalizing strip of skin exposed. His shoulders and neck are wrapped in a baby blue knitted lace shawl. An oversize tote bag rests at his feet.

“That man is fucking immaculate,” Nie Huaisang says reverently, from behind their fan.

Wei Ying is, for once, speechless. He can only nod.

He suddenly feels underdressed, even though the restaurant they’re going to is a casual, family place. He’s thrown on a red waffle Henley, and Huaisang has let him borrow the black jeans he wore for the shoot, due to the good ass situation. 

When Lan Zhan turns and walks toward them, Wei Ying’s eyes widen even further. Lan Zhan’s hair hangs over his shoulder in a braid—a braid tied with a familiar red ribbon.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, as if Huaisang did not exist.

Huaisang chuckles and nudges Wei Ying. “Well, I’m off. Enjoy your dinner. And Wei Ying? Remember what I said.” They waggle their perfectly arched eyebrows, and, snapping their fan closed, walk out the door.

“You all set?” Wei Ying asks, trying to sound casual, like he’s just grabbing dinner with an old friend, not going on a date with this stunning person, who just gave him the most mind-shattering orgasm he’s had in, well, years, and is also wearing his hair ribbon (!!!) in front of God and everyone. 

“Mn.” Lan Zhan picks up his bag, ready to go.

Wei Ying goes to shoulder his duffle when Lan Zhan extends his hand and takes it from him. Wei Ying starts to protest, but Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Wei Ying has worked hard.”

“You don’t have to do that! I’m strong!” Wei Ying says, flexing his biceps. 

Lan Zhan looks at him evenly. “Mn. You are. Nevertheless.” He lifts the bag to his shoulder.

Wei Ying’s heart skips a beat. What merits did he accrue in his last life to deserve this?

“All right, if you insist!” he says and shrugs on his jacket. Lan Zhan’s eyes rest heavily on him as the worn black leather settles on his shoulders. 

The two ride the elevator down to the lobby. Lan Zhan is quiet, his head slightly bowed, and it’s all Wei Ying can do not to throw him against the wall and kiss him silly. Instead, he fills the space with his usual chatter.

“I love your…scarf? Shawl?”

“I believe the designer called it a wrap.”

“It looks so soft! Can I…?” Wei Ying’s hand hovers near Lan Zhan’s neck.

“Mn.”

The wrap is indeed very soft and surprisingly light and warm.

“Did you get it here? In the city, I mean?”

“The yarn, yes.”

Wei Ying is puzzled for a second. “Wait, you made this? By hand? You knit?” The image of Lan Zhan knitting is infuriatingly endearing, and Wei Ying’s brain takes the opportunity to spin out an entire cottagecore fantasy about it in a matter of seconds.

“Some men do.”

“Oh, I know, I know! That’s not what I meant. It’s just…this is stunning, Lan Zhan! I knew you were a man of many talents. I just didn’t know knitting was one of them.”

Wei Ying is gratified to see Lan Zhan’s ears redden, and his brain adds a note to the rapidly expanding mental file labeled Lan Zhan’s Praise Kink.

When the elevator reaches the ground floor, Wei Ying holds the door and ghosts his other hand over the warm, bare skin at Lan Zhan’s lower back as he passes by. Lan Zhan's step hitches momentarily, and Wei Ying smiles to himself. 

He continues to ask questions about Lan Zhan’s knitting as they walk to the restaurant. He learns quite a bit, not only about knitting and Lan Zhan’s tastes in same—he is currently on a lace kick and prefers silk-mohair blends—but about Lan Zhan’s life now, like the fact that he took up knitting on the advice of his therapist, as a way to calm his anxiety. Every detail Lan Zhan shares feels precious, a tiny window into his world, a world Wei Ying had believed lost to him forever.

They soon reach the restaurant. Wei Ying asks for a quiet table, away from the main dining area. The restaurant isn’t fancy, but it’s popular, and it’s a Friday night. Not only does he not want to have to shout to be heard, but he’s pretty sure their conversation will include topics that aren’t appropriate for little ears. When the hostess leads them to a booth in the back, Wei Ying gives her a wink and a grateful smile. 

He feels Lan Zhan stiffen next to him, and when he looks up, he sees that Lan Zhan’s jaw is tight. While he waits politely for Wei Ying to take his seat, Lan Zhan unwraps his shawl, pointedly exposing the purple bite mark on his neck, before sliding into the booth right next to Wei Ying. Wei Ying knows a boss bitch move when he sees one, and he learned long ago that no one can throw shade quite like a Lan. But he has to admit that the gesture also stirs something inside him. It’s been a very long time since he felt this desired, and after all, they did have their dicks out less than an hour before. He can forgive a little possessiveness.

The server comes for their drink order, greeting them in Mandarin. Lan Zhan asks her a few questions, and as they speak, his Chinese becomes softer and more melodic. The server answers in kind, smiling broadly.

“Do you like bìluóchūn ?” he asks Wei Ying, in English, after a moment.

Wei Ying vaguely remembers that this is some kind of green tea. “I don’t think I’ve ever had it, but if it comes on your recommendation, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

After the server leaves, Lan Zhan says, “It reminds me of home. The server says this year’s harvest is particularly good.”

“Ah, is the server from Suzhou too?”

“Mn.”

“I love it when you speak your home dialect. Say something; let me see if I can understand.”

Lan Zhan tilts his chin up, as if searching his mind for something. He nods, closes his eyes, and recites a short poem.

“Wow! So pretty! I think we read that in Chinese school one time. Something about red beans? Who’s the author again?”

“Wang Wei,” Lan Zhan says. “From the Three Hundred Tang Poems . I am setting some of the poems from that collection to music this semester.”

“I’d love to hear them some time! Do you like your graduate program?”

Lan Zhan pauses. “Some aspects of it, yes. I enjoy teaching the undergraduates. Other parts are…less satisfying. I do not care for the style that the teachers expect us to compose in. It is very Eurocentric and dissonant. My work has been criticized for being too traditional. Perhaps Shushu’s influence…” Lan Zhan looks off into the middle distance, as if lost in memory.

The server arrives with their tea, and Wei Ying quickly scans the menu, ready to mark their hotpot choices on the form.

“What are you eating these days, Lan Zhan?”

“Anything vegetarian is fine.”

“Are you sure that’s going to be enough food? I should have asked about your diet earlier. We could have gone somewhere else…”

"Wei Ying, I like hotpot,” Lan Zhan assures him. “There are many things I can eat here."

"Mark your words, Lan Zhan! You have to keep your strength up!"

Lan Zhan's eyebrow arches.

"Do I now?" His tone is light, but the look in his eye almost makes Wei Ying choke on his tea. 

Wei Ying orders a ridiculous amount of tofu and mushrooms with a vegan broth for Lan Zhan and pork with spicy Sichuan broth for himself, plus an assortment of noodles and vegetables to share.

“How is your uncle? Is he still teaching at the academy?" Wei Ying asks, picking up the thread of the conversation.

“No, he retired and returned to China last year. He is well. He still teaches guqin to a few private students, but mostly he gardens. He sends me pictures.” Lan Zhan pulls out his phone, thumbs open an app, and then leans in so Wei Ying can see the screen. Their heads are close together, and Wei Ying breathes in the light fragrance of sandalwood and bergamot. 

The photos are lovely. A magnolia tree in full bloom. Red maples. A bed of blue, bell-like flowers.

“Those are pretty,” Wei Ying says. “What are they?”

“Gentians. They were my mother’s favorites. I’m glad Uncle was able to revive them after so much time.” Lan Zhan’s tone is wistful, and Wei Ying leans closer. He wants so badly to soothe the pain that is palpable whenever Lan Zhan mentions his mother. Although he was only six when she died, Lan Zhan’s voice still catches whenever he speaks of her.

Wei Ying squeezes Lan Zhan’s arm, and Lan Zhan gives him a grateful look. 

“And how is your family?” Lan Zhan asks. “Nie Huaisang said that you are sharing an apartment with Jiang Cheng?”

“Yeah, we patched things up after his mother and Uncle Fengmian got divorced. She moved out west so maybe she doesn’t know I live there? Anyway, I almost never see my didi, even though we share a place. He’s in business school. I think the plan is for him to take over the company when Uncle retires.”

“And Yanli? She is well, I hope?”

“Jiejie is great! After all that drama, she actually married the fucking peacock, if you can believe it! I didn’t go to the wedding, for, um, obvious reasons, but I hear it was nice. Zixuan is still a twit, but he and Jiejie are expecting a baby now, so I guess all’s well that ends well?”

“That’s wonderful news, Wei Ying! You must be excited to be an uncle.”

“I totally am! I love babies. I want to have a whole bunch of kids myself some day.”

Lan Zhan smiles, his eyes warm.

The broths and platters of food start to arrive, and Lan Zhan tends to the pots while Wei Ying chatters away about this and that. Lan Zhan manages to fill Wei Ying’s plate with spicy pork and a milder selection of mushrooms and lotus root before Wei Ying even notices.

“Aiya! So much food, Lan Zhan!” 

“Wei Ying also needs to keep his strength up.”

Wei Ying shakes a finger at him. “You are a menace. But how can I not forgive you when you’re sitting there, looking so pretty?”

Lan Zhan meets his gaze, but his ears are pink again. Wei Ying plucks a piece of sliced lotus root from his plate and holds it out. “Here, baobei, eat.”

Lan Zhan leans forward, keeping eye contact with Wei Ying all the while, and delicately accepts the food from Wei Ying’s chopsticks. The visual is more intense than Wei Ying had expected, and suddenly he is back in the studio, with Lan Zhan’s sweet, hot mouth on his cock.

“That’s right. Good boy.”

Wei Ying sees the flush rising in his cheeks and smiles.

They eat in companionable silence for a while, Lan Zhan continuing to place choice bits on Wei Ying’s plate, and Wei Ying feeding him vegetables. When they are finished, Lan Zhan excuses himself and heads toward the restrooms.

Wei Ying is indulging in a contented stretch when he hears his phone ping, followed by the sound of coins dropping. A few seconds later, Wei Ying hears similar sounds from inside Lan Zhan’s bag. Swiping his phone open, Wei Ying finds an email from Sabine, which he decides to read later, and a notification of funds received from CashApp. He’d almost forgotten that he was actually getting paid for today.

Lan Zhan returns to the table and slides into the seat next to Wei Ying. 

“So, Lan Zhan, I've been wondering," Wei Ying says, as he leans in and lowers his voice. “How did you get into rope?”

Wei Ying can see the pulse point in Lan Zhan’s neck fluttering, and Wei Ying sips his tea, giving Lan Zhan a moment to collect himself. He’s yanking Lan Zhan’s chain just a little, but he’s also dying to know the Jade Rabbit’s origin story.

“My brother and I met Mianmian at an art opening,” Lan Zhan begins. “Brother runs a nonprofit, the Gusu Arts Foundation. They provide grants to Chinese and Chinese-American visual and performing artists, so he has a lot of connections in the art world. Mianmian asked me to model for some photos.”

“The Jade Rabbit shoot.”

“Mn.”

“And you agreed?”

“Not at first. But Brother made some inquiries and determined that she was not, as they say, a creeper. I was…intrigued.”

“Because you already had an interest?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes are trained on his teacup, but he nods. “I saw some videos online.”

Wei Ying chuckles. “Famous last words! And your brother wasn’t weirded out by the idea of his didi getting tied up?

Lan Zhan coughs delicately. “Brother is…very open-minded.”

“That makes things easier, right? Jiang Cheng knows what I do for work, and he says he’s fine with it as long as he doesn’t have to hear about the details. Which is fair. I don’t want to hear about whatever boring corporate stuff he’s studying either.”

The pair sip their tea for a moment.

“So…what’s the draw for you?” Wei Ying asks. “To rope, I mean.”

Lan Zhan tilts his head questioningly, so Wei Ying explains. “Some rope bottoms are in it for the aesthetics, for the performance side of things.” Wei Ying has often wondered if this was the Jade Rabbit’s interest, since he’d only appeared in art photos. Lan Zhan nods, but his face remains unmoved.

“Others treat it like an extreme sport; those are your hardcore suspension or semenawa bottoms. They’re mostly about pushing their own limits, seeing how much they can take.”

Again, Lan Zhan nods his understanding.

Wei Ying continues, trying to keep his tone light. “Some people like being bound because they enjoy giving up control. And some people do it just because it turns them on.” Wei Ying holds Lan Zhan’s gaze. For a brief moment, he lets the glamour of the Yiling Patriarch settle around him, and his eyes glitter dangerously. 

“Which are you, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan swallows. “The last two,” he whispers, his voice a little rough.

Wei Ying leans closer still, stretching his arm along the back of the seat but not quite touching Lan Zhan.

“Mmm. Those are good reasons to like rope, Lan Zhan. Very good reasons.” Wei Ying reaches around and tugs at Lan Zhan’s braid, fingering the red ribbon.

There’s one more question Wei Ying needs to ask. If this is going where he thinks it is—hopes to God it is—he doesn’t want to assume.

“And you got that with Mianmian?” Wei Ying asks. “Submission and sex?”

The consternation on Lan Zhan’s face verges on horror. He shakes his head firmly.

Wei Ying is surprised by his vehemence. He's always assumed the Jade Rabbit and Mianmian must be lovers. 

“No?” he asks. Wei Ying’s brain struggles to square the eroticism of the photos he knows so well, photos that were formative in his own kink awakening, with Lan Zhan’s denial.

“Mianmian is married. To a woman. I am gay. I thought that was obvious.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying tries unsuccessfully to ignore the warm spark that ignites in his chest as he takes in this information. Lan Zhan is definitely gay. All signs pointed in that direction, of course. Wei Ying had never seen Lan Zhan show the slightest interest in girls, but then, he’d never seemed to show the slightest interest in anyone. But they were younger then and people change. And Wei Ying knows better than to assume someone’s identity based on their behavior on set.

“So you’re just tying partners?” Wei Ying asks, trying not to sound too eager.

“We were,” Lan Zhan says.

“Were?”

Lan Zhan looks down. “Mianmian felt that it would be healthier for me not to be limited to a single tying partner. Especially one who could not meet my physical and emotional needs. I miss working with her, but it was the right decision.”

