Work Text:
Wei Ying’s top is this very thin, very soft-looking, and very see-through kind of terrycloth fabric. The cut is a loose, vaguely sweatshirt shape, but it’s not at all like a sweatshirt – a sweatshirt in Lan Zhan’s wardrobe is something that conceals, something with thick fabric, that’s cut baggy for days when Lan Zhan just doesn’t want to deal with being seen in that way; doesn’t want to countenance the awful certainty of one’s shape being perceived and known by thoughtless strangers, who doubtless will come to the wrong conclusions about who Lan Zhan is at her core.
This sweatshirt of Wei Ying’s doesn’t conceal anything, not the shape of her breasts, small but somehow plump and grabbable, not the frustratingly pert outline of her nipples, not even the color of her skin there, paler on the soft mounds of her breasts, and dark on the hard points of her nipples.
Lan Zhan should not look.
But Lan Zhan does.
And Wei Ying does not seem to notice! How can she not notice! Lan Zhan is staring at her chest! With her own two eyes! And Wei Ying does not notice!
This should be illegal. Lan Zhan feels feverish. Maybe it is illegal.
Wei Ying has stopped speaking. Lan Zhan wrenches up her attention to Wei Ying’s face, where lingers a questioning gaze, a tilt to the head.
“Uh?” says Lan Zhan helpfully.
“Lan Zhan, you haven’t been listening, have you?” says Wei Ying, laughing. “I asked you a question!”
Lan Zhan feels fuzzy, like maybe her brain cells have been sold to Wei Ying, and Lan Zhan cannot use them anymore. “I am. Sorry?” she offers.
Wei Ying laughs and dear God. Her tits. Are moving. Under her threadbare sweatshirt. How can it be the color black and still so see through? How? Lan Zhan feels like she could be on fire. Is there any way she might actually literally be on fire right now? Is it possible to spontaneously combust from embarrassment and misplaced lust for your best friend?
“Ah don’t be sorry Lan Zhan! It wasn’t even important anyway. Are you alright?” Wei Ying blinks. She lays a cool hand on Lan Zhan’s forehead. Lan Zhan must not lean into that hand. She must not. “Ai, Lan Zhan, you’re burning up and you look kind of funny. Do you feel sick?”
Lan Zhan shakes her head. “It’s hot here,” she says by way of explanation. It is not hot here. As evidenced by Wei Ying’s hard nipples, pointy in the cold breeze of early Autumn and plainly visible through her sweatshirt. Who authorized the creation of sheer sweatshirts? Lan Zhan feels such bad actors should receive some kind of retribution for the paroxysms of feverish joy/lust/anxiety/heartache that Lan Zhan is experiencing right now. Wei Ying gives her a little puzzled tilt to the head.
“I think you might be sick, bunny,” she says.
Wei Ying is right, but only because Lan Zhan is probably going into cardiac arrest. Okay probably she isn’t. But Wei Ying calling her bunny like that, after so many years. Should. Definitely. Be. Illegal.
Probably, it’s murder. Death by endearment. Definitely illegal. Wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, but still. Murder is murder, right? This is murder. Lan Zhan’s heart is going to stop. Nobody at work would ever dare call her bunny. She’d flatten them dead with nothing but a look.
Wei Ying flutters closer, feels Lan Zhan’s forehead again. Why again? Does she need to take stock of how well her murder plot is working? Death by sweet nickname. There are worse ways to go than being called bunny by her one and only love, the woman for whom she waited for all this time, for whom she got her first tattoo, for whom she pines and pines and pines.
Wei Ying is here, after all this time gone, and Lan Zhan is inexplicably, inextricably tongue tied. As ever.
Here’s the thing. Lan Zhan is gay. Lan Zhan is so gay. Lan Zhan is. Painfully gay. And Lan Zhan knows this.
But Wei Ying doesn’t know this. And well, most other people don’t know it either, though if they only took half a second to read the signs, it wouldn’t be so hard to figure out.
Lan Huan knows. Lan Huan is also gay, and knows pretty much everything about his little sister. Lan Huan would say ‘being gay isn’t painful if you’re not needlessly pining after your best friend’ but Lan Zhan doesn’t have any other point of reference.
Lan Zhan realized she was gay and Lan Zhan realized she was in love with Wei Ying, and she realized both of these things at the same time. If there is a version of being gay that doesn’t feel like a painful searing longing in her chest, Lan Zhan doesn’t know about it.
