Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Lan Zhan, are you good in bed?"

Lan Wangji suppresses a sigh. Here they go again. Wei Ying is always doing this, always starting these salacious conversations, trying to get Lan Wangji to talk about sex with him. Asking about his hookups. Asking what it’s like to be gay. Asking if his dick is bigger than other men’s dicks. (Comparing the size of his hands to Lan Wangji’s, for fuck’s sake.) It’s almost funny how obvious it is that Wei Ying is sexually attracted to him.

And it’s not like it isn’t mutual. It is extremely, catastrophically mutual. Lan Wangji has given up trying not to think about Wei Ying when he masturbates. Not infrequently, he thinks about him while fucking other men. He has a lot of ideas about how he would wipe the teasing smile off of Wei Ying’s face, how he would give the most clear and explicit and vigorous answers to all of his prying questions, if Wei Ying wanted that.

The problem is, Wei Ying still thinks he is straight. At least, he’s invested in being straight. And Lan Wangji is not interested in being the one to shake him out of it. He doesn’t want to be Wei Ying’s experiment, the door he opens and goes crashing through to queer freedom. Lan Wangji wants to be the end of the road. He wants him to know what he wants. Which makes conversations like the one they’re about to have…difficult.

“Why do you ask?” he says. They’re in Lan Wangji’s apartment. Lan Wangji has reading he needs to do for work, and Wei Ying invited himself over on the premise that he also has some reading to do. That reading turns out to be a men’s magazine. He doesn’t normally read them, but Lan Wangji was with him when he picked this one up at a shop where they had stopped to buy drinks. It has an especially beautiful man on the cover, some kind of pop idol. The idol’s face stares at him, sultry and dirt-smudged, from where Wei Ying is lounging sideways against the arm of the couch, his toes tucked under Lan Wangji’s thigh.

“I bet you are, right? I bet you have some serious staying power. I’ve seen your abs.”

“Physical fitness does help with stamina,” Lan Wangji admits, trying to focus on his reading.

“Yes! Stamina. That’s what I’m talking about. See, I’m reading this article, Tips for Building Stamina. Apparently it’s really important. It’s kinda giving me an inferiority complex, honestly.”

“I believe magazines are known for that.”

“I know, right? Nobody should read this garbage.”

A few beats of blessed silence pass while Wei Ying goes on reading, and Lan Wangji doesn’t bother trying not to imagine how fast he could make Wei Ying come.

“They interviewed women,” he says.

“What?”

“They interviewed a bunch of women, or gave them a survey, and stamina was one of the top three factors affecting women’s sexual satisfaction.”

“That’s not too surprising.”

“Yeah.” Wei Ying tosses the magazine aside. He stretches his arms up over his head, then leans back with one arm flopped over his eyes. This exposes the pale architecture of his underarm, which Lan Wangji doesn’t try not to look at, since Wei Ying’s eyes are covered, anyway.

“Okay, so this is really embarrassing, but I always finish really fast? I have, like, no self control. If it feels good, I do it, you know?”

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, but it seems like Wei Ying is in the mood to talk. He closes his book and sets it aside, leans back on the couch and looks at Wei Ying. The hand not covering his eyes is resting on his belly, long fingers drumming nervously. The shape of his thumb is arresting, for some reason. Looking at his hand is easier than looking at his bent knees, or his thighs with his shorts riding up. Lan Wangji looks at all of it anyway. Wei Ying’s toes twitch under his thigh.

“Don’t just say ‘mn,’” says Wei Ying. “I’m looking for advice.”

“Advice about…?”

“About lasting longer.”

“Isn’t that what your article is about?”

“Well yeah,” says Wei Ying. “And it does say to, like, work out. But I already do that.”

“What else does it say?” He does not want to hear Wei Ying talk about pelvic floor exercises or dietary supplements or—

“It says to practice holding off when you, y’know.” The hand on his belly makes a gesture, artless and unambiguous. “I just don’t know if I could do that. I can’t imagine having that much discipline.”

Lan Wangji clears his throat. “What…kind of advice are you looking for?”

“Well, for example, do you do that?”

“Do I...?”

“Do you, like, stop when you’re about to finish?”

“Sometimes.”

“Huh,” says Wei Ying. He slides a little lower on the couch, shorts riding up higher. “Does it help?”