Wei Ying should feel reassured by this. Mianmian has set healthy boundaries, and Lan Zhan is not angry with her. He is free to seek what he needs with a man. Wei Ying can’t be sure what Lan Zhan’s physical needs are, but clearly sex is part of the equation for him. He’s even less sure about his emotional needs, but the fact that he has some kindles the spark in Wei Ying’s chest into a flame. Lan Zhan has been flirting shamelessly with him the whole evening, hasn’t he? All his subby gestures, even his little fit of jealousy with the server? What could that mean, if not…?

But Wei Ying’s brain, the bastard, wonders if the shoot was some kind of experiment, a one-time thing to see if Lan Zhan was capable of tying with someone other than Mianmian. Something with no strings attached—walk in, do the job, walk out. Wei Ying does that all the time; why should Lan Zhan be any different? Maybe Lan Zhan is just a really good porn actor, a natural, doing what Sabine hired him to do? Why else would he do a video shoot, of all things, rather than just waltzing into the nearest sex club and picking up a hot dom with some rope skills? It’s not like anyone with eyes in their head is going to turn him down. 

Wei Ying’s heart tells him it’s got to be more than that. He saw how Lan Zhan reacted during their scene. If that was acting, Lan Zhan belongs in the AVN Hall of Fame. Wei Ying wants more than anything to believe his heart, but he needs to know. He needs to be able to trust that he is not setting himself up for a world of pain. If he’s going to have his heart broken, he’d better make it fast and cut his losses.

Lan Zhan is looking at him, a small crease between his eyebrows. 

“Wei Ying? Zen me le?”

“What? Sorry, I’m fine.” Wei Ying takes a sip of tea and refocuses on the man next to him.

“Have you tried to find people to play with? Privately, I mean?” he asks.

Lan Zhan sighs. “I have. Both Mianmian and my brother encouraged me. It was…not successful.”

“Tell me?”

“I tried apps first. It seemed safer. I thought it would be easier to get to know people via text first. But there were a lot of racists.”

“‘No rice, no chocolate’; I’m familiar,” Wei Ying says, rolling his eyes.

Lan Zhan nods. “Or the ones who were only interested because I’m Asian.”

Wei Ying nods again. “Did you get dirty messages in machine-translated Korean?”

Lan Zhan snorts. “Yes. And Japanese. My profile stated clearly that I am Chinese. It was very odd.”

They both shake their heads and sip their tea before Lan Zhan continues.

“I also tried a club, but…”

“No go?” Wei Ying is genuinely fascinated.

“I did not know how to interact with people there. To get to know them, to see if we had a connection, common interests and values beyond being gay and kinky. Also, I found the atmosphere difficult.” 

Lan Zhan hesitates for a moment, his eyes on his lap.

“Wei Ying,” he continues, looking up, “I am autistic. Clubs are loud, and there were too many people. I don’t drink. I got overwhelmed and had to call my brother to pick me up. I was too mortified to go back.”

Wei Ying reaches out to take Lan Zhan’s hand and runs his thumb soothingly over his knuckles. “Oh, sweetheart! I can only imagine…!”

“You are not…put off? Knowing that I am autistic?”

“Of course not! I’m totally ADHD, in case you hadn’t noticed. That’s why you lost me for a couple of seconds back there. Brains are weird.”

Lan Zhan closes his eyes for a moment, and his whole body relaxes.

“Thank you. I was not formally diagnosed until a year ago, although I had suspected for a while. I have not told many people.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” Wei Ying says, squeezing Lan Zhan’s hand and hoping he can feel how much Wei Ying means it.

Lan Zhan looks him full in the face, and his eyes are soft. “I do. Trust you.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying squirms with delighted embarrassment. “Warn a guy before you say stuff like that! My heart can’t take it!" He wants to hide his face in Lan Zhan’s neck. It’s all he can do not to climb into his lap and kiss him until they get thrown out of the restaurant.

Instead, he continues to hold Lan Zhan’s hand, savoring the warmth and connection. “So club atmosphere, 0 out of 10, do not recommend. Were guys at least receptive? You’re so stunning, you probably had to beat them off with sticks.”

“There was some interest, but…”

Wei Ying nods reassuringly. He’s right here now, gazing at Lan Zhan, his heart full of admiration for how brave he’s been.

“There were also rude comments. Some name-calling. People assumed I was a tourist because I didn’t look the part. I wasn’t wearing fetish or uniform gear, and I dress too fem. I don’t even own jeans.”

Lan Zhan’s shoulders are tense again, and he’s frowning. This is completely unacceptable, and Wei Ying wants to cause damage to whoever dared to make Lan Zhan feel less than.

“Also, my face.”

“Your…face?” Wei Ying is looking at Lan Zhan’s face right now, and his brain is struggling to see how something so beautiful could ever be a problem.

“I have resting bitch face.”

He announces it so seriously that Wei Ying has to bite back a laugh.

“And…?”

“Men make assumptions about what I like because of how I look. Stern. Intimidating.” 

Ah. Wei Ying is beginning to understand.

“Mianmian taught me some basic ties because she believes all bottoms should know how to tie and all tops should experience being tied.”

Wei Ying nods. “I agree. Wise woman, our Mianmian.”

“But,” Lan Zhan continues, “I am not interested in topping. With rope or…other things. With the right person, I think I could be…”—his voice drops—“vers. But the dominant role does not come naturally to me.”

Wei Ying hums encouragingly, while simultaneously trying not to lose his mind.

“And how did you get into rope?” Lan Zhan asks.

Wei Ying ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, Lan Zhan! This is so embarrassing.”

“It is nothing to be embarrassed about,” Lan Zhan says. “Your kink is okay.”

Wei Ying laughs and shakes his head. “Lan er-gege. You have no idea.”

“Whatever it is, it is fine,” Lan Zhan reassures him. “I will not judge you.”

“Okay, but you have to promise not to laugh.”

“I will not laugh.”

“So…I saw some pictures. Hot pictures. I mean, wait, they weren’t porn, if that’s what you’re thinking! Not that there’s anything wrong with porn, I mean, obviously. ”

Lan Zhan huffs a laugh. “Obviously.”

“Lan Zhan, you promised not to laugh! Anyway, I saw these pictures—which were art, in a real art magazine—and I guess I kind of hyperfixated? I was pretty obsessed.”

“Obsessed.”

“Yeah, with the rope and…” Wei Ying glances up, “with the model? The photos didn’t show his face, but I knew he just had to be gorgeous.”

“He?”

“Lan Zhan! Are you really going to make me say it?”

Lan Zhan looks just the tiniest bit smug.

Wei Ying throws up his hands, shakes his head, and groans. “Fine, fine. It was you. The Jade Rabbit. I didn’t know it was you, but now I do and…that’s the reason I do rope.”

“Mianmian is a very talented rigger and photographer,” Lan Zhan says.

“Aiya, er-gege! Always so modest! Sure, Mianmian’s great at what she does. Really great. But with any other model? You made that shoot, Lan Zhan. You. No one else. No one could have been that poised, that graceful, that perfect. It had to be you. It could only be you.”

Wei Ying shakes his head again, finally looking at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan is blushing, his cheeks pink as a peony. 

“Wei Ying. I also have a confession.”

“You do?”

“In the studio, you said that you did not know how we both got there. I knew you were a rigger. I told you that I was seeking a tying partner. After those attempts, I realized that I did not want to be tied by just anyone. I wanted to be tied by you. But I was afraid to make contact directly. We hadn’t seen each other in such a long time. I was afraid you would say no.”

Wei Ying’s brain tries to slot this into what he knows about himself and utterly fails.

“Why would I not want to tie you? God, Lan Zhan, if you had any idea…!”

“But I did not. Have any idea.”

“How did you even find me? I use a stage name. No one knew except…” Wei Ying’s eyes narrow as he realizes who blew his cover. 

“Mn. Huaisang.”

“They knew! They knew, and they didn’t tell me! I’m gonna kill them!”

“Please do not. You would also have to kill my brother and his boyfriend, which would have unfortunate repercussions for all of us.”

“Okay, okay, I won't kill—. Wait, what? Your brother? Has…a boyfriend?”

“A-Huan is with Huaisang’s older brother, Mingjue. They have been living together for the last nine months.”

“What the actual f—?! Your brother is with Da-ge?!”

“Yes. They met at Nie Mingjue’s martial arts studio. They are quite happy. In fact, I expect they will get married in a year or two.”

Wei Ying is having a hard time taking this all in. “Love that for them! But why do I have to kill them again?”

“You do not,” Lan Zhan says, with fond amusement, “have to kill anyone. Nie Huaisang had a fashion show two years ago. His brother was going to be there, of course, and my brother was interested in Mingjue at the time, so he insisted I go along so it wouldn’t seem too much like a date. In case his feelings were not reciprocated.”

“Which they obviously were,” Wei Ying nods; that part, at least, computes. He’s met both Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue, and, yeah, he can see it. Then his eyes grow wide as his brain supplies him with images of that night. “Does that mean…you saw me perform?”

“Mn.”

“You saw that performance? The one with the—? In the—” Wei Ying gestures vaguely, not wanting to say the words self-suspension out loud in a family restaurant. He’s not even sure he knows the word for the very, very tiny garment that Huaisang had put him in that night. Maybe two strings and a prayer?

“Among others, yes.”

“ Among others? ”

Now it is Lan Zhan’s turn to look sheepish. “I have…attended other shows of yours.”

“Which ones?”

Lan Zhan takes a deep breath and looks away for a moment before staring fixedly into his tea cup.

“Almost all of them. At least all of the ones open to the public. I did miss your last show in San Francisco because my advisor had a premiere in Berlin, and Brother thought it was important for me to attend.”

Wei Ying’s mouth hangs open for long moments before he succumbs to a fit of raucous laughter, causing heads to turn their way.

“Oh my God, have you been stalking me, Lan Zhan? Do I have a groupie?” Wei Ying almost chokes, he’s laughing so hard.

Lan Zhan refills Wei Ying’s tea cup and hands it to him with all the dignity he can muster.

“You are not the only one who appreciates the art of shibari,” he says. “Wei Ying is very good at what he does.”

“Oh, is that it? You were just appreciating my art? Lying is forbidden, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying wags his finger at Lan Zhan and tries, unsuccessfully, to look stern.

“Wei Ying appreciated Mianmian’s art, did he not?” Lan Zhan counters.

“Touché.” Wei Ying looks at him and shakes his head. “Shameless! Who would have guessed? In high school, you hated me.”

Lan Zhan frowns. “I never hated Wei Ying,”  he says stoutly.

“Well, hate is maybe a strong word. But come on, Lan Zhan, I drove you nuts. You have to admit I was pretty annoying. Following you around all the time, trying to get your attention. I was a nuisance. No wonder you were chronically pissed off at me.”

“You were not a nuisance, and I was not pissed off. After the accident, you were so kind. You took care of me, kept me company. But even before that, I liked you.” 

“Lan Zhan…are you saying?” Wei Ying’s brain is trying to piece something together. “Are you saying that you liked liked me? Back then?”

“Wei Ying. I thought that was obvious.”

“Oh my God, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan is frowning at him again, and Wei Ying just has to take his face between his hands and kiss him, restaurant be damned.

“I had no idea! I thought I was the one who was chasing you like an idiot even though you obviously didn’t like me the same way.”

Lan Zhan looks genuinely perplexed. “You liked me? When did you start liking me?” he asks.

“I was walking by one of the dance studios and saw you practicing. You were doing this pose—Wei Ying mimes an arabesque with his arms—“and I… fuck, you were so beautiful. I had never seen a guy and felt like that before.” Wei Ying shakes his head. “How does it feel to know you were my bi awakening, Lan Zhan?”

“I am happy to have performed such a valuable service for Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan deadpans, but he still looks a little bewildered.

Wei Ying snorts.

“Anyway, then you showed up in my theory class, and you were so smart, I was sure I’d never have a chance with you. But I couldn’t stop myself from following you around. Like I said: obsessed.”

Wei Ying runs his thumb along Lan Zhan’s cheekbone, which still has traces of glitter on it. He shakes his head.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, just think, we could have been doing this all along. Even if I was incredibly annoying. Don’t pretend I wasn’t.”

“You were not annoying, just…distracting,” Lan Zhan says. “When you were around, I couldn’t focus, couldn’t control my thoughts. If I was annoyed with anyone, it was myself. Never Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying leans in, his eyes full of mischief. “That must have been very hard on you, Lan er-gege, being so distracted,” he purrs. “How ever did you manage?”

Lan Zhan huffs and glares at him, in that old, familiar way, except now Wei Ying knows exactly what it means.

“The same way most teenage boys manage,” he says, his voice low.

“And how is that, Lan Zhan? Tell me.” Wei Ying is so close how, he can feel the heat from Lan Zhan’s flushed skin.

“Wei Ying. Not here.” He glances over at a nearby table where a large family is being seated.

“Where can we go, then? Because you can’t just say things like that and expect me to pretend I didn’t hear them. I need to know, Lan Zhan. I need to know what you got up to back then. What you did when I distracted you.”

Lan Zhan looks at him, his eyes dark. “Come home with me, and I will do better than that. I will show you.”

“Yeah? I like that plan.”

The two grab their bags and are halfway to the door before Wei Ying stops short. “Shit, hang on, the check!” He looks around for the server.

“No need.”

Wei Ying looks at him in confusion. Is Lan Zhan going to walk out on a check? Then he realizes his mistake.

“Lan Zhan! You promised to let me buy you dinner!”

“I did not promise. Wei Ying assumed.”

“Oh my God, when did we turn into old Chinese uncles, fighting over the check? All right, all right. But next time it really has to be my treat, okay?”

Lan Zhan acquiesces with a nod. “Next time.” Wei Ying likes the sound of that.

The two walk out onto the dark street. The air is cooler now, and even with his soft wrap around his neck, Lan Zhan shivers. Wei Ying can’t have that. He takes off his leather jacket and drapes it over Lan Zhan’s shoulders. 

“You won’t be cold?”