So: Lan Zhan reserves the right to identify herself as painfully gay.
Lan Zhan tried being gay with other people. She dutifully cruised the apps and the bars; she took girls home with her and undressed them and touched them and even fucked them nicely with a strap, but none of it had ever done anything for her. She could appreciate, objectively, that most girls were lovely. She could appreciate girls being pretty the same way she appreciated a sunset or a mountain view. Like this: oh that’s lovely. I don’t mind looking at that.
But none of them had ever inspired Lan Zhan to want, to possess, to hold close and say, “Mine. You are mine.” She had never wanted to give any of those girls her everything. That right was reserved for Wei Ying.
Frequently the girls wanted to repay the favor, wanted to touch Lan Zhan too, and see her come undone. She would let them try, but it never seemed to go anywhere. She always assured them it had nothing to do with them; it was just the way Lan Zhan was, something to do with Lan Zhan, just Lan Zhan being Lan Zhan.
After the fifth such encounter, Lan Zhan gave up on it entirely. It had been Lan Huan’s idea anyway, and not one of his better ones.
Wei Ying tilts her head and frowns a little. “Let’s get you home, bun-bun, you don’t look so good,” she says, and Lan Zhan’s heart stutters as she imagines for a moment that she could have that word home, that the word could mean what she wants it to, a home with Wei Ying, a lifetime of being called bun-bun, of waking every morning to the warmth of Wei Ying in her bed. Lan Zhan clamps down hard on that thought. Why does she always torture herself this way?
When Wei Ying left, Lan Zhan stopped talking. For years. She was never good with words anyway, and without Wei Ying to hear, what was the point?
Lan Zhan went to college. And didn’t talk. Lan Zhan majored in Economics. And didn’t talk. Lan Zhan got head-hunted by a large financial firm.
And didn’t talk.
Here’s the thing. Lan Zhan didn’t need to talk.
Lan Zhan is very good with numbers. Lan Zhan did just fine without talking. Lan Zhan was impressive enough at the technicals that nobody cared that she was also basically no different from a marble statue.
Time passed. Lan Zhan got a new job, at a smaller firm this time. More specialized work.
This time, she talked. She didn’t talk much. But she talked enough that she could be considered just shy, not worryingly catatonic. An old high school acquaintance worked at the new firm, in the same department, Luo Qingyang. They were the only two women of color in the department, so they developed a kind of solidarity out of raised eyebrows and pointed glances across the conference room table. Qingyang went by Mianmian in high school, but on Wall Street, she went by Vicky. It was just easier that way.
Lan Zhan was more stubborn about it.
Lan Zhan is Lan Zhan. How could she choose another name? If some assholes can’t pronounce two rhyming syllables, they are a lot less competent than they should be and they probably do not deserve to be at a prestigious firm on Wall Street.
And well. They couldn’t.
(Lan Zhan has learned that most people at a prestigious firm on Wall Street probably do not deserve it. She doesn’t say anything about it.)
So they called her Zee.
If it weren’t such a good queer stage name, Lan Zhan would have protested. But as it was, it was… fine.
Qingyang dragged Lan Zhan to the office happy hour every Friday. And it was on one such Friday that Lan Zhan saw Wei Ying behind the bar.
What were the odds?
It’s been almost a year now since Wei Ying and Lan Zhan’s awkward, terrible, wonderful conversation at the bar, since Lan Zhan almost grabbed Wei Ying’s hand by accident and since the fist fight later that very night that got Lan Zhan kicked out of the previously mentioned firm where they called her Zee like some kind of glittery queer electronic popstar.
Lan Zhan has a new job at a firm down the street. At this one, they don’t call her Zee (and she doesn’t miss it.)
Instead, they call her Killer, which would bother Lan Zhan if it weren’t the reason she was able to get another job so quickly. Apparently the guys at this firm don’t like the guys Lan Zhan beat up. They practically fell over themselves to find her contact and offer her a job.
It took a week, but Wei Ying did forgive Lan Zhan for the fist fight. The night it happened, she’d been so incredibly angry. It had frightened Lan Zhan, like maybe so soon after finding Wei Ying again, she might lose the privilege of seeing her, because she’d been stupid and impulsive and overbearing.