“I don’t know,” Lan Wangji answers honestly, and then, in a moment of weakness, he adds, “But it makes the orgasm more intense when you finally do.”

“Huh,” says Wei Ying again. He seems to push his arm down tighter over his eyes. Is he blushing? His neck is turning red. “Do you mean, like, by yourself, or with other people?”

“Both,” says Lan Wangji. “Or they…we…people can. Stop each other. Delay it. On purpose.”

“Oh, hmm.” Wei Ying sounds a little breathless. He’s probably getting turned on, Lan Wangji thinks, and telling himself he’s not getting turned on. Telling himself he’s getting turned on by the thought of fucking women, of getting edged by women.

“Have you done that to people? I bet you’re good at it.”

“I am.” Because what else is he supposed to say? He is very fucking good at it.

“Would you do it to me?” Wei Ying asks.

Lan Wangji wrestles with the shocked honesty trying to claw up from his throat, until Wei Ying adds, “Like as practice, I mean. Maybe if you did it to me a couple of times I’d be able to try on my own.”

It is the stupidest, most transparently terrible idea. Wei Ying’s hand is fisted shut on the fabric of his t-shirt, twisting it up far enough to reveal a glimpse of golden-brown skin. This is the worst idea. Lan Wangji is going to say no.

“How do you imagine that would work?” he says instead.

Wei Ying gives a little half-shrug. “I guess I would jack off,” he says. “And you could, like, spot me.”

“Spot you?”

“Yeah, like. Remind me not to go too far. You wouldn’t even have to touch me.”

“Wei Ying.” Wei Ying gets like this sometimes, too horny to think straight, too twisted up in his own inhibitions for too long a time, until he says or does something outrageous enough to release his pent-up energy or adrenaline or hormones or whatever the demonic juice is that propels him. Lan Wangji knows that’s what’s happening now. Wei Ying is pushing a limit, setting a dare. He’s not conscious of his motivations. He’s not in control.

Lan Wangji is tired. He’s so terribly tired of fighting it. His resolution not to be Wei Ying’s first is predicated on the fantasy that he might get to be his last, and how likely is that, really? How likely is it that Wei Ying will ever actually figure his shit out? Looking at him now, it feels impossible. Wouldn’t it be better to just take what he can get?

At the sound of his name, Wei Ying takes his arm down from his eyes. He blinks in the light and sees Lan Wangji looking at him.

“Ah, s-sorry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “Don’t listen to me, I’m—“

“Do it,” says Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“Jack off,” says Lan Wangji. “And I will stop you.”

“What, now?”

“Unless you don’t want to.”

“Well, I. Shit. Jesus, Lan Zhan.”

For a second it looks like Wei Ying might lose his nerve, but a dark flame is burning in Lan Wangji’s heart. He looks pointedly at Wei Ying’s crotch.

“Okay,” says Wei Ying. “Okay, yes, fuck everything, let’s do this.”

Wei Ying scoots up the couch a little and repositions himself, pulling his feet out from under Lan Wangji’s thigh and bracing the balls of his feet against the side of it, then reconsiders and lets one foot slide off the couch to brace on the floor. He puts his hand inside his shorts.

Lan Wangji watches.

“Take your cock out,” he says.

“Fffwhat?” says Wei Ying.

“Take it out. I have to be able to see when you’re close.”

So Wei Ying pulls the elastic down, revealing his cock, which is hard and extremely fucking cute.

“You like what you see?” says Wei Ying. He means it to be teasing, Lan Wangji can tell, the way he might joke about Lan Wangji checking out his body at the beach. Lan Wangji knows that that kind of joke, while signaling acceptance on the surface, really comes from a place of discomfort. And Wei Ying knows it, too; he has tried to apologize for these kinds of comments a couple of times, usually while drunk. In the present circumstances, it’s hard to interpret.

“Yes,” he says. “You may begin.”

Wei Ying grunts an incredulous laugh, and begins.