Wei Ying shakes his head. He’s so warm, he thinks he must be giving off steam. “You know me. I run hot. But I’m going to have to be careful, or some leather daddy is going to come and try to steal you away.”

“They wouldn’t dare. Not with Wei Ying to protect me.”

Wei Ying catches Lan Zhan’s hand and brings it to his lips. “Always. I’m gonna order us a ride. Let’s go home, Lan Zhan.”

NOTES

Thank you for all the kudos and kind comments! There’s more to come, as the boys tie up some loose ends (ha!) from their past before their HEA. Hopefully this is a satisfying place to pause, though.

In this AU, Wei Ying was born in China but brought to New York as an infant when he was adopted by Jiang Fengmian and (a very reluctant) Madame Yu. Wei Ying attended Chinese school as a child, where he met Nie Huaisang. Lan Zhan came to the United States from Suzhou with his brother and their uncle when he was 12.

LZ’s tunic

His knit wrap: pattern, yarn (colorway: Forget-Me-Not)

Bìluóchūn (碧螺春) is a famous green tea from Suzhou, harvested in the early spring.

The poem Lan Zhan recites is 相思 (Xiāngsī), usually translated as “Yearning” or “Lovesickness.” Here’s what it sounds like in Mandarin and in Suzhounese.

Semenawa (Japanese, lit. “torture rope”) refers to the hard bondage style pioneered by the Japanese rope master Naka Akira.

Chapter Text

The car makes its way uptown from Hell's Kitchen via Sixth Avenue. Lan Zhan had insisted on seat belts, fastening Wei Ying’s himself, but that doesn’t stop Wei Ying from twisting around in his seat, pressing his knee against Lan Zhan’s leg, reaching out to tug on his braid—anything to be in physical contact with him. Just seeing his elegant profile, outlined by the city lights as the car passes by, makes Wei Ying’s chest tight with longing.

Finally, finally, the driver drops them in front of Lan Zhan’s building on West 40th. With its ornate marble walls, waterfall fountains, and oversized floral displays, the building's lobby could easily belong to one of the nearby luxury hotels. Wei Ying has only been here a few times before, after the accident, to deliver books and homework assignments—along with some smuggled treats—to Lan Zhan while he recuperated. Back then, the suspicious lobby attendant had insisted on calling Lan Qiren before letting a scruffy teen Wei Ying go up to the apartment, but tonight Lan Zhan merely nods to the guard as he leads Wei Ying past the desk toward the elevators. Lan Zhan keys in his access code and the doors slide open.

They’re barely inside the elevator before Wei Ying has Lan Zhan pinned against the wall, kissing him, bags scattered at their feet. Wei Ying works a thigh between Lan Zhan’s legs and slides his hands under the heavy black leather of the jacket, his jacket, to find the warm, bare skin of Lan Zhan’s back. When Wei Ying nips at Lan Zhan’s lower lip, he is rewarded with a breathless moan.

Wei Ying pulls back with a cocky grin. “Sorry, Lan Zhan, am I distracting you?”

Lan Zhan’s lips are wet and red from Wei Ying’s kiss. He leans toward Wei Ying, chasing contact.

“Always,” he says, his eyes dark. “Wei Ying is extremely distracting.”

“Poor, sweet boy,” Wei Ying croons, rolling his hips against the growing bulge in Lan Zhan’s white leather leggings. “So frustrating. But you promised you’d show me how you handle my distracting you, yeah?”

The elevator stops at the top floor and the doors slide open. Lan Zhan grabs their bags and hustles to the apartment door, fumbling for his keys. It’s too cute, seeing Lan Zhan—cool, collected Lan Zhan—this eager. Wei Ying likes him so, so much.

Lan Zhan gets the door open and lets them into the apartment. Something about being here after so many years brings Wei Ying up short. He takes a deep breath and bends to take off his boots, but Lan Zhan is suddenly there, on his knees in front of him, looking up at Wei Ying through his lashes.

“Ah, Lan Zhan! That's really hot, but you don’t have to! I’m sure my feet are gross.”

“They are not. Allow me?”

Wei Ying nods helplessly. Lan Zhan gives one of his tiny smiles and works the laces loose, gently easing Wei Ying’s foot from the boot. He does the same to the other foot, before putting the boots on the rack by the door and retrieving a pair of guest slippers from a basket. He then takes off his own boots and wrap and Wei Ying’s jacket, carefully hanging it in the coat closet.

He turns almost shyly toward Wei Ying. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Water?” Wei Ying smiles.

“Maybe some water. I’m a little, uh, warm.” “Mn. Please, sit. I’ll be right back.”

Wei Ying settles on the couch in the living room area. The apartment is the same as he remembers: airy, with an open floor plan and a stunning view of Bryant Park below. The furnishings are tasteful and understated, but some, Wei Ying knows, are antiques from the family’s home in Suzhou; he couldn’t even guess what they might be worth. The walls are hung with calligraphy—Wei Ying recognizes some of Lan Zhan’s own work—and dreamy Chinese landscapes. Built-in shelving holds books, music scores, and Lan Zhan’s guqin. In the center of the room sits a baby grand piano.

It's all familiar, yet it feels different, less sterile than he remembers. As he looks around, Wei Ying notices some homey touches. A basket on the coffee table overflows with yarn, and there’s a copy of GQ China tucked underneath. A rolled yoga mat is propped in the corner. On shelves that once held nothing but Tang poetry, classic Chinese novels, and music theory texts, Wei Ying spots colorful paperbacks with English titles. Among the scrolls on the walls are photographs: a white rabbit peeking out from under a blooming azalea bush; a grinning, sticky-faced toddler eating tanghulu; a moody black-and-white shot of a sculpted male torso that Wei Ying immediately recognizes as Mianmian’s work. Most surprising, there’s a large screen TV, something Lan-laoshi would never have allowed. Seeing the ways Lan Zhan has married his family’s traditions with his own tastes and interests makes Wei Ying smile. Lan Zhan deserves to inhabit his own space after so many years of conforming to his uncle’s strictures.

Lan Zhan returns with two glasses of water. He hands one to Wei Ying and then hesitates, like a guest in his own home. Wei Ying pats the cushion next to him.

“Come sit, gorgeous.”

Lan Zhan sits down, not quite touching Wei Ying.

“You okay, Lan Zhan?”

Wei Ying wonders if Lan Zhan is getting cold feet. It would be understandable; it’s been quite a day for both of them. As much as his body is singing with want, Wei Ying can wait until Lan Zhan is ready.

"Do you need to let anyone know where you are?" Lan Zhan asks.

Huh. That was not a question Wei Ying was expecting, but it’s an easy enough one to answer.

"Nah, Jiang Cheng is out of town with Uncle Fengmian. Some trade show in Vegas, I think?”

"I meant…someone who might expect to hear from you. Who might worry."

"Do you mean like…a safe call?" Wei Ying asks.

Lan Zhan looks at the floor and shakes his head. It takes a beat for Wei Ying to understand, but then he chuckles.

"Lan Zhan! Are you asking if I'm single?"

Lan Zhan nods, his eyes still downcast.

"I did not want to assume. I know many queer men have open relationships…"

"Hey, come here." Wei Ying reaches out and takes both of Lan Zhan's hands in his. "Baby, can you look at me?"

Lan Zhan turns toward him and raises his eyes, and Wei Ying's heart clenches at the apprehension he sees there.

"Lan Zhan, there's nobody else. With my job, people assume, but…I don’t really date much. Haven’t in a while. Hell, I've never done anything more than bondage on set before today."

Lan Zhan's eyes grow wide. Wei Ying squeezes his hands, rubbing his thumbs over Lan Zhan’s knuckles. "I don't do casual, and I’m not wired for polyamory. If I were with somebody, I wouldn't be here right now, and I wouldn't have done that kind of shoot. I'd still tie—it's my job—but I wouldn't have sex. Full respect for people who do! It's not easy for adult performers, especially if they're with someone outside the industry. That's just not my style."

Lan Zhan takes this in, but he still looks puzzled. "Then why…today?" he asks.

Wei Ying smiles and shakes his head then bumps his shoulder gently against Lan Zhan’s. "Because it was you, silly boy! I told you. I've wanted you for literally years, and I thought…," Wei Ying pauses, then swallows his pride and continues, "if this was my only chance with you, I wasn't going to throw it away. I would have regretted it forever if I let you go again.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Wei Ying.”

“I know, ridiculous.”

“Not ridiculous.” Lan Zhan’s look is soft, and his lips lift into a tiny smile.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. What am I going to do with you?” Wei Ying takes Lan Zhan's face in his hands, brushing a thumb along his lower lip. “That's the question, isn’t it? What am I going to do with Lan Zhan tonight, hm?”

“Anything,” Lan Zhan says. “We can do anything you want.”

“Anything? What if I asked you to do my taxes? All those 1099s! So hot!" Wei Ying teases.

Lan Zhan has his serious face on, but there's a twinkle in his eye. “I would do Wei Ying’s taxes if he asked. But perhaps not tonight?”

“All right, no taxes,” Wei Ying says, smiling. “Anything else we want to cross off the list for tonight?”

Lan Zhan's brow furrows. “I do not know all of the possibilities.”

“Fair! We should do one of those yes-no-maybe lists soon, yeah? I wasn’t thinking anything wild, maybe just more? Of what we did earlier?”

Lan Zhan nods then adds, “I enjoyed everything we did in the studio."

“Yeah?” Wei Ying asks. “Me too. What worked for you?”

“I liked the ties. When you played with my hair, the way you touched me and talked to me. The way you…took control.”

“Mmm,” Wei Ying hums. “I loved the way you responded to that. What else?”

Lan Zhan hesitates for a moment, then adds, “When we were talking with Sabine, you mentioned ‘sexable shibari.’ I would like to know more about that.”

Wei Ying grins. “It’s bedroom bondage, basically. Like knots in sensitive places, ties that hold a person’s legs open, that kind of thing. It's a lot of fun," he adds.

“I am very interested in that,” Lan Zhan says.

“Sex rope, check. What else?” Wei Ying asks. “What would you like to do once you're all tied up?”

Lan Zhan hesitates. “Wei Ying, I…I don't have a lot of experience with this. With Mianmian, rope was always artistic, not sexual, I…”

“I know it’s a little hard for you to put things into words sometimes," Wei Ying says, opening his arms. "Come here? You can sit on my lap and whisper in my ear.”

Lan Zhan blushes furiously but he straddles Wei Ying’s legs and settles onto his thighs, his face buried in Wei Ying’s neck. Wei Ying rubs his cheek against Lan Zhan's hair, savoring the now-familiar scent.

“Better, baobei? Can you tell me now?”

“I…,” he begins, his breath hot on Wei Ying’s neck, “I…want you to fuck me.”

"Mmmm, yeah. I want that too. What else?”

“I want you to take control. Tell me what to do."

Wei Ying’s heart is racing. “For sure. More?”

“I want…” Lan Zhan hesitates again.

“Yeah, baby? Tell me. It’s all right.”

“I want you to mark me," Lan Zhan whispers, his voice rough. “So everyone can see I belong to Wei Ying."

Wei Ying thinks he’s going to vibrate out of his skin before they even get their clothes off, but instead he lifts Lan Zhan’s chin until he’s looking into those gold-flecked eyes.

"Like this?" Wei Ying presses his thumb into the purple bite on Lan Zhan's neck.

Lan Zhan nods and his lips part, and then they're kissing, hard and hot and messy. They kiss for long, delicious minutes, until, breathless, Wei Ying finally pulls back.

“Fuck, baby, show me your room. You’ve got way too many clothes on for what I want to do to you.”

Lan Zhan climbs off Wei Ying's lap, grabs their bags from where he dropped them by the door, and leads Wei Ying down the hall to the master bedroom.

It's spacious, with a king-size bed and another amazing city view. Wei Ying briefly considers tying Lan Zhan in front of the window but decides that, no matter how pretty Lan Zhan is, the condo association would probably object to erotic performance art in their penthouse.

“Can I go…prepare?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Yeah, of course! I’m going to get things set up here. Can you bring a towel back with you when you’re done?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says and disappears into the adjoining bathroom. Soon Wei Ying hears the fan and the water running.

He’s so turned on it’s hard to think, to plan out the scene. It needs to be good. Really good. Wei Ying is guessing that Lan Zhan’s sexual experiences have been more limited than he would have expected. Wei Ying is all in, and he’s pretty sure Lan Zhan is too, but if he fucks this up…Wei Ying shakes his head to dispel the shadow of self-doubt.

Focus, brain.

He lets himself enjoy the warm buzz of anticipation in his belly, the memory of the tiny sounds Lan Zhan made when Wei Ying kissed him. His fingers itch to lay rope across that smooth skin again.

Wei Ying takes a moment to get his bearings. For all its spaciousness, Lan Zhan's room feels cozy. There's an impressive collection of throw pillows and a handknit blanket on the bed, and Wei Ying smiles at the stack of well-thumbed gay romance novels on the nightstand. Recessed fixtures cast indirect light, and Wei Ying is pleased to find a dimmer switch for them by the bed. It's a perfect place to play: safe, warm, and intimate.

Wei Ying begins laying out his rope. The familiar movements bring him further back into himself, and his brain settles enough for him to run through his mental list of sex ties. Once he's got his gear and a plan in place, he strips down to his jock and does some quick stretches, circling his hips and cracking his back.

When Wei Ying hears the water shut off, he lowers the lights and tosses one of the throw pillows onto the floor next to the bed, then sits on the edge of the mattress, waiting.

Lan Zhan enters the room a few moments later, carrying a fluffy bath towel. His hair is still in its braid, and he’s wearing a loose white silk robe, open at the waist and barely grazing his hips. It’s an extremely appealing look. Lan Zhan seems to feel the same about Wei Ying. His eyes sweep from his face, across his tattooed arms and chest, down to his crotch.

“Like what you see, pretty boy?” Wei Ying says, and is rewarded by a blush dark enough to show even in the low light. “Give me that, and come over here.”

Wei Ying sets the towel aside and points to the pillow. Lan Zhan does as he’s told. With a shy glance at Wei Ying, he kneels down on the pillow.

“I need you to tell me if anything hurts your leg, okay? No bad pain allowed.”