“You can’t just do that, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying had shouted in the alley behind the bar. “Did you think I didn’t have it under control? That guy’s an asshole but you didn’t have to give him a nosebleed! Swear to God you almost broke the other one’s arm! In the middle of the fucking bar!” Wei Ying had run her hand through her hair, cropped shorter than it had been in high school, an asymmetrical cut. “I like this fucking job, okay? I want to keep it. You don’t get to pick my battles for me, Lan Zhan. Fuck, I haven’t seen you in how long and suddenly you want to come in like you can run my life or something?”
All Lan Zhan could say was that she was sorry. She didn’t want to run Wei Ying’s life, of course not. But in truth, there was something fierce and molten inside of her that wanted to hold Wei Ying tight and close in her arms, something inside her that wanted to keep, to hold, to protect, to possess and be possessed in some way.
But Wei Ying was right. That isn’t what friends are like, is it? Lan Zhan considers Qingyang a friend, and she’s certainly never felt that way about Qingyang.
They got through it, thank God. Wei Ying forgave her for butting into her business. And Lan Zhan promised not to act crazy again. “What came over you Lan Zhan, you never used to be like that in high school! Who knew you were such a beast!” It hadn’t taken long before Wei Ying’s anger melted into teasing. When Wei Ying jabbed Lan Zhan’s middle with her pointy elbow and her funny little grin, Lan Zhan’s legs quivered in relief. She felt like jello.
So now they’re friends. And Lan Zhan pines.
Sometimes Wei Ying brings lunch for Lan Zhan. Meets her outside by the river during her lunchbreak. Watches her eat the food she’s brought with a happy-cat look of satisfaction on her face. It’s breakfast time for Wei Ying when Lan Zhan’s eating lunch, but Wei Ying doesn’t eat, just watches and talks about all of the weird things that can happen at the bar in the middle of the night.
Today Wei Ying brought a terrible fried rice she made herself. Lan Zhan ate every horrible, mouth-burningly spicy morsel, just to see the bright smile on Wei Ying’s face. It seems that between Wei Ying’s illegal see-through top and Wei Ying’s horrible spicy food, Lan Zhan has turned a shade of red that cannot be dismissed.
Wei Ying pulls Lan Zhan up from the bench. “Come on, Lan Zhan, now who do we call to get you a sick day?”
Lan Zhan shakes her head. “No need.”
“I’m worried about you, bunny.” Lan Zhan is going to faint. Not really. But she feels like she might if Wei Ying keeps calling her bunny. “You don’t look well and you’re burning up. Come on, Lan Zhan, let me take care of you,” Wei Ying whines. “Come on, let’s go to your place and I’ll tuck you in and we’ll watch a movie and I’ll bring you soup and stuff.”
“I’m not sick,” says Lan Zhan stiffly.
“I don’t believe you would even know if you’re sick! You know, Lan Zhan, that strict uncle of yours never let you have a day off when you needed it, did he? Now you’re all grown up and you get to make the choices, okay? You’re in charge now!”
“I am fine.”
Wei Ying pouts. “Really Lan Zhan? I was so sure…” She peers into Lan Zhan’s face. “So take a personal day then!” Wei Ying says brightly. “Doesn’t it sound like fun? We could build a pillow fort and watch movies and cuddle!” The smile falls off her face and she hastens to add, “If you want.” She laughs nervously, bites the edge of her thumb. “Come on, Lan Zhan, pleaaaaase,” she wheedles. “It’s my day off!”
Lan Zhan has already dialed her boss, almost without conscious thought. It happened when Wei Ying said the word cuddle. Wei Ying wants to cuddle. With Lan Zhan. She doesn’t scream but it’s a near thing. The phone is ringing. Lan Zhan feels a flutter in her gut. “Peter, I’m not feeling well. Stomach bug.” Butterflies in the stomach, she thinks. A stomach bug. Butterflies in the stomach from hearing Wei Ying say the word cuddle. Not quite a lie. She will actually combust if they cuddle and Wei Ying’s in that thin, soft top. She will strangle on her own longing. She will die. Her voice is as clipped and professional as ever, even as she is sort of losing her shit. “I am taking the rest of the afternoon.”
“Sure, Killer,” says Peter. “Anything you want. I’m not about to stop you, not with those fists of yours.” He laughs, smarmy. Everybody at the new firm makes these jokes. It’s… incredibly tiresome. But they’re very lenient with paid time off; it was one of their biggest selling points when they recruited her.