So Lan Wangji is watching Wei Ying masturbate. It’s so surreal he almost forgets to be horny about it…not quite, of course, but he retains a scrap of mental clarity long enough to take a stab at formulating some sort of plan, since Wei Ying has casually tossed him into a position of authority. He’s going to tell Wei Ying what to do. He’s going to edge the fuck out of him, in the name of —god help them both—training him to edge himself. Wei Ying said Lan Wangji would not even have to touch him, which Lan Wangji decides to take as permission, at least provisionally, to touch him if he wants to. If Wei Ying doesn’t like it, maybe they can just fight about it and in five years or ten years when Wei Ying is all finished with his Gay Awakening, they can reconcile.

Enough about that. He’s watching Wei Ying masturbate.

Wei Ying starts with a slow, firm stroke, choking up under his cockhead and kneading the skin up and down. His eyes are closed in apparent concentration, a little wrinkle forming between his dark brows. He seems tense, though for once he isn’t resorting to his usual go-to in tense situations, which is talking. He’s probably trying to control his reactions. After a couple of minutes, his breath hitches slightly.

“Stop,” says Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying’s hand freezes, and his eyes fly open. “Wha?” he says. “Why?”

“Just testing.”

“Tch. You’re mean.”

“Correct.”

Wei Ying laughs, but Lan Wangji remains serious, which quells him.

“Do you normally use lube?” he asks.

“Uh,” says Wei Ying. “Yes. But it’s okay, I—“

“Wait here,” says Lan Wangji. “Don’t move.”

He stands up and goes to get the bottle from his bedroom, then settles again on the couch, turned a little more toward Wei Ying than before, his shoulder close to where Wei Ying’s knee is splayed up against the back of the back of the couch. Wei Ying lets go of his cock to accept the bottle.

“Challenge mode, I guess,” he says, as he squirts a dollop into his palm. Lan Wangji sort of hates lube for being so unsexily packaged, but seeing Wei Ying shiver as he slicks it down over his cockhead is worth it. “Ahh fuck, that’s way better. Uh—” he stops. “Should I—?”

“Go ahead,” says Lan Wangji. He files away for later his observation that Wei Ying is giving him more control than their agreement—their very ill-advised and underspecified agreement—provides for.

Wei Ying goes ahead. He closes his eyes again. He fidgets a little with the elastic of his shorts, scooting them down further. Finally, his hand speeds up into a steady rhythm.

These things Lan Wangji commits to memory, storing up each detail to play back later: the sight of Wei Ying’s cock wrapped in his perfect hand, flushed dark and shiny-wet. The sound of his breath, faster and faster, breaking now and then on a hitch of pleasure. The crease between his eyebrows. The pinch of his lower lip between his white teeth. The tendons in his wrists. The soft skin of his thighs. The working of his arm muscles. The flush that climbs his neck and paints his cheeks.

He’s getting close already.

“Lan Zhan,” he pants. “You should—“

“Stop,” says Lan Wangji, and Wei Ying stops, his hand stilling around the base of his cock. “You did well,” he says. “You almost stopped yourself.”

“Yeah,” says Wei Ying. “Yeah that wasn’t too hard.” He’s shivering slightly, his hand wrapped tight. Lan Wangji decides not to warn him that it will get more difficult.

“Begin again whenever you feel ready,” he says.

Wei Ying takes a few deep, slow breaths, and starts again, the same as before.

“Slower,” says Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying makes a frustrated little grunt and changes to a slow, twisting stroke, swiping his thumb over the head when his hand reaches the top.

“How does it feel?”

“Good,” says Wei Ying, without opening his eyes. His hips buck up on the next downstroke. Lan Wangji licks his lips unconsciously. Wei Ying begins to speed up a little. He lets out a little moan and cuts it off quickly.

“Wei Ying, look at me.” The words are unconsidered. It’s just what Lan Wangji wants.

Wei Ying’s eyes squint open, and Lan Wangji stares back at him. Wei Ying keeps his mouth shut tight at first, but as his hand speeds up even more, his lips part, little panting breaths escaping. His hips roll up into his hand on each thrust.

“Ah, shi—I—“

“Stop,” says Lan Wangji, sharply.

Wei Ying’s hips twitch one final time, and then he’s still. Lan Wangji holds his eyes until Wei Ying drops his head back, exhaling hard.

“Good,” says Lan Wangji.

“Hnnmm,” goes Wei Ying.

“Take your time. Start slowly.”

Wei Ying kneads the base of his cock. He clears his throat.

“Do you mind if I take off my pants?”

“Of course.”