“Yes, Wei Ying.” “Good boy. I want you to use the same signals we did before. Red-yellow-green, three tugs or taps if you lose your words. Good?”

“Mn.”

“Stand up and move the pillow out of the way.”

Lan Zhan gets up and Wei Ying rises to meet him, lifting his chin and looking into his eyes.

“You are so beautiful, Lan Zhan. I love that you're giving yourself to me like this. You’ll be good for me, won't you, sweet boy? You’ll do what I tell you?”

“Yes, Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s lips are parted and his eyes are dark. The short robe does nothing to hide his growing arousal.

Wei Ying holds Lan Zhan’s gaze as he picks up a bundle of rope and snaps it open, letting the length fall to the ground. He runs his hand lightly across Lan Zhan’s chest, and Lan Zhan’s breath stutters when Wei Ying’s fingers brush against the nipple rings that are visible through the thin fabric. Fuck, he’s so sensitive. A wave of arousal hits Wei Ying. He wants to throw Lan Zhan down on the bed right now and fuck him senseless, but he wills himself to slow down, to savor every moment of their play.

“Can you take a little stimulation here, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks, pinching a nipple. “A little friction?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says. “I can take a lot.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Wei Ying smiles as he slips the robe off Lan Zhan’s shoulders. Wei Ying takes his time, teasing and stroking Lan Zhan. He stays close, pressing his body against Lan Zhan's as he drags the rope slowly along the tender skin on Lan Zhan’s neck and presses kisses along his shoulder. Wei Ying passes the rope around Lan Zhan's chest, snugging it up right under his nipple rings, with a second band placed just above them. Cinching them down at the sides draws the two lines together. Lan Zhan gasps as the rope pinches his nipples, forcing the rings to jut out between the lines of red jute.

“Color, baobei?” Wei Ying asks as he tightens the final hitch.

“Green,” Lan Zhan says with a shudder.

“Yeah?” Wei Ying runs his fingers under the ropes, dressing them so they lie flat and even, then leans down and takes one of the rings between his teeth. He tugs gently, gratified at Lan Zhan’s sharp inhale. He licks at the tiny bit of exposed flesh, the brown skin dark and engorged from the pressure of the ropes.

“You’re doing so well, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, flicking the other ring with his finger.

Wei Ying circles around behind him and wraps an arm around him, feeling the ropes press into his own chest as he holds Lan Zhan close. He fists Lan Zhan’s braid in his other hand and gives a sharp tug, drawing his head back onto Wei Ying’s shoulder and exposing the graceful line of his neck.

“You are too beautiful,” he whispers into Lan Zhan’s ear, letting desire edge his voice with danger. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He ghosts his lips along Lan Zhan’s jaw before digging his teeth into the soft flesh behind his ear.

Lan Zhan gasps and growls, arching his back. Wei Ying only tightens his grasp, holding Lan Zhan in place and grinding against his ass until he gives in and melts back into Wei Ying’s embrace with a moan. Wei Ying chuckles, then licks softly at the mark blooming on Lan Zhan’s neck.

“See, baby? I’m not letting you get away from me. I want everyone to look at you and say, ‘That one is Wei Ying’s.’ Understand?”

Lan Zhan swallows hard and whispers, “Yes, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying releases him, grabs another bundle of rope and drops to his knees, slapping Lan Zhan’s thigh until he spreads his legs apart. Lan Zhan’s full, heavy cock sways in front of him, the slit already pearling with precum, and it takes every ounce of Wei Ying’s willpower not to take it in his mouth. Instead, holding Lan Zhan by the hips, he kisses and licks his way up his inner thigh until he reaches the most tender spot and then bites down hard, sucking and worrying the skin with his teeth. Lan Zhan hisses and swears but Wei Ying does not relent until he’s sure the bruise is good and deep, something Lan Zhan will feel for days. When he pulls away, he can see the dark purple mark already forming. He licks over it with the flat of his tongue, soothing the sting, and looks up at Lan Zhan’s flushed face.

“And if anyone gets this close? What will you tell them, Lan Zhan?”

“Wei Ying’s. Only Wei Ying’s,” Lan Zhan says, his voice rough.

“That’s right. Good boy.”

Wei Ying uncoils the rope and passes it around Lan Zhan’s thigh, making sure to place it squarely on top of the bruise. He creates a wide cuff, leaving a bit of extra rope at the end. Wei Ying has plans.

When he moves to the other thigh, he’s more gentle. He traces the long scar with his tongue, kissing and nibbling but not biting hard.

“Okay, baby? No bad pain?”

“Feels good,” Lan Zhan says. His eyes drift closed as Wei Ying encircles his leg with the rope and ties it off.

Wei Ying stands and observes his handiwork. Lan Zhan’s face looks peaceful, as if he’s resting in the arms of the rope gods, but Wei Ying also sees that the pulse point in his neck is fluttering. Laying a hand on his chest confirms the excitement his face doesn’t show.

Wei Ying takes hold of Lan Zhan’s braid, still tied with the red ribbon, and gives it a playful tug. Lan Zhan opens his eyes, and though his gaze is a little unfocused, his lips curve up. Wei Ying unties the ribbon and gently unplaits the braid, carding his fingers through the silky mass. Wei Ying wants to memorize every detail of this moment: dark hair spilling over the pale curve of Lan Zhan’s shoulder; the glint of silver trapped between the red ropes; the shy smile that suffuses Lan Zhan's usually cold face with light.

“New rule,” Wei Ying says. “When we play, I want your hair down.”

“Yes, Wei Ying. I’m sorry."

“No need for sorries. Like I said, it’s a new rule. I know you’ll remember next time. You’re such a good boy, so obedient.”

Wei Ying brushes Lan Zhan’s hair out of the way and passes the red ribbon loosely around his neck, tying it in a soft bow.

“I like the way you look in my color. You should always wear a spot of red, don’t you think? So everyone will know you’re mine.” Lan Zhan’s breath stutters, and he looks into Wei Ying’s eyes.

“You..want that?”

“I do. Maybe some ruby earrings?” Wei Ying cocks his head, considering. “Would you like that?”

“Yes, please," Lan Zhan says. God, he's so perfect.

“Good boy. Now tell me where you keep your lube.”

“Nightstand. Bottom drawer."

Wei Ying opens the drawer and gasps in mock surprise. “Lan Zhan! What’s all this?”

Lan Zhan blushes. “Toys.”

“I see that! It’s quite an impressive collection. Do you have a favorite?”

“Mn.”

“Show me.”

Lan Zhan crouches down gingerly and finds the bottle of lube along with a tan dildo. Wei Ying knows the brand; they’re pricey but high quality and exceptionally realistic.

“Do you play with that one a lot?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, eyes trained on the floor.

“How often?”

Lan Zhan pauses. “Several times a week.”

“A man of healthy appetites,” Wei Ying says, putting as much affection in his voice as he can. (Far be it from him to criticize anyone’s erotic self-care routines, given his own habits.) He’s also relieved that Lan Zhan is so used to penetration. Wei Ying’s cock is a bit bigger than the dildo, but not outrageously so; Lan Zhan should be able to take him just fine.

“Leave it on the nightstand, but give me the lube.”

Wei Ying spreads the towel out and shucks his jock. He climbs onto the bed and leans back against the mound of pillows, legs spread. “Come here, baby,” Wei Ying says, patting the space between his legs. “Lean your back against me.”

Lan Zhan settles back against Wei Ying’s chest. Wei Ying brushes Lan Zhan’s hair aside and kisses his neck, running his hands over the ropes at his chest and stroking down his arms.

"I want you to tell me a story." Wei Ying says, his voice low and soothing. "Tell me about a time when I distracted you.”

Lan Zhan tenses and sucks in his breath. “Wei Ying, I…I am not good at telling stories.”

Wei Ying wraps his arms tighter around Lan Zhan, holding him close.

“Don’t worry, I got you. I was there, too, remember? We can tell the story together, okay?”

“Okay.” Lan Zhan says, although Wei Ying can still feel some tightness in his body.

“Where were you?” Wei Ying asks.

“In the library,” Lan Zhan answers, without hesitation.

“The school library or the public library?”

“The school library. By the music scores.”

That tracks. Lan Zhan often studied there. It was quiet, and other students rarely encroached on his territory, unwilling to risk being on the receiving end of one of his signature glares.

“What were you doing?” Wei Ying strokes Lan Zhan’s hair, gently working his fingers through the silky strands to his scalp. Lan Zhan sighs contentedly before answering.

“I was in the stacks, looking for a score."

“Were you alone?”

“At first, yes.” Lan Zhan lets his head rest against Wei Ying’s shoulder, giving in to the comfort of ropespace and Wei Ying's soothing touch.

“But then…?”

“But then I heard someone come up behind me, quietly, like they were trying to surprise me.”

Wei Ying grins. He knows where this is going now, and why Lan Zhan chose this story. In Wei Ying's mind, it was just another example of how he annoyed Lan Zhan and caused trouble for him. But he now realizes that, for Lan Zhan, it was something very different, a core erotic memory.

“And who was it?”

Lan Zhan huffs. “Wei Ying, of course.”

“Of course. That Wei Ying! Always bullying the industrious young master, always distracting him when he was trying to study.”

“You did. But…I secretly liked it. I liked it when you sought me out. Like I mattered to you.”

“Of course you did, baby. More than anything.” Wei Ying brushes a kiss against Lan Zhan’s temple. “What happened then?”

“You put your hands over my eyes, and I tried to turn around, to brush you off…"

“You didn't just brush me off, you shoved me!" Wei Ying says, tapping Lan Zhan's nose like he's a naughty kitten.

"And then you lost your balance, and you grabbed my waist to steady yourself, and…”

"We fell…"

"I fell right on top of you."

Wei Ying chuckles. "It's a miracle I didn't crack my head open, Lan Zhan! Rough-housing like that in the library! For shame!”

Lan Zhan is flushed, and Wei Ying can feel the heat where their bodies are pressed together. Running his gaze down over Lan Zhan’s body, he can see that the tantalizing memory is affecting him as much as it is Wei Ying.

“And…I could feel you."

"Feel me?"

“Your…cock. Was right there. I could feel it through your joggers. You didn't even have underwear on. Shameless.”

“Ah,” Wei Ying chuckles, “death by gray sweatpants. I hear it's reached epidemic proportions."

“Wei Ying! You laughed, and I thought it was because you could feel me too."

"Feel you? What, were you hard?"

"I was," Lan Zhan whispers. "It happened all the time when you were around. When you touched me. When you even looked at me. I couldn't help it!"

"Is that why you jumped up so fast? Why you ran away?"

"Yes."

"Where did you go, Lan Zhan?"

“To…to the bathroom.”

“The bathroom? Why the bathroom?” Wei Ying suspects he knows the answer, but he’s enjoying this story way too much to stop now.

“I needed…I needed to…” Lan Zhan’s hand hovers over his erect cock. Wei Ying reaches for the lube bottle and places it against Lan Zhan’s leg, where he’ll feel it.

“Show me. Show me what you needed, baby. Show me how you took care of yourself.” L

an Zhan, eyes still closed, takes the lube, squirts a dollop into his palm, and takes his cock in hand.

"I went into a stall and took it out and…"

"You jerked off right there in the bathroom? And you thought I was shameless for going commando! What were you thinking, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying teases.

“About Wei Ying. How your body felt, what it would be like to be naked with you. On my knees in front of you. Sucking you off."

Wei Ying watches, entranced, as Lan Zhan pleasures himself: how his forefinger rubs firmly over his frenum piercing with each stroke; how his wrist twists ever so slightly at the top; how the head of his cock, slick with lube, emerges from the tight circle of his fingers as his hand slides back down his shaft.

Wei Ying shifts his hips to accommodate his own equally hard cock, trapped between his body and Lan Zhan’s. He takes a deep breath, restraining himself from rutting against Lan Zhan’s hip. He doesn’t want to distract Lan Zhan from his story, which is turning out to be far more enlightening about the nature of Lan Zhan’s desires than Wei Ying had anticipated.

"I thought about you following me," Lan Zhan whispers, "and finding me touching myself. How you'd drag me out of the stall and bend me over the sink and fuck me right there."

Oh God. Wei Ying’s brain lights up, imagining how he’d pull Lan Zhan’s hair and make him watch himself in the bathroom mirror as Wei Ying fucked him.

"Such a dirty mind, Lan Zhan, even back then!"

"Wei Ying. Wei Ying!" Lan Zhan's hand speeds up. He's getting close, but Wei Ying has other plans.

“Stop!”

Lan Zhan freezes, his hand still on his cock.

“Wei Ying?”

“You did so good for me, baby." Wei Ying shifts his hips, rubbing his erection against Lan Zhan's back. "See? Feel how hard I am? You did that to me.

"But when we play, you don’t get to come until I tell you to, understand? Because you belong to me, and that means every part of you is mine. Even your orgasms.”

Lan Zhan is trembling with need, but he takes a deep breath and nods.

“Yes," he says. "Yes, Wei Ying.”

“Good boy."

Wei Ying lifts Lan Zhan's chin and kisses him, slow and sweet. "Don't worry, I'm not done with you. I like this little game of show-and-tell. Now I want you to show me how you play with your toy."

They shift until Wei Ying has Lan Zhan pressed back against the pillows. Wei Ying retrieves the dildo from the nightstand and holds it up to Lan Zhan's mouth, tapping his lips with the tip.

"Get it wet for me."

Lan Zhan's lips part, and Wei Ying watches as he runs his tongue slowly around the head before taking it in his mouth.

"Do you practice giving head like this, Lan Zhan? Did you do it before our shoot?"

Lan Zhan startles, and for a moment, he looks almost guilty.

"You did, didn't you?" Wei Ying crows. "That is so fucking hot…"

Wei Ying slowly guides the toy out of Lan Zhan’s mouth and hands him the lube.

“Get yourself ready for me.”

Lan Zhan blushes deeper, but he opens the lube and pours some on his fingers. He lies back against the pillows and draws his right leg up, exposing his hole. He circles his fingertips around the entrance before pushing a finger inside. Wei Ying's hand finds its way to his own cock as he watches.

“Yeah, that’s right, baby. Open yourself up for me.”