“Thank you for understanding.” Lan Zhan hangs up before he can call her Killer again. She sighs then turns to Wei Ying and feels every irritated twitchy knot inside of her soften away at the sight, Wei Ying standing there, looking all delighted and sun-kissed and perfect.
When it comes down to it, in spite of all that Lan Zhan wants, and how deeply she wants, she knows that this will be enough if it has to be. Just getting to look at Wei Ying. Being able to see her smile.
“Lan Zhan,” says Wei Ying. “Lan Zhan, you did it, you lied!” She looks thrilled by this fact. “You’re playing hooky!”
“Mn,” says Lan Zhan, pleased that Wei Ying is pleased.
“We’re gonna have so much fun, Lan Zhan, just wait, you won’t regret it!”
“Mm.”
***
Wei Ying is the one who’s regretting it.
Well, not really.
It’s just – Lan Zhan is so soft. It would be very hard to regret any amount of tricksy conniving that resulted in being snuggled by Lan Zhan.
But she also feels just a little bit like she is in mortal danger.
Lan Zhan’s tits are—Fuck. The tits of Wei Ying’s dreams. They look soft. They look pillowy. And they are probably warm, fuck. Lan Zhan obviously wears some kind of sports bra to squash them down normally, because now they are wholly different than when they are trapped underneath one of her button down shirts. Now they are heavy and full beneath the soft cling of her pajamas, and move freely when Lan Zhan moves. And they are so close to Wei Ying’s face. She could just. Tilt. Her head. Down. And she’d be in the exact right position to motorboat.
LOL. As if Lan Zhan would ever let anyone do something so ignominious with her titties! Lan Zhan is so… classy.
Wei Ying would die gladly. If she were on death row and instead of a last meal she got just any old last request, she knows what she would choose. She’d suffocate herself in those boobies. Death by baobao. What a way to go.
(Wei Ying will never understand or accept that baobao is not actually Chinese slang for boobies and is totally made up by Wei Ying. It’s too good. The parallels are too great. What could be more like a boob than a big soft fluffy baozi bun?? They even have a little twisty nipple on top!)
But anyway, Lan Zhan’s not like that, motorboating or no. Wei Ying thinks Lan Zhan might be asexual. It would explain why she never dated anyone! The only person Lan Zhan has ever looked even vaguely interested in speaking to is Mianmian, another friend from high school. Even then, you couldn’t call it smoldering, the way Lan Zhan looked at Mianmian. The most you could say was polite.
No, Lan Zhan isn’t like Wei Ying. Lan Zhan didn’t make out with half of the women’s softball team in high school, as an experiment. (Ok, maybe Wei Ying has a type. A thing. Whatever you want to call it. She likes a sporty girl, ok? Is that so wrong?)
No, Lan Zhan is an upstanding citizen. Lan Zhan never posted an ad on Craigslist entitled “25 y.o. woman ISO casual sex” like Wei Ying did when she ran away to Shanghai, then Beijing, then Tianjin, then the middle of fuck nowhere China to teach English. Lan Zhan never slept on a variety of dirty and vaguely unsafe couches owned by strangers she met on the internet or in bars, and Lan Zhan didn’t ask a variety of people whose couches she was sleeping on to fuck her just so she could feel something for a hot second, even if what she felt was pain at getting fucked by some jerk with a dick and no interest in preparation. (Foreplay? What foreplay? Lube? Is that for your car?)
Luckily that phase had been short-lived. Maybe it’s fun for some people, getting fucked by a different stranger every night. Wei Ying wouldn’t recommend it. 0/10.
Things were a lot better when she kept to herself. When she got tired of sleeping on couches and fucking randos, she applied to be an English teacher and they trained her up and sent her to a village in Yunnan province, by the name of Jietou. They put her up in an apartment with a few other teachers, and paid her enough money to buy herself some rice and pickles and things and she thought she was doing pretty well there in spite of the fact that she was basically illiterate and only understood about a quarter of anything anyone said thanks to the local dialect.