He leans away a little so that Wei Ying can lift his hips and slide his shorts and underwear off. When Wei Ying lies back again his position is sloppier, one foot tucked behind Lan Wangji’s hip on the couch, the other knee splayed well out to the side, which pops the tendons of his groin into sharp relief. Lan Wangji tries to keep his face impassive. He can smell Wei Ying’s flesh.

It soon becomes apparent that Wei Ying took off his pants because he wanted better access to his balls. He slides long fingers down to cup them while his thumb kneads the base of his cock.

“You like to have your balls played with?” Lan Wangji’s voice sounds hoarse in his own ears. He’s never thought before about having Wei Ying’s balls in his mouth, but he’s thinking about it now.

“S…sometimes,” says Wei Ying. His hand shifts, pressing behind his balls as his thumb tugs at them. A significant drop of pre-come leaks out the end of his cock. Lan Wangji wonders if he knows that he is stimulating his prostate.

“Do you ever put your fingers inside yourself?”

Wei Ying laughs breathily, deflecting. “What is this, an inquisition?”

So, that’s a yes. “I apologize.”

“’S okay. You’re just being kind of intense right now.”

“Mn.”

He knows he is being intense. He knows he should hold back. If he is too intense, Wei Ying might snap out of this delusion and realize that he’s trying to have his gay best friend platonically edge him.

It doesn’t seem like Lan Wangji’s intensity is turning him off at all, though. Wei Ying’s cock is hard and flushed dark red, a distinct vein standing out on the underside. After his relaxing prostate massage session, he appears ready to go again, and resumes stroking his cock proper. He begins at a medium pace, but speeds up quickly, his hips twitching upward on every downstroke, which highlights his abs and thigh muscles. Lan Wangji gives up on dignity and leans his cheek against the back of the couch to just watch. Wei Ying sneaks his left hand down to cup behind his balls while he strokes. Now and then his hand darts up to collect pre-come from the tip, adding it to the slick of the lube. His eyes are closed again.

“Wei Ying. Look at me.”

Wei Ying obeys. His mouth falls open as he makes eye contact, hand stroking hard and fast. His breath hitches, once…twice.

“Stop.”

His hand keeps moving. He whines, deep in his throat.

“Wei Ying.”

He still doesn’t stop. Without thinking, Lan Wangji reaches out and takes hold of his wrist, squeezing hard on the tendons so that Wei Ying’s hand opens. Wei Ying yelps, then moans in frustration.

“Ahhh, fuck. What the fuck. Lan Zhan. Hnngh.”

He lies there panting, his wrist in Lan Wangji’s grasp, his cock standing up purple between them.

“You were close.”

“Yeah. I was. Oh, my god. Fuck.”

“Breathe, Wei Ying. Calm down.”

Wei Ying takes deep breaths. His cock bobs with the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“How many more times are we gonna do this?” he asks.

Lan Wangji blinks. “How many times do you need to?” he asks. “For the women.”

“Ha. Right. Um.” He readjusts his position on the couch, pulling at Lan Wangji’s hold. Lan Wangji does not let go. Wei Ying’s left hand is still free, tucked around his balls. He belatedly remembers that Lan Wangji asked him a question. “Uh, I guess until. I mean. Eventually I’ll just come, right? I can’t do this forever.”

“You want to keep going until you literally can’t hold back.”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” He releases Wei Ying’s wrist. “Whenever you’re ready.”

So Wei Ying puts his hand to his cock again. Now that Lan Wangji has touched him, it’s like a barrier has been broken, and instead of withdrawing his hand, he sets it on Wei Ying’s splayed out thigh. Wei Ying strokes himself a couple of times, then darts his hand up and licks his own palm before resuming.

“Lube’s getting sticky,” he complains.

That’s unfortunately not too surprising—they’ve been at it for a while, and this brand of lube is on the thick side, better for Lan Wangji’s usual purposes. Wei Ying licks his palm again, and then again, and frankly it’s just bothering Lan Wangji on a sensory level. The third time, he takes Wei Ying’s wrist and holds his hand still. He could give him more lube, but the bottle has rolled under the couch. Wei Ying meets his eyes, questioning.

Lan Wangji leans forward, aligning his mouth with Wei Ying’s cock. He smells sweat and lube. He would absolutely suck Wei Ying’s cock clean without a care for the taste, but they’re being bros right now, so he doesn’t. Instead, he gathers up a pool of clean saliva and lets it fall from his lips.