Lan Zhan shoots him a heated look as he adds a second finger. He isn’t gentle, and Wei Ying moans at the sight. Lan Zhan pumps his fingers in and out a few times, then slides them out and lubes up the dildo. He rubs the thick head against his hole, then slowly pushes it past the ring of muscle. He pauses, biting his lip. Lan Zhan draws his leg further up and lifts his hips as he works the toy inside himself. He begins to move, pulling the toy out slowly before pushing it back in, hard and deep. Wei Ying feels his own arousal building and slows his hand. It would be too easy to get off on this, watching Lan Zhan fuck himself.

“What are you thinking about, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks.

“Wish it was Wei Ying fucking me.”

Wei Ying puts his hand over Lan Zhan’s, feeling the angle and how Lan Zhan’s body tightens around the toy as he drives it home.

“Does that feel good?”

“Not enough.”

“Let me help you, baby. Can you keep your legs up like this?”

“Mn.”

Lan Zhan whines as Wei Ying gently takes the toy from him and slides it out. He quickly threads the extra rope from the thigh cuff under the wraps at the side of the chest harness and draws Lan Zhan’s leg up until his thigh is pressed flush against his chest.

“Good?”

“Good. Wei Ying—please? Hurry?”

“So needy, Lan Zhan!” But Wei Ying secures the other leg at record speed, then sits back to take in the scene in front of him.

Lan Zhan is a vision out of Wei Ying's hottest fantasies. The sight of his hair spread across the pillows and the red rope holding him open and ready would be enough to send Wei Ying into an erotic frenzy. But it’s Lan Zhan’s face and the look of naked desire there that nearly tips him over the edge. Only Wei Ying gets to see him like this—open and exposed, desperate and begging.

Wei Ying kneels between Lan Zhan’s legs and lubes up his cock.

“What do you say, Lan Zhan? What’s the magic word?”

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan tries to glare at him and utterly fails. “Please…please…!”

“I love hearing you beg, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says as he presses the head of his cock against Lan Zhan’s hole. “You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to be fucked. Made to be mine.”

Lan Zhan moans his name and hitches his hips up, as Wei Ying pushes into him. Wei Ying pauses, fighting for self-control. Every fiber of his being wants to drive forward into the promise of Lan Zhan’s body.

“Please, I need…,” Lan Zhan whines and grabs Wei Ying’s hips, pulling him in deeper and deeper until he’s completely surrounded by Lan Zhan’s heat. Lan Zhan twines his arms around Wei Ying’s neck, dragging him down into the filthiest kiss Wei Ying has ever experienced.

Wei Ying buries his face in Lan Zhan's neck, savoring the sweet slide of their bodies as he pulls back and, canting his hips, thrusts in again. Lan Zhan lets out a string of Mandarin words Wei Ying definitely did not learn in Chinese school, but there's no doubt in his mind about their meaning.

"That's right, baobei, let me hear you. Be loud for me,"

Wei Ying growls in his ear. Lan Zhan chants his name, his voice dark and hoarse. For all his submissive nature, he is anything but passive now, rocking his hips to thrust back against Wei Ying, digging strong fingers into Wei Ying's shoulders, urging him on. It's too good, too much; there's no way Wei Ying is going to last like this. He slows his pace, easing back to make space between their bodies.

"Touch yourself," he says. “I want to see you come.”

Lan Zhan is so far gone that it takes him a moment to process the command, but then he reaches down and takes his straining cock in his hand. Lan Zhan trembles as he strokes himself, his eyes locked on Wei Ying's.

"That's right, so good for me, my sweet boy!"

"Wei Ying! Wei Ying! Please!" Lan Zhan begs.

"Yeah, baby, do it! Give it to me!"

Lan Zhan comes with a cry, face flushed, head thrown back, mouth open, and it's the most gorgeous sight Wei Ying has ever seen. It's so intoxicating that he almost isn't aware of his own orgasm until it crashes over him, spinning him into golden, timeless space, his cries echoing Lan Zhan's.

When Wei Ying comes back to himself, he's spooned around Lan Zhan's back, face nuzzled into his neck. He's sweaty and there's hair in his mouth and he has never felt so happy.

"You good, baby?" he asks, pushing up onto his elbow and brushing Lan Zhan's hair away from his face.

"Mn. Ni ne?"

"So good, Lan Zhan! My God. You…you're so…" Wei Ying gestures helplessly.

Lan Zhan huffs a laugh.

"Hey, let's get you out of this rope, okay? I'm gonna roll you over."

Wei Ying unties Lan Zhan gently, massaging the muscles in his legs and running his fingers along the rope marks that decorate his skin. He removes the chest harness even more carefully, blowing his warm breath over Lan Zhan's tender nipples before padding into the bathroom for a warm, damp washcloth.

Afterwards, as they lie amid the pillows, Lan Zhan traces the outline of the purple lotus tattoo on Wei Ying's chest with a gentle finger. "Wei Ying?" "Mm?" "Did you…want to stay the night?"

Wei Ying looks down at Lan Zhan and sees the telltale crease between his brows. "Is that okay? If you need me to go…"

"No!" Lan Zhan says. "That's not what I meant. I…I want you to stay. If you want to."

"I do want to, baby. I can't think of anything I'd like more than to wake up with you."

Lan Zhan smiles. "Should we get washed up, then? Get ready for sleep?"

"You bet. Let me find my toothbrush. I might need to borrow some pajama bottoms too. If I'm in bed naked with you, there's no way we're gonna sleep."

They manage to haul themselves out of the sea of pillows. Lan Zhan fetches a pair of soft sleep shorts from the dresser, while Wei Ying digs through his bag.

"Shit, shit, shit, where is it?"

"Wei Ying? Did you lose something?"

"My toothbrush. I know it was in here, I saw it earlier, fuck."

Lan Zhan crouches down next to Wei Ying where he's frantically searching through his bag and puts a calming hand on his arm. "Wei Ying, it's all right. I have an extra toothbrush you can use. If you prefer a different kind, there are two drug stores in the next block. We can go in the morning. It's fine."

Wei Ying looks at the hand on his arm and then into Lan Zhan's concerned face. "Yeah, okay." He takes a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, I just…I thought I had it. You're right, it's no big deal. Let's get washed up."

They go into the bathroom, and Wei Ying takes some deep breaths while Lan Zhan retrieves a new toothbrush from under the sink and an extra towel from the linen closet for Wei Ying. He starts pulling his skincare products out of a drawer, arranging them in a tidy line on the counter.

"Damn, no wonder your skin is so perfect. Huaisang is always after me to take better care of my face."

"I can show you, if you like." Lan Zhan pauses, then points to the red ribbon around his neck. "Could you take it off, just while I wash my face?"

Wei Ying smiles. "You probably shouldn't sleep in it anyway. It's not safe."

He unties the bow and coils the ribbon on the counter. "I'll leave it here, and you can put it in your hair tomorrow, yeah?"

They brush their teeth at the twin sinks. Wei Ying's brain has a moment about how right it feels to share space with Lan Zhan like this, doing normal domestic things, boyfriend things. When Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying's toothbrush from him and puts it in the cup with his own, Wei Ying feels that warmth in his chest that he's afraid to name but can't ignore either.

Then Lan Zhan hands him a fuzzy white headband with a kawaii rabbit embroidered on it. "To keep the products out of your hair," he explains. Lan Zhan pumps some peach-scented oil onto his palm and rubs it into Wei Ying's skin, his fingers soft and gentle. He turns the water on and says, "Rinse."

Wei Ying splashes his face, "Gah, cold!"

"Cold water is better for your skin," Lan Zhan tells him, before patting Wei Ying's face dry with a towel. Several mysterious toners, serums, and moisturizers later, Wei Ying's skin feels soft and so does his heart. He can't remember a time when someone pampered him like this.

Lan Zhan repeats the process on his own face, much more quickly. He runs a hand down Wei Ying's arm.

"Would you like some lotion? I have heard that tattoos need extra moisture."

"Lan Zhan!"

"Tops need aftercare, too."

"Okay, now you're definitely spoiling me," Wei Ying protests, but when Lan Zhan smoothes a rich body butter across his chest and down his arms, he lets his eyes flutter shut and leans into the pure pleasure of it. How is he even real?

"If you keep this up, you'll never get rid of me, Lan Zhan," he warns. "I'll just stay and stay until you kick me out."

"I would not kick you out," Lan Zhan says. "Not ever." His voice is low but there's an edge to it. Wei Ying opens his eyes, but Lan Zhan is already tidying away the jars and bottles.

"Aiya, Lan Zhan, you are too good to me! Bed?"

"Mn."

They make their way back to the bedroom, and Lan Zhan turns down the covers and waits while Wei Ying slides under them before joining him and switching off the lights. They lie apart for a moment, then Wei Ying turns on his side and opens his arms. "C'mere, baobei."

Lan Zhan tucks himself into Wei Ying's arms, and Wei Ying presses a kiss onto his forehead.

"Good night, Lan Zhan. Sweet dreams."

"Good night, Wei Ying."

Chapter Text

It’s still dark when Wei Ying wakes. Lan Zhan is curled against his side, one arm thrown over him, his breath slow and even. Gently, Wei Ying inches out from under him and pads into the bathroom to pee. He’s not entirely sure he didn't dream the last twelve hours, until he’s washing his hands and catches a glimpse of his toothbrush in the cup next to Lan Zhan’s. If this is a dream, he doesn't ever want to wake up.

When he slips back under the covers, Lan Zhan rolls over sleepily. “Wei Ying? Ni zai nali?”

Wei Ying slides up against Lan Zhan’s back, holding him close, and presses kisses onto his neck and shoulder. “I’m right here. Sleep, baobei.”

When Wei Ying next wakes, morning light floods the room. He stretches in the soft sheets and shamelessly buries his face in Lan Zhan’s pillow, reveling in the scent of sandalwood and sex. After a few minutes, Wei Ying’s brain wakes up enough to note that Lan Zhan’s pillow being available for sexy snuggling means that Lan Zhan is not currently using said pillow which means that he is not in the bed. His brain then takes the opportunity to panic until Wei Ying realizes that it’s highly unlikely that Lan Zhan would flee his own apartment in disgust after finding Wei Ying in his bed, where Lan Zhan explicitly invited him to stay and where he cuddled him all night. Still, his brain warns him not to get too comfortable. Lan Zhan likes him, sure, and they definitely had sex—really, really good sex, at least as far as Wei Ying’s concerned—but what if, after the yummy brain chemicals wear off, Lan Zhan has second thoughts?

Wei Ying tells his stupid brain that he is not in the mood for a morning-after mental crisis. Fuck Dom drop. Besides, Lan Zhan probably still gets up at some ungodly hour to like, meditate, or something. Wei Ying rolls out of bed, digs through his bag, and pulls out one of his prized thrift store finds, a T-shirt with a picture of Tinkerbell surrounded by the words Messy Bun Getting Things Done. Huaisang’s jeans are a lost cause, so Wei Ying figures he’ll have to rock the sleep shorts Lan Zhan loaned him until he can do laundry or borrow a pair of real pants.

He wanders down the hall and out to the living room. Lan Zhan has apparently not run screaming, as the yoga mat is unrolled and the TV is tuned to a New Age music channel with the volume low. Lan Zhan himself is over in the kitchen, chopping something. He’s wearing a soft, cropped hoodie and a pair of thin white cotton yoga pants that hang enticingly low on his hips. Wei Ying is starting to suspect that Lan Zhan doesn’t own pants that don’t show off the dimples at the base of his spine.

“Morning, gorgeous!” 

“Wei Ying, good morning,” Lan Zhan greets him, his face flushing a very attractive shade of pink at the sound of Wei Ying’s voice. “You’re up. Did you sleep well?”

Wei Ying’s heart drops back down from his throat into his chest where it belongs. He joins Lan Zhan in the kitchen and wraps his arms around him from behind, shamelessly running his hands under the hoodie to get access to the bare skin underneath.

“Well! And you? I didn’t snore? Flail too much?”

Lan Zhan presses back against him. “You were very well-behaved. Are you hungry?”

“Always,” Wei Ying says, rolling his hips against Lan Zhan's ass.

“For breakfast.”

“That too. But what I need first is caffeine.” Wei Ying looks around and to his surprise, his eyes light on an espresso machine. “You have a De’Longhi? Nice! But you don’t drink coffee, do you?”

“No, it was a gift from my brother and Nie Mingjue.”

Wei Ying laughs. “I am very familiar with Da-ge’s caffeine habit and his heart condition. So your brother managed to get him off the energy drinks?”

“He tried, but I suspect Mingjue still sneaks them at work,” Lan Zhan says. “I have not learned how to use the machine, but there are beans in the cupboard.”

“Luckily, you have a professional barista right here. Do you want me to show you how it works?"

Lan Zhan stops chopping scallions and listens attentively as Wei Ying fires up the machine and walks him through the process of pulling a doppio. Wei Ying downs the shot with relish and then supervises as Lan Zhan repeats the steps.

“You are going to drink that one too?” Lan Zhan asks, looking mildly worried.

“Sure. A quad is, like, normal for me? It helps me focus. Remember in school how I always brought one of those huge bodega coffees to first period? Poor man’s ADHD meds.”

“Mn. Take care of your health, though.”

“Don’t worry! Look, I’m even going to eat real food for breakfast. What are you cooking?” Wei Ying asks, as Lan Zhan returns to the cutting board.

“Just porridge,” Lan Zhan says, raising his chin toward the the rice cooker. “With a few toppings.”

Wei Ying nods, and Lan Zhan goes back to chopping the scallions as Wei Ying leans against the counter, sipping his espresso at a slightly less manic rate. Lan Zhan’s movements are soothingly practiced and, well, normal. Wei Ying mostly lives on coffee, takeout, and snacks; he can’t remember the last time he cooked a real breakfast. He really could get used to this: waking up in Lan Zhan’s bed, eating breakfast together, the day stretching out in front of them, full of promise.

“Hey, whatcha got going on today, Lan Zhan?”

“I have a student at nine…”

“Oh, shit, what time is it? Do you need me to clear out?”

“It is twenty past eight," Lan Zhan says, checking the clock on the stove. "And, no, you don’t have to leave.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be in the way.”