Still, as the years passed by, Wei Ying longed for home. Not home, home, that was off the table. But… somewhere she could get her favorite junk food, somewhere she could speak the language at a mile a minute instead of stumbling over her words. She was never super great at Chinese – one of her many failings according to Madame Yu – and although her Chinese was miles above where it had been thanks to these years spent hearing nothing but Chinese (though, again, it was a local dialect that wasn’t really that similar to Wei Ying’s rusty Mandarin, courtesy of her standard Chinese-American kid starter pack) — she still didn’t feel like she was really fully herself speaking Chinese, living in China.
So she came back to the states. Got a job at a bar (one of her teacher friends back in China really came through for her with a cousin connection.) And then she immediately bumped into Lan Zhan on the job. Who then proceeded to get into a fist fight with her hedge fund/investment banker/whatever the fuck asshole colleagues over Wei Ying’s honor or something. What the fuck.
When Wei Ying came back to the states, she did not have any expectation that she would see any of the people she knew ever again. She chose the opposite end of the country on purpose. They grew up in California, and as far as she knew, they all still lived there, the Jiangs, the Lans, the Jins, the Nies, all the fucking rich family friends who used to show up at the shitty family banquets that Wei Ying hated.
Wei Ying takes a deep breath and regrets it because it smells like sandalwood and something else that must be pure Lan Zhan and Wei Ying knows she likes a little bit of torture, but this? Lying here in Lan Zhan’s bed? An inch away? From her tits? Feeling her strong legs? Actually touching Wei Ying’s legs? This is a level of torture that really tests Wei Ying’s limits.
Lan Zhan cannot possibly be interested in Wei Ying. Because she seems to be totally calm and okay with the fact that they are cuddling in her bed together, with Wei Ying’s face about an inch away from Lan Zhan’s soft, smooshy titties. Close enough that Lan Zhan must be able to feel Wei Ying’s breath through her soft white jammies. Bless and curse Lan Zhan for having white fucking jammies! White jammies! Who does that!
Imagine! If those jammies! Got wet! Like if there were a fire or something. And the sprinklers went off. Imagine what it would look like. Clinging to Lan Zhan’s body. The fabric already sort of clings – it’s a soft jersey that molds itself so nicely to the curve and swell of Lan Zhan’s (generous) (beautiful) (show-stopping) breasts. As it is, it’s sensual, tantalizing. But wet, it would be absolutely obscene. It would show precisely the color of her nipples. It would show Lan Zhan’s cute belly button which Wei Ying has absolutely not noticed whenever Lan Zhan stretches and her shirt lifts up. It would show the fine dusky dusting of dark body hair leading down into her white pajama pants. Imagine.
She has to stop thinking about this before it goes further south. She has to stop thinking about this right now.
But yeah. Wei Ying would die.
Agh. Yeah. Lan Zhan is not interested in Wei Ying. Not a chance. Otherwise she would not be okay with this whole cuddling situation right now.
Also, Lan Zhan is like… a banker. She's obviously loaded. Like. She works on Wall Street, no less, which, okay, maybe that makes sense, but also… what the fuck?
If Wei Ying thinks about it though, it all makes sense. Lan Zhan was the best at everything she did. Always. The best finance jobs were in New York City, right? So of course Lan Zhan came to New York City.
Wei Ying always thought Lan Zhan would be a musician. Or at the very least a music historian. She was so good at the violin, and she was even better at Guqin. She looked so peaceful whenever she played. So focused. Wei Ying wonders if she looks the same when she’s squinting at a spreadsheet.
Spreadsheets don’t sound peaceful to Wei Ying, but who the fuck knows, with Lan Zhan? This is a woman who only wears three colors (yes white is one of them) and has neat little printed labels for everything in the kitchen. Printed as in, electronically, not by hand. Like, with a printer. Do you know what level of organization is required to print those little labels? Wei Ying was supposed to do this for a summer job once, and she never quite figured it out. It was impossible. Lan Zhan is a genius. And she’s meticulous. For all Wei Ying knows, Lan Zhan is spreadsheet-sexual.
Ai, Lan Zhan looks so pretty this close. Her skin is so perfect. Her eyes are so beautiful. Maybe Lan Zhan will open them in a minute. Wei Ying wouldn’t mind staring at her forever.
As if she heard Wei Ying’s thoughts, her golden eyes blink open. Wei Ying is frozen like a rabbit, caught staring at her best friend like a lech. (Fun Fact: In addition to being perfect in every other possible way, Lan Zhan also loves rabbits. How adorable is that?!)