Wei Ying gasps and his whole body twitches when the spit lands on the head of his cock, thigh muscles jumping under Lan Wangji’s hand. Lan Wangji waits to see if he’ll object, if he’ll push him away. If anything were going to be too much, this would be. Wei Ying is staring hard at him, his mouth open, his lips red and wet. His hand jerks out of Lan Wangji’s unresisting hold and goes back to his cock as though drawn by a magnet, and he smears the spit in with the lube. His breath shifts a couple of times as though he wants to form words but can’t figure out what to say. Lan Wangji licks his lips and puts that hand on Wei Ying’s other thigh, the one pressed against the back of the couch, so now he’s holding his legs apart. Wei Ying gives a little grunting groan and twitches as though to press his legs farther open. His hand flies fast and hungry over the head of his cock, well slicked now. Lan Wangji pets down the line of his hamstring, admiring the soft skin and the flex of the muscle.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines, and he’s close, so obviously already close.

“Wei Ying.”

“Ngh.” His hips are arching up, his mouth dropped beautifully open, his brow furrowed.

“Stop now. I won’t stop you. Stop.”

“Ah, fuck, fuck,” says Wei Ying. Panting, he yanks both hands away and stuffs them under his ass on the couch. “You don’t play fair, Lan Zhan.”

“I am not playing.” The words sound harsh in his own ears. His blood is thundering. He’s trying to ignore his own arousal, but it’s getting harder. “This is training,” he says. “Do you think it’s working?”

“Ahh fffuck yes, it’s working.” Wei Ying’s body writhes, his bare cock standing straight up, neglected while his hands are pinned. Lan Wangji is still holding his legs open.

“Do you want to finish? You may be at your limit.”

“No. No, I can go on.”

“Hm.” He is splayed open and shaking. Lan Wangji wants him like this all the time. “Go on, then.”

Wei Ying squirms and bites his lip.

“I. I don’t think…if I…hnn. What if you do it?”

“What if I—?”

“If you do it. And you can stop. I won’t be able to stop.”

“Do you want me to?”

His eyes are squeezed tight shut again. He nods. Lan Wangji wonders what's going on in his head, how he's justifying this as a bro thing. Or has he just stopped thinking altogether? That would be for the best.

Lan Wangji slides his hands up Wei Ying’s thighs and lets his thumbs press into the divots of his groin. Wei Ying makes a high whine and moves with him, his hips thrusting in anticipation of a touch that doesn’t quite come.

“With my hands?” says Lan Wangji. “With my mouth?” He presses into the root of Wei Ying’s cock, where he was touching himself before.

“Wha…whatever. Whatever you want. Fuck.”

Still pressing with one thumb, Lan Wangji strokes the side of one finger up the curve of his cock, a light, teasing touch. He circles it lightly with a finger and thumb, and it jumps, leaking.

“You’re still so close.”

Delicately, he swipes his finger over the tip, gathering slick and pre-come. And then, without preamble, without permission, he presses Wei Ying open with it, sinking in far enough to feel the hot insides of him, the muscle tight around his second knuckle. Wei Ying groans out something that is definitely not an objection. Lan Wangji goes on stroking his balls and the root of his cock with his other hand.

“The women will be very pleased with you now,” he says, twisting his finger, letting it sink in a little more. “Such discipline.”

“Hnh,” says Wei Ying. “Oh my god, just…please just…”

“But I’m not a woman,” says Lan Wangji. “Am I?”

Wei Ying doesn’t answer, and Lan Wangji crooks his finger up, lets him feel the edge of the pleasure that he knows will finish him.

“Am I, Wei Ying?”

“Nuh…no.”

“Wei Ying. Open your eyes.”

Wei Ying opens his eyes, his gaze hazy and confused.

“I’m not,” says Lan Wangji. “I don’t need your stamina.” He punctuates his words with thrusts of his finger against Wei Ying’s prostate, and he knows they’re landing because Wei Ying’s whole body jerks with each one. “If I fucked you, you would come right away. Then I’d fuck you until you came again. With your dick soft. Until you cried, I’d—“

Wei Ying gives a loud moan, and the noise sends Lan Wangji over the edge. He slides a second finger into him and fucks him hard, shoving into him over and over as Wei Ying whimpers and cries out. His hole spasms around fingers, his cock jumping with each thrust. Lan Wangji wants to wreck him, wants to erase everything from Wei Ying’s mind except what Lan Wangji is doing to him.