Lan Zhan looks down and his voice is quiet. “I understand if you need to go, but you are welcome to stay as long as you like.” He pauses. “I would like to spend the day with you, if you are free.”

Wei Ying smiles. “In that case, I’m all yours! As long as I won’t…distract you too much.” Wei Ying winks at him.

Lan Zhan’s side-eye game is on point, but Wei Ying reads the amusement behind it. “I cannot promise that, but please note that my student is five years old.”

“”I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Lan Zhan scoops a generous serving of congee into a bowl and cracks an egg over it before handing the bowl to Wei Ying along with a spoon. In addition to the scallions, there’s vegan pork floss—which is a thing that exists, apparently—cilantro, white pepper, and even a jar of chili crisp. Since when does Lan Zhan eat chili crisp?

They make quick work of breakfast, then Wei Ying loads the dishes into the dishwasher in what he hopes is the correct way—he’s pretty sure there is an approved Lan method for loading the dishwasher—while Lan Zhan packs the leftovers into containers and puts them in the refrigerator.

“Do you need the bathroom?” Lan Zhan asks. “I should shower.”

“No, but I do need a kiss.”

Wei Ying takes Lan Zhan in his arms and kisses him softly.

“Spicy,” Lan Zhan mutters.

Wei Ying chuckles. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

They make out, slow and sweet. Wei Ying is mentally calculating how long a shower and a blow job will take when Lan Zhan pulls away with a frustrated huff.

“Distracting.”

“Take responsibility for your actions, Lan Zhan. If you want me to stop distracting you, you need to stop wearing sexy pants. Do you even own unsexy pants?”

“Yoga pants are sexy?”

“Oh, baby, you have no idea,” Wei Ying says, squeezing Lan Zhan’s ass. “Speaking of pants, can I borrow some? For your student’s sake?”

Lan Zhan finds Wei Ying a pair of sweatpants, which somehow leads to more making out. Finally, Wei Ying sends Lan Zhan off to shower and settles on the couch to deal with his messages. Huaisang apparently texted him at 3 a.m.

Sangsang

so…am I doing ur makeup or not

Wei Ying

fu for conspiring against me but i forgive u

Sex too bomb holy shit 🥵

Sangsang

👀deets??

Wei Ying

omg u literally watched him blow me yesterday u perv stop

Sangsang

congrats & yw

u need to give me lead time for ur wedding outfits 😘

Lan Zhan does emerge in something other than sexy yoga pants, although Wei Ying’s brain would like the record to show that even the most professorial pair of Dockers cannot make Lan Zhan’s ass less tempting. In a mostly successful attempt to hide the hickeys Wei Ying left, Lan Zhan is wearing a baby blue turtleneck with what appears to be a women’s white silk blouse over top. His hair is freshly braided and once again tied with Wei Ying’s red ribbon. He somehow manages to look both staid and very, very gay. Wei Ying is charmed.

At the dot of nine, there is a knock at the door.

“Do you need me to…?” Wei Ying points down the hall toward the bedroom.

“No need.” 

Wei Ying settles back onto the couch, trying to look like it’s perfectly normal for him to be crashing a kindergartner’s piano lesson.

Lan Zhan opens the door, and a little boy with bright eyes and an epic bowl cut bounces into the room, followed by a tiny elderly woman who looks at Wei Ying, then at Lan Zhan, back at Wei Ying, and smiles broadly. She makes sure the boy hangs up his coat and puts his shoes tidily in the rack before calling "Work hard!” in Mandarin and hustling out the door again.

The little boy is looking curiously at Wei Ying, so Lan Zhan introduces him. “Wei Ying, this is Wen Yuan. A-Yuan, this is Wei Ying. You may speak to him in English or Mandarin.”

“Wei-laoshi, zao an!”

“Good morning to you too, A-Yuan.”

Lan Zhan gets A-Yuan settled on the piano bench, with a footrest to keep his little legs from swinging. Wei Ying alternates between scrolling on his phone and surreptitiously watching the lesson. As he expected, Lan Zhan is an exacting but kind teacher. A-Yuan obviously adores him and the piano, smiling his way through the tedium of scales, arpeggios, and Hanon exercises. At one point, Wei Ying looks up and sees Lan Zhan leaning over to point to a tricky passage in the piece they’re working on. His braid slips over his shoulder as he settles his hands on the keys to demonstrate the fingering, little A-Yuan tucked between his arms. For a brief moment, Wei Ying’s brain shows him Lan Zhan taking a small boy for rides on the Bryant Park carousel, accompanying him to story hour at the library, and humming lullabies while putting him down for a nap.

God, Wei Ying loves him. There’s no point in pretending otherwise since Wei Ying’s brain has apparently decided to go all U-Haul lesbian on him.

Next comes ear training, something Wei Ying remembers all too well from the elder Lan-laoshi’s classes. First Lan Zhan plays a note and asks A-Yuan to sing it back to him. Then he sings the same pitches and asks A-Yuan to find them on the piano. This proves more difficult, of course, but A-Yuan takes it all in stride, giggling when he makes a mistake. Finally, to the boy’s consternation, Lan Zhan sings a tone between E and F.

“That is not a real note!” he exclaims.

“It is. I just sang it, and you heard it with your own ears.”

“But…” A-Yuan frowns at the keyboard.

“It is true that you cannot play that note on the piano—unless you tune the piano differently. But that does not mean that the note does not exist. It is a microtone. They are very common in non-Western music and can be played easily on all kinds of string and wind instruments. Here, let me show you.”

Clever, Wei Ying thinks. I didn’t learn about microtones until I was in high school.

Lan Zhan steps over to a bookcase and removes a slim box from the top shelf. Wei Ying’s jaw drops when Lan Zhan opens the box and takes out a dizi.

“Wei Ying, will you show A-Yuan how to play microtones?”

“Me? But I haven’t played in years! I don’t even know if I still can!”

“Of course you can. Your lips still work, don’t they?” Lan Zhan flutters his eyelashes at him as Wei Ying splutters.

Wei Ying is not one to back down from a challenge, and he doesn’t want to embarrass Lan Zhan in front of his student, so he stands and takes the flute. It’s clearly an old and valuable instrument, exactly the sort of thing the Lans would have just lying around on a random shelf. Wei Ying’s mouth is suddenly dry, but he swallows, puts the flute to his lips, and blows. 

At first the sound is weak, but the instrument is beautifully crafted and after a few moments his muscle memory takes over and he runs up and down some scales with ease.

“You wanted something between E and F, right?”

“Mn.”

He plays an E and then very slightly overblows, pushing the sound up. Then he plays an F and underblows, bending the sound down. 

A-Yuan stares in rapture. “Is that like what the other Lan-laoshi played at school?”

“They are both Chinese flutes,” Lan Zhan explains. “My brother plays a vertical flute called the xiao. You remember that it is held like this.” Lan Zhan holds his fingers out in front of his chest to demonstrate. “What Wei Ying is playing is a transverse flute called a dizi. Wei Ying, would you be willing to play something for A-Yuan?”

Wei Ying can’t say no, not to Lan Zhan and not to this charming child who acts as if his teacher has hung the moon and stars. (Wei Ying can’t blame A-Yuan, seeing as how he feels the same way about Lan Zhan.) So he smiles, shaking his head fondly, and because yes, his lips work very well, thank you , and two can play that game, he begins what he will now always think of as their song, the one they tied to the day before. Lan Zhan smiles as he recognizes the piece, and after a few bars, he gently lifts A-Yuan off the piano bench, sits down, and begins to play. Wei Ying lingers over the bends and scoops so the boy can hear how the sound slides between notes. At the same time, he revels in the way Lan Zhan’s accompaniment adds depth and dimension to the melody, making it richer and somehow more complete.

After they finish, A-Yuan bursts into applause. He claps so hard that they barely hear the knock that heralds Granny Wen’s return. Wei Ying opens the door for her and listens while A-Yuan gets his coat and shoes on and babbles to her about microtones and how Wei-laoshi plays the dizi. Granny pats his head and goes over to the piano, where Lan Zhan is gathering A-Yuan's music into his folder for him. She hands him a pink bakery box tied with string and leans in to whisper to him. Wei Ying can’t hear what she says, but Lan Zhan blushes and answers softly. Granny pats his cheek and grins, then collects the folder and A-Yuan. As they leave, she turns to Wei Ying. “See you next week,” she says and winks broadly at him before steering A-Yuan out the door.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, trying to sound stern but not entirely succeeding, “first of all, you are a menace. I had literally not touched a flute for like six years. And what was all that? What did she say to you?”

Lan Zhan looks down, still blushing. “She asked if you are my…my nanpengyou.”

“Your boyfriend? She asked that? And what did you tell her?” It’s all so funny, so why is Wei Ying’s heart suddenly pounding?

“I said that I hoped so,” Lan Zhan says quietly.

“You hope so!” Wei Ying steps closer and tips Lan Zhan's chin up with his finger. He tries to keep his voice light, but somehow, it comes out a little rough. “Hey. Didn’t I say I don’t do casual? What else would I be?”

Lan Zhan meets his eyes then looks away again. “We had not been specific about terms. I wasn’t sure if you just wanted to be tying partners or friends with benefits or…something else.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Do you really still not get it? I’m crazy about you! Not just this”—Wei Ying runs his hands down Lan Zhan’s arms—“but all of you. Fuck yeah, I want to be your boyfriend! Unless…”—he pauses— “you like a different word better. Partners? Comrades? Accomplices?”

When Lan Zhan meets Wei Ying's gaze, his eyes are warm. "I like boyfriends . It’s…cozy.”

"Boyfriends it is! But you’ve got to understand, I’m gonna to be all up in your business. I’m gonna come over to your place and leave my dirty socks on the floor. I’m gonna text you all the time when I’m not here, and I’m gonna worry if you don’t text back.”

“Wei Ying, I will always text back.”

“I’m gonna spoil you rotten. I’m going to brag about my beautiful boyfriend and how smart and talented he is. Wait, wait, come here.” 

Wei Ying pulls Lan Zhan toward the window and rearranges him until the light is hitting his face just right to bring out the gold in his eyes. Then he thumbs open his phone, puts his arm around Lan Zhan's waist and takes a selfie of them. With a few clicks, he posts it to his Instagram then sets it as his lock screen image for good measure.

“There, now we’re official.”

“Send it to me?” Lan Zhan asks.

Wei Ying texts Lan Zhan the photo and then kisses him because Lan Zhan is his boyfriend (!!!) and he can do that.

“What’s in the box?” Wei Ying asks, pointing at the pink bakery box that’s still sitting on the piano.

“Pastries. Wen Popo brings them every week. The lessons are free. It’s her way of saying thank you.”

“Free?”

“Mn.”

They settle on the couch, and Lan Zhan tells Wei Ying about A-Yuan. Lan Zhan and his brother offer musical programs in the schools, and the previous spring they had done a short presentation on traditional Chinese instruments—little more than a show-and-tell, really, Lan Zhan says modestly—for A-Yuan’s preschool class. While the students were pretty well-behaved for such young children, A-Yuan had been spellbound. After the performance, the students were invited to come up and talk to the brothers. Most of them wandered off to play, but A-Yuan came over and asked all kinds of questions about the instruments and the music they’d played. 

“Brother asked him which was his favorite piece, and he sang the melody back perfectly after one hearing,” Lan Zhan says.

“Was it a famous tune? Something he’d heard at home?”

“”No, that’s just it. He couldn’t have known it. It was one of my compositions.”

“Wow! A prodigy!”

“Mn. Most children can become competent musicians if they’re given the right exposure and training. But A-Yuan has an exceptionally good ear. Gusu Arts has a program that provides free music and art education for low-income Chinese and Chinese-American students. Brother got in touch with the family and convinced them to let A-Yuan begin piano lessons with me. I’ve been teaching him for six months.”

“Do they have a piano?”

“They do not, unfortunately. A-Yuan lives with Wen Popo, one of her sons, I think, and some adult cousins. I'm not sure of the exact relationships, but A-Yuan's parents were killed in an accident in China when he was an infant, so the family over here took him in. The music teacher at his school lets him practice every day during recess, and we found a church in his neighborhood where he could play during the summer. Brother intends to get him an electric keyboard so he can practice at home with headphones. But of course we need to handle it carefully. The family would not accept such an expensive gift outright.”

“Yeah, that’s a lot of pastries.”

“It is. I am sure Brother will find a way. He is very good at that sort of thing.”

“And you are very good at teaching. A-Yuan clearly adores you.”

“He is a sweet boy and a hard worker. I enjoy our lessons very much. I wish…” Lan Zhan looks off into the distance, his fingers rubbing his pant leg.

“What do you wish, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan sighs. “I wish I could just teach children like A-Yuan. He has a neighbor, a little boy called Jingyi, who wants to take lessons, too. But I worry that if I take on more students, I won’t have time for my classes and assignments, let alone my own compositions.”

“So you still compose your own stuff? Not just for school?”

“When I have time, yes.”

“Do you have recordings? Can I hear something?”

“Mn. Do you have Bandcamp?” Wei Ying pulls up the app on his phone and hands it over to Lan Zhan. The track he chooses is an instrumental gufeng piece: erhu and xiao over gentle synth orchestration with nature sounds mixed in.

Wei Ying is stunned. “Lan Zhan, this is incredible! If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was the soundtrack from a C-drama! Forgive me, but what the hell are you doing in graduate school? Between this and teaching kids, you already have a career!”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Uncle would be furious if I dropped out.”

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if it’s awkward.”

Lan Zhan nods.

“Are you dependent on your uncle? For money, I mean?”

“I am not. Brother and I have money from our parents’ estates. Uncle held it in trust for us until we turned 21, but now we each handle our own finances. Or rather, a CPA does. Gusu Arts has its own funding, too, of course.”

“So you can afford this apartment?”

“I own it. Uncle bought it when we moved to New York, and he signed it over to me when he went back to China. I can easily afford the condo fees and property taxes."