“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan. She sounds kind of wrecked actually.
Wei Ying speaks before she thinks. “Lan Zhan can I rest my head on your chest?” It comes out in a blurt. Word vomit. Unstoppable.
Lan Zhan’s eyes go wide.
“Ah forget I said it Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says quickly.
“Yes, Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan has strong arms. Wei Ying is lying in the loose circle of Lan Zhan’s arms. And Lan Zhan is nudging her closer with them.
“Are you sure?” says Wei Ying, panicky. Oh my God. Wei Ying what the fuck? Why are you so bold and stupid? It’s happening. Wei Ying is going to rest her head on Lan Zhan’s— on Lan Zhan’s – Wei Ying’s brain stutters like a broken record.
Oh my God. Fuck. On Lan Zhan’s titties.
“I am sure,” says Lan Zhan firmly. That’s her ‘Lan Zhan will brook no argument’ tone of voice. It’s so sexy. Lan Zhan is so sexy. Or maybe not. Can an asexual person be referred to as sexy? Or is that rude and disrespectful? Wei Ying makes a mental note to Google it.
And then – wow. It’s happened. Lan Zhan’s breasts are exactly as soft as they look. And warm. And mmmmmmffffffff Wei Ying smushes her face against them unashamedly.
“Jiejie, you’re so soft and warm,” says Wei Ying, because she’s like. Touch-drunk. That’s a thing. Right?
And because she’s stupid. Yeah. That’s definitely a thing.
“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, arms tightening. Is it just Wei Ying or did Lan Zhan’s voice quiver a little bit?
Wei Ying’s mortified. Oh my God Lan Zhan’s uncomfortable. Lan Zhan who doesn’t fucking touch anyone ever just let Wei Ying smush her face against her soft, soft titties and Lan Zhan is freaking out but she’s too polite to say so. Wei Ying tries to pull back but Lan Zhan’s arms are like steel around her. Wei Ying makes a funny little strangled noise. “Is this? Okay? Lan Zhan?” she murmurs against Lan Zhan’s blessed/cursed white pajama shirt.
Lan Zhan’s hand is cradling Wei Ying’s head now, and what the fuck. Wei Ying can’t be expected to think critically right now. It feels too good to do anything but go boneless, brain-empty.
“Wei Ying,” she says, so softly.
“Okay,” Wei Ying breathes out, relaxing in Lan Zhan’s arms. “Okay.”
It feels so wrong, so debauched to be doing this in the middle of the day, with the sun streaming in through the window. They’re both stone cold sober. Lan Zhan because she’s very good and doesn’t drink, Wei Ying because even she would have qualms about drinking at 1:30pm on her day off.
Platonic. Cuddles. This is fine. Wei Ying can be normal about this. Wei Ying can be good with this.
Lan Zhan’s blunt nails scritch gently across Wei Ying’s scalp. Wei Ying literally cannot stop the moan that spills from her lips. Ah fuck. Platonic moans. Fuck.
“Lan Zhan,” says Wei Ying urgently, shifting her head so she can tilt up to look at Lan Zhan’s face. “Lan Zhan, you have to be careful.”
Lan Zhan is so cute and confused. She makes a little worried noise in her throat. That little furrow between her eyebrows. God. She is making such an attentive face, such a listening face. Wei Ying wants to scream a little in the back of her throat.
“Lan Zhan, this is so nice, too nice. You have to be careful because if we keep doing this I’ll get used to it. And then you’ll never have any peace again, Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan I can’t get used to this, it’s too nice, it’s too nice.” Wei Ying realizes with mortification that as the words rush out of her mouth, her eyes are prickling the way they do before she cries. She will not cry. She will not ruin this by crying, holy shit.
“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan earnestly, the little furrow of worry deepening, eyes so grave and concerned. Fuck. Ah fuck. Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan is too good.
Wei Ying wants to hide her face. Lan Zhan’s boobies are the only place to do so. And Wei Ying has no shame, so she does it. Only when she is safely hidden does she mumble into Lan Zhan’s shirt. “Lan Zhan, ah Lan Zhan, you are so good, too good.” This does nothing to allay the prickle behind Wei Ying’s eyes; in fact, admitting how good Lan Zhan is makes it worse and her eyes are actually leaking now, leaking tears onto Lan Zhan’s perfect white pajama shirt, and damn it this is not what Wei Ying had in mind when she was fantasizing about Lan Zhan’s shirt getting wet!