“Oh, please,” Wei Ying moans. “Please don’t stop. I wanna. I wanna come. Want you to. Please, Lan Zhan, please.”

“But your training.” He thrusts his fingers again, harder.

“No.” Wei Ying tosses his head from side to side. “Don’t want it. Just you. Please. Do it.”

With a growl, Lan Wangji slides off of the sofa and drops to his knees. He works his fingers deep and hard at the same time as he slides Wei Ying’s cock between his lips and as far down his throat as he can get it, all in one motion, wanting everything he can get if this is his only chance. Wei Ying cries out wordlessly, thrusts his hips once, and starts to come, almost sobbing with it. Lan Wangji sucks him through it, feral and horny, milking him mercilessly with the two fingers which he dearly wishes were three or four fingers or his cock, or all of those at once. Whatever is in Wei Ying, every bad idea and wrong belief, all his hormonal nonsense, his perversity, Lan Wangji will juice it out of him, down to the very last drop. He will exorcize it in the form of jizz. He’s putting Wei Ying on a fuck-based cleanse diet to purge his spiritual toxins and achieve inner peace.

He keeps sucking while Wei Ying comes down, Wei Ying moaning “Unh, god, god, oh my god.” At last, he seals his lips around Wei Ying’s cock and pulls off slowly, letting it fall back dribbling against Wei Ying’s belly. Lan Wangji stays where he is, kneeling, and turns to wipe his mouth on Wei Ying’s thigh. Wei Ying has his hands over his face. His chest is heaving.

“Ohhh,” Wei Ying groans. “Ohhh, fuck, Lan Zhan. Sorry. Sorry sorry. I’m a mess.”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji agrees.

He rests his cheek against Wei Ying’s thigh. Slowly, his breathing returns to normal. His dick is still hard, but that’s a problem for later. Wei Ying still has his hands over his eyes. An old impulse toward propriety makes Lan Wangji want to apologize, but he stomps it down. This was Wei Ying’s bad idea, not his.

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying pulls his hands down with a visible effort. He finds Lan Wangji’s eyes. “Lan Zhan. Are you mad at me?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been mad at me, for like, a really long time?”

The answer tastes bitter. He nods, once against Wei Ying’s thigh.

Wei Ying’s face crumples. “I don’t want that.”

“I’m sorry,” says Lan Wangji. “I shouldn’t have. Made this about that.”

“No!” says Wei Ying. “No, you’re good. Oh my god. Please give me angry blowjobs every day. I’m just…I think I might be. Just an asshole. Just a total and complete asshole.”

Mark your words, thinks Lan Wangji. Out loud he says, “Wei Ying. I assure you. You are more than just an asshole to me.”

At this Wei Ying dissolves into giggles. Lan Wangji turns and bites his thigh, and then kisses it, and then bites it again, further up.

“Ow,” says Wei Ying. ”Ow, Lan Zhan, you’re mean. And funny. And like, so hot. To me. I really want you to be into me, you know? I get so weird about it.”

“About what?”

“About wanting you to think I’m, like, cool, and funny, and smart, and like. Good. And not in a regular way.”

“In what way, then?”

Wei Ying makes a gesture with his long fingers that takes in their whole situation, Lan Wangji kneeling between his knees with his fingers still buried in Wei Ying’s ass.

“You know, like a. Gay way. I want you to like me in a gay way.”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji carefully extracts his fingers. He gets up off the floor and back onto the couch, settling his knees on either side of Wei Ying’s thighs. Wei Ying gives a little “eep” and looks up at him wide-eyed. Lan Wangji leans down and presses his lips to Wei Ying’s ear. “I like you in a gay way.”

“Even though you’re mad at me?” Wei Ying whispers.

“I’m mad at you in a gay way. You drive me crazy in a gay way.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Wei Ying’s face turns toward him, his sharp nose cool against Lan Wangji’s cheek. “I like you in a gay way too, turns out. Who knew?”

“I knew,” says Lan Wangji, and kisses him.