Wei Ying had always known that the Lans were comfortable, but they were modest about it, not ostentatious like his sister’s in-laws. (Truth be told, the Jiangs aren’t hurting either; Uncle Fengmian owns the apartment Wei Ying shares with Jiang Cheng.) But he hadn’t quite realized that Lan Zhan was owning-a-midtown-condo-outright-at-age-24 wealthy.

“I know your uncle’s opinion matters to you,” Wei Ying says gently. “But it’s your life. Your mental health matters. Your happiness matters. Seriously, Lan Zhan, if you’re not enjoying Columbia and you don’t really need the degree to do what you want to do professionally, just leave. Hell, technically I’m a high school drop out, but I’m happy, you know?”

Lan Zhan looks down at his lap. “My therapist says the same. So does Brother. He wants me to work for Gusu Arts, to expand the youth programs.”

“Would you enjoy that?”

“I think I would,” Lan Zhan says. “I have some ideas. Summer camps in China for second- and third-generation teens, where they could study traditional arts with professionals and also take language classes for heritage speakers. Uncle has many contacts with musicians in Shanghai, and I am still in touch with some of my old ballet teachers in Suzhou. Perhaps a Chinese children’s orchestra here in New York. We could also expand our school programs beyond Manhattan into Brooklyn and Queens.”

“Then you can add your boyfriend to the list of people who think you should follow your bliss,” Wei Ying says, taking Lan Zhan’s hand. “You deserve to be happy, baobei.”

“Wei Ying…thank you. I will consider it. Seriously.”

Lan Zhan’s phone rings.

“Ah, it’s Brother. I should get this.”

“Sure, of course.”

Wei Ying makes a pit stop in the bathroom while Lan Zhan talks with his brother. When he returns, Lan Zhan looks at him expectantly.

“Brother and Mingjue are hosting a dinner tonight. We get together every other Saturday. Huaisang will be there, too. Brother said to bring you, if you are available.”

“Yeah? Is that okay? I don’t want to intrude if it’s, like, a family thing.” 

“You would not be intruding, Wei Ying. You are my boyfriend. And Brother was quite insistent that I bring you.”

Wei Ying has seen Lan Huan’s particular brand of polite insistence in action enough times to know what that means.

“Cool, yeah, what time?”

“Six.”

“Where do they live?”

“The Financial District. Pine Street.”

“So if we have to leave at…help me out here, I suck at time management.”

“We should give ourselves at least forty-five minutes. We should also pick up something to bring along, though, so an hour would be better.”

“What time is it now?”

“Almost eleven.”

“So that gives us six hours. Tell me, Lan Zhan, what should we do with ourselves until then?"

*

A couple of hours later, after Wei Ying has become much more familiar with the contents of Lan Zhan's toy drawer, his stomach growls loudly enough that Lan Zhan insists they get up for pastries. Wei Ying has officially run out of clean clothes and Lan Zhan's towel supply is rapidly dwindling, so they throw in a load of laundry before wandering back to the bedroom. This results in the happy discovery that Lan Zhan is very much vers for Wei Ying, and after that they need a nap and a shower, which is fun but not very efficient on the soaping and hair-washing front. Suddenly the sun is slanting in golden lines across the floor and they need to leave in fifteen minutes and the laundry never made it into the dryer, so Lan Zhan ends up lending Wei Ying a pair of joggers, a handknit sweater, and a scarf to cover the technicolor hickeys he's left on Wei Ying's neck. All in all, Wei Ying considers it a very successful Saturday afternoon. 10/10, would recommend.

They decide to take the subway downtown to Essex Market to pick up their contribution to dinner. They hold hands the whole way until, in the interest of time, Wei Ying heads downstairs to the fancy deli to get prosciutto for the meat-eaters while Lan Zhan surveys the choices at the vegan cheese shop on the main floor. He's still discussing options when Wei Ying comes up behind him, wraps his arms around his waist, and tucks his chin over his shoulder. The cheesemaker, a short woman with purple hair, smiles at them. 

Then it's back on the subway and a short walk from the Broad Street station to Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue's building. 

Lan Zhan knocks on the door. Huaisang answers, dressed in a Boy-George-esque caftan and…a hat? A fascinator? Wei Ying isn’t sure, but it involves feathers and lace and sequins. They greet Wei Ying and Lan Zhan with an eyebrow wiggle and a knowing grin. Lan Zhan blushes but holds Wei Ying's hand as he leads him into the apartment. It's more modern than Lan Zhan's, with lots of chrome and leather and track lighting, but it somehow manages to be inviting. It's also full of delicious smells, and soft jazz plays in the background.

Lan Huan emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. “Ah, didi! You’re here!” He smiles at Wei Ying, who waves nervously.

“Ge, you remember Wei Ying, my boyfriend?” Lan Zhan says, as Wei Ying’s stomach does a flip. Will he ever get used to hearing Lan Zhan call him my boyfriend?

Lan Huan’s eyebrows shoot up, but recovers quickly and says, “How could I forget Wei Ying! Welcome, please make yourself at home. Mingjue is grilling, which I gather requires split-second timing, but he’ll be out in a minute. Can I take anything?”

Wei Ying hands over their contributions to the meal, and Lan Zhan carefully explains the different cheeses he’s chosen.

“That sounds wonderful, A-Zhan! I’ll get some crackers.” He bustles back into the kitchen, and Wei Ying and Lan Zhan join Nie Huaisang in the lounge area. 

*

The meal is delightful—perfectly grilled cumin beef and mala octopus skewers for the meat eaters and mock roast duck for the Lans, along with an array of vegetable dishes and golden fried rice. Wei Ying observes that he’s probably eaten better in the last twenty-four hours than in all his twenty-four years.

“Wei Ying, could you help me in the kitchen for a minute?” Lan Huan asks, pushing back from the table.

“Uh, sure, of course!” Wei Ying jumps up and gathers a stack of plates. He shoots a quick glance at Lan Zhan, but Nie Huaisang has him engaged in conversation. Lan Zhan looks relaxed enough for the time being, so Wei Ying follows Lan Huan into the kitchen.

“Will you rinse while I load the dishwasher?”

Wei Ying grabs the scrub brush Lan Huan offers him. They work quietly for a minute, the only sounds the gentle rush of the water and the clink of plates as Lan Huan loads them neatly in the machine. (There apparently really is an official Lan dishwasher-loading method.)

“It’s nice to see that you and A-Zhan have reconnected,” Lan Huan begins, his eyes flicking to Wei Ying’s neck where the borrowed scarf has slipped down, exposing the deep purple mark Lan Zhan left there this afternoon.

Wei Ying glances over at him. On the few occasions they had seen each other before the accident, Lan Huan had always been unfailingly polite, but Wei Ying was always left feeling a bit like a specimen under a microscope. Nothing got past Lan Huan, especially when it came to his didi. When Lan Zhan was in the hospital after the accident, Lan Huan had come back from college in Boston, watching over his brother while Wei Ying slept and vice versa. After that, Wei Ying felt that maybe Lan Huan had warmed to him a bit, but then…

“Yeah,” Wei Ying smiles. “I almost fell over when I saw him, and I still need to have words with Huaisang, but…I’m glad. Really glad. I missed him.”

“And he missed you. Although ‘missed’ is rather an understatement.”

Wei Ying swallows. He knew this was coming—it had to—but it doesn’t make the process any more pleasant.

Lan Huan continues. “Wei Ying, I know that my brother means something to you. Or he did once. Perhaps again, now. I don’t know how much he has told you about our family or what he’s been through since you…left.”

“He told me about his autism diagnosis, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s part of it, certainly.”

Lan Huan stops loading the dishes and turns to him. “Wei Ying, have you told Lan Zhan why you disappeared? Why you didn’t call afterwards?”

Wei Ying pauses. “I mean, not in detail? He obviously knows about the fight. Your uncle was there. He was the one who reported it, right? And voted to get me kicked out of school.”

Lan Huan raises an eyebrow. “You might be surprised to learn that Uncle argued against your expulsion. Quite vehemently, in fact. He said that you were defending your sister’s honor and that he would have done the same in your place, zero tolerance policy be damned.”

Wei Ying’s jaw drops. “He…did that? But he hated me!”

Lan Huan levels his gaze at Wei Ying. “He did do that, and he did not hate you. It is true that he did not entirely approve of you and worried you were a bad influence on A-Zhan, but he respected your talent nonetheless. After the accident, he came to see that you were a true friend to A-Zhan. He even asked me if you two were secretly dating.”

Given all that Wei Ying’s brain has had to wrap itself around, this revelation should not be quite as shocking as it is, but for a moment, all Wei Ying can do is blink.

“Dating? He…even knows about that?”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Huan gives him a small, exasperated smile. “Uncle may be old-fashioned, but he is not blind. He is fully aware that gay men exist, having raised two of them. I don’t think he had any illusions about A-Zhan’s orientation, although I gather mine came as a bit of a shock. He’s adjusting. His biggest worry is how and when we’re going to give him grandchildren.”

“Wow. Okay. Give me a minute. This is kind of a lot.”

“I imagine it is. Take all the time you need.”

Wei Ying turns and leans back against the counter. “So...he thought we were dating? Did anyone else?”

“Almost everyone, I imagine. Except the two of you, apparently.”

“Fuck. Oh, sorry, sorry.”

“No need to apologize. To me, at least. But I think you owe A-Zhan an explanation. When you disappeared, he didn’t just miss you. He mourned you for dead. Did you know he called every hospital in Manhattan? And the morgue?”

“What? Oh, God.” All the breath leaves Wei Ying’s lungs. “It wasn’t like that.”

“I know that now. Mingjue told me some of what happened. But I haven’t shared it with A-Zhan. It’s your story to tell, Wei Ying. If you are serious about my brother, then you need to have that conversation soon. 

“I don’t know how much A-Zhan has told you about our childhood. I imagine very little; I’m not sure how much he even remembers. Our father was…not well and abandoned us very soon after A-Zhan’s birth. He died when A-Zhan was three. Mother became sick when he was five and died when he was six. After she passed, A-Zhan didn’t speak a word to anyone for over a year. Uncle tried everything to get through to him. The only thing that seemed to ease his grief was dance. Our mother was a dancer, you see.”

Wei Ying feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. “So when I left…,” he whispers.

Lan Huan looks at him steadily. “Wei Ying, you were—you are—the first and only person outside the family whose affection A-Zhan could accept. I know he didn’t always show his feelings in ways you could understand, but believe me, to those of us close to him, it was unmistakable.

“He needs to know why you left, yes, but even more, he needs to know why you didn’t get in contact afterwards. We could have helped you, Wei Ying. You didn’t have to go through all that on your own. Thank God Huaisang found you. I can’t imagine living on the streets of Manhattan at any age, let alone as a teenager. I respect your strength and your resourcefulness, but…”

“But I fucked up. I fucked him up, and I’ve got to make it right.”

Lan Huan nods. “I know this is very new for both of you, but I need you to think very carefully. Can you give my brother what he needs? Not just physically, but emotionally? Because if you can’t, if this isn’t serious for you, do not lead him on. I will not have you, or anyone, put him through that kind of pain again. Do you understand?”

Wei Ying looks up, blinking away tears, and nods. 

He’s suddenly aware that Nie Mingjue has come into the kitchen, his bulk making the space seem small and airless.

“So, Wei Ying, did A-Huan give you the shovel talk you deserve?”

Wei Ying laughs, although his chest is still tight. “Oh, definitely.”

“Good,” Mingjue says. “Because if A-Zhan is unhappy, A-Huan is unhappy. And if A-Huan is unhappy, I’m unhappy, you get me?”

“Heard,” Wei Ying says. “If Da-ge ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Mingjue says, clapping him on the shoulder affectionately and nearly knocking him over. “Now go rescue your boyfriend. Huaisang is talking his ear off to make sure he didn’t come looking for you and interrupt A-Huan’s little speech.

“Oh, and Wei Ying?” Mingjue adds, moving to Lan Huan’s side and wrapping his arm around the man’s waist. “One more thing. If you plan to take A-Zhan to any play parties in the city, gimme a heads-up so we don’t end up at the same event? Don't want things to get awkward.”

Wei Ying is having a hard time imagining anything more awkward than this conversation, but he says, “Yeah! Definitely! I’ll text you. If that happens.”

Wei Ying escapes the kitchen as fast as he can without actually breaking into a run (because holy shit and what the fuck?) and takes a deep breath before returning to the dining room where Huaisang is holding forth about South American finches. When they see Wei Ying enter, they raise a knowing eyebrow and say, “Ugh, I’ve been monologuing again, haven’t I, Lan Zhan? You can always tell me to shut up, you know! Right, Yingying?”

Wei Ying laughs. “Totally.” He moves to stand behind Lan Zhan’s chair and gently massages the tension out of his boyfriend’s shoulders, enjoying the sensation of Lan Zhan melting into his touch.

Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue come back into the dining room, and as if on cue, Huaisang stands. “Well, that was lovely! Thank you both for your hospitality! Same time in two weeks? My place or Lan Zhan’s?”

“I think you’re up next,” Lan Huan says. “I hope you’ll join us as well, Wei Ying. Family dinners are a tradition we’ve come to enjoy.”

Lan Zhan looks up at his brother. Lan Huan’s smile is genuine. Lan Zhan stands, and his brother gives him a hug. Then he turns to Wei Ying, opens his arms, and Wei Ying is drawn into the kind of brotherly embrace he’s never shared with Jiang Cheng, what with all the wrestling and noogies. “I’m glad you came,” Lan Huan says. “Both of you.”

Chapter Text

Lan Zhan calls them a ride, and they hold hands across the back seat. Wei Ying savors the connection, but he's a bit wrung out. His conversation with Lan Huan is echoing in his head, but he can’t figure out how to broach the subject with Lan Zhan. Wei Ying keeps chewing on his lip and shooting glances over at his boyfriend (his boyfriend!!!). Lan Zhan is quiet, but Wei Ying knows that’s normal. Social gatherings can be a lot for him, even if it's just family.

He and Lan Zhan have also spent the last thirty-six hours together, and that, too, is probably a lot, but when he thinks about packing up his things and going back to his empty apartment alone, Wei Ying crumples inside. Is this just New Relationship Energy, or has he really been that lonely?