Lan Zhan makes a sweet confused little noise that Wei Ying feels as a vibration through her chest as well as hears.
Wei Ying is going to lose her shit if she doesn’t calm down. She rolls herself off the bed – a difficult feat, breaking through the tight band of Lan Zhan’s grip – landing in a jumble of limbs on the floor. She scrambles up and pastes a grin on her face at the sight of Lan Zhan’s confused, worried, beautiful face. “Bathroom,” she blurts and beats a hasty retreat.
In the bathroom, she stares at herself in the mirror. Splashes her face with water. It’s not helping. Her breathing is shaky, her eyes are leaking. This will not do.
“Hey Lan Zhan!” she yells, voice pitched to carry.
“Yeah?”
“Do you mind if I take a shower?”
A beat of silence. Lan Zhan can throw her out. It would be fine with Wei Ying. Lan Zhan can do anything she likes with her, it’s fine. Wei Ying figures this whole friendship they’re having is on borrowed time anyway, right? Wei Ying’s just waiting for the bad thing to happen that drives them apart, because isn’t that just the way life is? Sometimes, or maybe even most times, Wei Ying is the bad thing that happens.
So it’s only a matter of time really.
Footsteps outside the bathroom door, which is closed thank you very much!
Lan Zhan’s voice, low and close, outside the door. “Of course,” she says. “I’ll get you a towel.”
A towel! Lan Zhan has a spare towel! What kind of perfect person!
It’s fine. Wei Ying’s losing her shit over Lan Zhan having spare towels. A normal thing to have. Wei Ying would have them if she weren’t so bad at doing the laundry. Everything’s fine. She gets naked and turns on the water and hops in immediately, doesn’t wait for it to get warm. Pull yourself together Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan knocks so politely.
“I’m naked!” says Wei Ying, fighting back a little bubble of hysterical laughter. “But I’m in the shower, so there’s the shower curtain.” Aw what the hell why not. “Come on in!”
Lan Zhan does and she averts her eyes so nicely. The shower curtain is not exactly opaque, but it’s good enough for two platonic gal-pals, eh? Two platonic gal-pals who are hopefully gonna go back to cuddling at some point today, one hopes? With more moan-worthy, super platonic head scritches, please God? Please?
Lan Zhan leaves the towel on the sink counter and then sneaks out, eyes carefully pointed down where she can’t see any business.
Hm. Didn’t even sneak a peek then. Definitely not interested. This isn’t news to Wei Ying, but she gets a little freshly crushed every time she collects another piece of evidence that Lan Zhan sees Wei Ying about as sexually as she sees a potato.
“Thanks Lan Zhan!” she chirps.
Wei Ying scrubs herself vigorously with Lan Zhan’s nice fancy soap, sandalwood scented. She laughs hysterically. She’s going to smell like Lan Zhan. Oh fuck.
“Wei Ying?” comes Lan Zhan’s worried voice from outside the door.
“All good Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying trills, feeling manic. “Be done in a sec!”
***
Wei Ying is naked in there. Naked. In Lan Zhan’s shower.
Naked. And.
Wet.
Not like that. Just water.
But still. This is… Lan Zhan wrings her hands, runs one of them through her hair, agitated.
Well it’s illegal is what it is.
It’s not though. It should be. Naked Wei Ying in Lan Zhan’s shower is either the best thing that’s ever happened or a gross miscarriage of justice. No in between.
Lan Zhan didn’t see anything. She didn’t want to make Wei Ying uncomfortable.
But Wei Ying. Is. In. Lan Zhan’s shower! The same soaps that Lan Zhan uses every day are sitting there peacefully playing witness to Wei Ying’s naked body.
Lan Zhan is jealous of soap. Wow. A new low.
And it seemed like Wei Ying was upset, just now, when they cuddled. Was she upset with the cuddling? It didn’t seem that she was. She burrowed against Lan Zhan’s chest and sighed, her breath warm and a little wet against Lan Zhan’s shirt. Would she burrow if she didn’t like the cuddling? Lan Zhan thinks not.
But Wei Ying was upset by something. And Lan Zhan wants to help, so she’s making dumplings. It’s too early to make dinner and it’s too late for lunch. Still, Lan Zhan is making dumplings.