Wei Ying’s brain continues to spiral after they arrive back at Lan Zhan’s building and make their way upstairs. He notices Lan Zhan giving him increasingly worried looks, and he forces himself to smile, but it feels brittle even to him, and he knows it won’t fool Lan Zhan for an instant.

Once they’re inside and out of shoes and coats, Lan Zhan takes his hand and leads him to the couch.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan is looking at him with concern. “Is everything okay? Was A-Huan difficult?”

“No, no, not at all.”

Lan Zhan raises an incredulous eyebrow, and Wei Ying laughs.

“Yeah, okay! I wouldn’t say difficult, just…big brother-ish. I assured him my intentions toward you were honorable.”

Lan Zhan looks relieved, but the little telltale crease is still between his eyebrows. “Wei Ying, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” Wei Ying takes a shaky breath and braces himself. This is when Lan Zhan throws him out, right? When he tells him he needs to go home because Lan Zhan has a life and Wei Ying can’t actually take up residence in his beautiful midtown penthouse apartment and pretend he’s part of the family when…when…

Lan Zhan is looking down, as if he’s composing his thoughts. Wei Ying’s chest contracts into a cold ball of fear.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan begins and then stops again. He takes a deep breath. “Wei Ying…” The words come out in a flood now, with an urgency Wei Ying should have expected but that shocks him nonetheless.

“Why…after…why didn’t you call? I could have helped you. You could have stayed here, with us. With me. You didn’t have to be alone. I missed you so much and I couldn’t find you anywhere, and…”

Lan Zhan is shaking, and Wei Ying can’t bring himself to touch him. He’s not worthy and he’s fucked up and Lan Zhan has just realized how impossible this all is because Wei Ying is not to be trusted.

“Wei Ying, please. Talk to me?” Lan Zhan reaches out and puts a tentative hand on Wei Ying’s wrist. “Please tell me what happened?”

Wei Ying exhales. He’s been holding his breath, he realizes, fear bearing down on his chest like a weight. He risks a glance at Lan Zhan, and sees—concern, yes, and fear, but also something else. Something he barely recognizes but that gives him the tiniest sliver of hope. He has to try. He promised Lan Huan, but more importantly, he owes this to Lan Zhan. To himself.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he says, turning Lan Zhan’s hand over and lacing their fingers together, the connection giving him strength. “The short answer is that your boyfriend is an idiot. The long answer is…long and kinda rough. Are you good with that right now? It might get emotional.”

Lan Zhan nods and squeezes Wei Ying’s hand. “I am ready,” he says. Something in his presence steadies Wei Ying. He can do this. They can do this.

Wei Ying takes a deep breath. “So…I was going to meet you at the library that day, yeah? I was coming out of the music building, and the fucking peacock was there with his rich-ass friends, talking shit about Jiejie. I got all up in his face about it—he was saying the worst stuff, Lan Zhan, it was awful—and anyway, I hit him because he fucking deserved it. Your uncle came running out of the building because of the noise, and he saw me hit him. And then one of the peacock’s friends called the cops, and the Jins threatened to bring assault charges, and…”

“A-Ying. Breathe. I am here.”

Wei Ying takes a deep breath. He’s shaking and his heart is pounding just thinking about it, but Lan Zhan hasn’t thrown him out and he’s still holding his hand so the world can’t be all bad, right?

“Okay. Where was I? Yeah, the Jins. I was eighteen, so I would have been charged as an adult, right? Well, they decided to drop the charges, but Auntie Ziyuan said I’d ruined the family’s reputation and that Jiejie would never get married now and it was all my fault. And that…”

Wei Ying is definitely crying now.

Lan Zhan opens his arms, and Wei Ying sinks into him, pressing his face into his neck.

“Fuck, baby, I’m getting snot all over your sweater.”

“It’s nothing. Can you keep going?”

Wei Ying nods. The only way out is through.

“She said that I was trash, and adopting me was a mistake, and I would destroy anyone who got close to me. She said that…that I was going to destroy you too. That I was nothing but a disgrace and a pervert and that I’d ruin your reputation and your career and your whole fucking future, Lan Zhan. And that after I’d fucked up so badly, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me anyway.”

Wei Ying feels Lan Zhan stiffen, then draw a slow, stuttering breath. When he finally speaks, the fury in his voice is barely controlled.

“She could not have been more wrong. I will always want you in my life. There is nothing you could do that would make me stop caring about you, my love.”

My love. Wei Ying buries his face in Lan Zhan’s neck. Lan Zhan holds him, rocking back and forth, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

Wei Ying doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but eventually, he takes a deep breath and leans back to look at Lan Zhan. He’s less flushed now, less angry, but he’s obviously still shaken.

“Okay, that’s the worst of it, I guess. Well, the homeless part wasn’t a lot of fun, but it actually kind of fucked me up less than you’d think? Auntie took my phone, so I only had the clothes I was wearing and a couple of bucks in cash. I walked around for a while and when it got dark, I sat in an all-night diner and drank some coffee and tried to figure out what to do.

“Eventually I ended up in Chinatown, by that Buddhist temple on Canal Street, you know the one? The nuns found me and gave me some food. There was this guy, Mr. Chen, who owns the grocery store around the corner from the temple, and he would donate food to them, stuff close to dates, so it wouldn’t go to waste. I guess the nuns talked to him, so he said I could come work at the store, stocking shelves, mopping the floor, that kind of thing. He let me sleep in the back room and got me some clothes and a toothbrush.

“A toothbrush,” Lan Zhan repeats. “You didn’t even have a toothbrush.”

“Yeah, it sucked, I hate not being able to brush my teeth. It’s just nasty.”

“So that is why,” Lan Zhan says slowly, “you were upset when you couldn’t find your toothbrush last night?”

Wei Ying pauses. “I guess so? I didn’t really think about the connection, but yeah, that’s probably why. Okay, maybe the homeless thing did fuck me up a little bit.”

Lan Zhan nods and squeezes Wei Ying’s hand reassuringly.

“Anyway, I promise it gets better from here on out. So one day a couple of kids came into the grocery store, and they told me about Rainbow Alternatives, which is this nonprofit for queer youth in Hell’s Kitchen. So I went by, and the person who runs it, Kate—she’s so cool, Lan Zhan, you’d like her—she helped me get food stamps and health insurance and a second job at a café in Chelsea, and that’s where Huaisang found me. We went to Chinese school together as kids—did you know that?—and they were going to fashion school in the neighborhood. When I told them everything that had gone down, they called Da-ge, and he insisted I come stay with them. That’s where I was until Huaisang called Jiang Cheng and told him I was alive and well and sleeping on their couch and to come get me because having me in the house was like, quote unquote, living with a pet raccoon on meth.

“So like, it sucked?” Wei Ying continues, “But also it was kind of cool not to have to deal with the Jiangs and school and everything. I thought I could just start a new chapter, you know? Then Huaisang showed me those pictures of you, and the rest is history, as they say!”

Lan Zhan still looks pretty shell-shocked, but he gets Wei Ying tissues and makes tea and puts the last of Granny Wen’s pastries on a plate for them to share. They sit quietly for a while, feeding each other bites of coconut tart.

Finally, Lan Zhan sets his mug down on the coffee table. “I thought you ran away,” he begins softly. “Then, when you didn’t come back after a day or two, I thought maybe something had happened, that you…” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I thought you might have taken your own life.”

Now it’s Wei Ying’s turn to be stunned.

“Oh, sweetheart, no! I won’t lie. I had some dark thoughts in those first few days, but I never really considered that. I was just tired and hungry and scared. I’m a fighter.”

“I can see that now. You are the strongest person I know, Wei Ying. I just need you to promise me that whatever happens, even if…,” Lan Zhan pauses and swallows, “in the future, things are different between us, you will always come to me if you need help. Can you promise me that?”

“Yeah, I can do that. And same? I’m not the most stable or reliable person on the planet, but I would do anything for you, Lan Zhan. I hope you know that.”

Lan Zhan nods, and Wei Ying sees his eyes are wet.

“Oh, sweetheart, we are just having all the feels today, aren't we? But all that stuff is over and done. And we’re together now. Boyfriends, yeah?”

“Boyfriends.” Lan Zhan smiles through his tears.

“You know what I want to do? I want to take my boyfriend to bed and cuddle him aggressively and fall asleep and wake up together and maybe there could be blowjobs and then brunch? Does that sound good?”

“Mn. Come to bed, A-Ying.”

NOTES

This is the end of the main story! The last chapter will be a quick epilogue. set a few months later. I should have it done very soon!

Chapter Text

Two Months Later

Wei Ying

shoot done, omw back

meet me @ the crepe place

no wait, wafel & dinges

in like 20?

we need to celebrate ur freedom!!!

Lan Zhan 🐇

There is string cheese in the outside pocket of your bag.

Please eat. 

You need protein.

Wei Ying

my savior!!!!!

cheeeese

still want a belgian waffle tho

Lan Zhan 🐇

Jingyi’s lesson runs until 6.

I will meet you at W&D then. 

520 1314

Wei Ying

HOW ARE U SO CUUUUTE???

😘😘😘😘😘

Wei Ying’s ride drops him off on 5th Avenue and 40th, in front of MUJI. The waffle stand is at the opposite corner of the park, but since Lan Zhan has another half hour of teaching, Wei Ying decides to wander around the Winter Village. The holiday booths are lit up with twinkling lights, and despite the chill in the air and the threat of snow, the holiday shoppers are out in full force. He looks at some alpaca handknits—Lan Zhan’s are nicer, he thinks, wrapping his soft red muffler closer around his neck—and some interesting baskets made from recycled chopsticks that he thinks might work with Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue’s decor. 

He’s getting close to the corner of 6th Avenue and 42nd when a jewelry booth catches his eye. The pieces are clearly handmade and all unique. Wei Ying greets the owner and smiles when he notices the rainbow and trans pride flags on one of the display tables. 

“Are you looking for anything special?” she asks.

“Just browsing…wait, actually, do you have earrings? Okay, obviously you have earrings," he laughs, gesturing to a display wall full of them. "I'm looking for rubies. Garnet would be okay too. Something elegant.”

The artist smiles. “Are they for yourself, or…?”

“My boyfriend.”

“Wonderful! Does he prefer studs? Hoops? Threaders? We’ve got all kinds.”

She leads Wei Ying over to a corner and points out several possibilities. His eyes light on a pair of ruby studs with baroque pearls dangling below.

“Can I look at these?”

The artist takes them down from the rack and hands them to Wei Ying. He holds them up to catch the light, imagining how they would look against Lan Zhan's skin and hair.

“Lovely choice. They’d make a great holiday gift, if you celebrate.”

“I’m all set for the holidays, but his birthday’s next month.”

“Perfect.”

Wei Ying gets out his phone and pays, just as a text comes in.

Lan Zhan 🐇

I am coming by the skating rink.

Where are you now?

Oh, I see you.

Wei Ying turns and sees Lan Zhan making his way through the crowd.

“That’s him!”

“There,” the artist says, slipping the box into the pocket of Wei Ying’s leather jacket. “And here’s a business card. I do custom work, if you ever need, oh, a ring, maybe?” She winks at Wei Ying, who grins back at her.

“I just might. Thank you! Happy Holidays!”

“You, too, honey!”

Wei Ying waves to Lan Zhan and jogs to meet him. Lan Zhan draws him into a hug. 

“Your shoot went well?”

“It did. I got to tie Coco. She’s so much fun. Oh, and Sabine says hi and wants to know when we’re going to do another video for her. You game?”

“I would consider it, yes.”

“Cool, I’ll get details from her.”

The pair walk to the waffle stand and get in line. Lan Zhan tries to convince Wei Ying to get a savory waffle because “string cheese is not a dinner, Wei Ying,” but Wei Ying promises to eat real food later if they can get a waffle with spekuloos and hot fudge because why not both?

“Life is short, Lan Zhan, eat dessert first!”

They find an open table by the skating rink and sit down to share the treat. Wei Ying thinks Lan Zhan really does deserve it: he filed the paperwork officially withdrawing from his graduate program earlier in the week and had a video call with his uncle just this morning to break the news. 

“So, how did it go with Shushu? Did he blow a gasket? Qi deviation?”

"He was not happy, but Brother pointed out that I was following in his footsteps as an educator by working for Gusu Arts. He could not argue with that. He is looking forward to seeing us when he comes to visit for Spring Festival.”

Wei Ying winces. “Even me?”

Lan Zhan takes his hand. “Even you, my love. He was pleased when Brother mentioned you were considering giving dizi lessons through our youth program.”

"I just don’t want him to hate me! It’s bad enough that I’m mooching off you.”

“For the last time, you are not mooching. You are my boyfriend and I love you and we are living together as a couple. You contribute to the household financially and practically. There is no reason for you to keep your things at Jiang Cheng's when you haven't slept there in two months. By the way, he called earlier to say the moving truck will be here tomorrow between ten and two.”

“He was so funny with that text. Do you fucking live here anymore and if not come get your shit!!”  Wei Ying laughs.

“But he arranged for movers himself,” Lan Zhan says. “I don’t pretend to understand the relationship between you two, but I suppose people show affection differently.

“And please don’t worry about Shushu. Remember what he said when I told him we were dating?"

Wei Ying strokes his chin and does his best impression of the gruff elder Lan. "Well, Nephew, if you haven't gotten over him in ten years, I suppose you never will. I hope you will be happy now."

"And are you?" Wei Ying asks.

"Am I what?"

"Happy?"

"Wei Ying." Lan Zhan tries to give him a stern look, but he can only smile. "Finish your waffle, take me home, and I will show you just how happy you make me."

Wei Ying holds out the last bite of waffle and watches with satisfaction as Lan Zhan takes it, his tongue darting out to catch a drip of hot fudge on his lip.

"Ready, baby?" Wei Ying asks, standing and holding out his hand.

Lan Zhan takes it, and they walk across the park together, as the snow begins to fall.

NOTES

I hope you enjoy this little wrap-up to our boys’ story! Thank you for your patience with updates and for indulging this homesick New Yorker.

The numbers Lan Zhan texts to Wei Ying mean "I love you forever."

If you’re in New York in December, the holiday shops in Bryant Park are a must. The recycled chopstick bowls are a real thing.