What else is Lan Zhan supposed to do when Wei Ying is naked in her shower and upset?
Upset with Lan Zhan? Maybe?
Lan Zhan doesn’t know. She just doesn’t know.
Lan Zhan mixes flour and water to make the dough. She overmixes it, probably. This is supposed to rest for at least an hour. Maybe it will need to rest more since Lan Zhan just took out her panic on it. Too much gluten formation will lead to unpleasantly tough dumpling wrappers. Usually when Lan Zhan has this many feelings, she goes to the gym, where she can run fast and punch things.
Lan Zhan cannot go to the gym. Wei Ying is in her house, in her shower! Lan Zhan cannot miss a moment of Wei Ying being in her house, in her shower.
(Also going to the gym during a sick day seems morally wrong somehow, dishonest. Going to the gym during a sick day seems like something that would invite cosmic retribution.)
Wei Ying will not shower for an hour, but Lan Zhan cannot wrap her head around what she can do with this time mismatch. Dumpling dough is dumpling dough, it will rest for an hour. At least. If not more. Then Lan Zhan will make dumplings.
Lan Zhan loses herself in the process. This is another way of getting calm. Not as cathartic as punching things, but satisfying in its own way. She chops chives and greens and ginger up, very fine. She cuts black mushrooms into tiny little uniform cubes. She crumbles tofu. She flash fries everything in a wok with a touch of rice wine, salt, and white pepper. Mushrooms and ginger first, then tofu. Greens and chives last, and not very long, or else they will be overcooked when the dumplings get steamed. She turns off the heat and transfers the filling mixture to a large ceramic bowl, adds sesame oil. She washes and dries the wok thoroughly and methodically, then hangs it up on its designated hook.
She set the mung bean noodles to soaking in hot water when she began, so now they are tender, but still springy, ready for her to carefully cut them into tiny pieces with kitchen scissors. This is what she is doing when Wei Ying leaves the bathroom. This is what she is doing when Wei Ying comes up from behind her.
“Lan Zhan, what are you doing?” says Wei Ying and Lan Zhan drops the scissors. She bends smoothly to pick them up and put them in the sink.
“I’m making dumplings,” Lan Zhan says inanely, as though this is a totally normal thing to be doing and as though the sight of Wei Ying barefoot, towel-clad, and dripping in Lan Zhan’s kitchen isn’t making her stomach flip and twist desperately like a fish out of water.
“Wow,” says Wei Ying. She scoops her clean fingers into the filling bowl and then puts said fingers into her mouth. It looks messy. Lan Zhan is mesmerized. A tiny little fragment of vermicelli noodle has caught in the corner of Wei Ying’s mouth. “Mmph,” Wei Ying says through a mouthful of filling. She swallows and Lan Zhan watches the line of her throat. Lan Zhan’s eyes flick back up to Wei Ying’s mouth as her tongue darts up to lick her lips, grabbing the errant noodle. “M’hungry,” Wei Ying says. She licks her fingers un-self-consciously.
Lan Zhan moves her eyes from Wei Ying’s (messy) (pretty) (messy-pretty) mouth to her exposed thighs then to the clock on the wall. “The dough has to rest for thirty more minutes,” she says. She would like to look at Wei Ying’s thighs again, but she doesn’t. They are nice thighs, thinks Lan Zhan, lightly golden and lean from running. Sometimes they go running together, the two of them. But Wei Ying prefers running out in the open air, alternately sprinting fast and taking many breaks to stop for coffee, or boba, or snacks, or social interactions with her neighbors, or once, to take a picture of the giant blow-up Union Rat that sometimes appears in front of one of the buildings downtown. Lan Zhan prefers running on a treadmill in the gym, where she can carefully set and maintain the pace that she likes, track her progress to her goal, and where she won’t be accosted by the many distractions of city life, the people, the cars, the real-life rats, the messes and trash-bags on the sidewalk, and yes, the inflatable Union Rats of the world.
Lan Zhan would like to see what Wei Ying’s runner’s thighs look like spread open in front of her. She would like to know how they would feel underneath her hands. Would they be soft? The skin looks very soft. It looks like it might have some soft downy hairs on it. Lan Zhan would like to feather her hands across the surface and see if she can create gooseflesh. Lan Zhan would like to lick a broad stripe from knee up to the (probably sensitive) spot where the thigh meets the hip.
Lan Zhan looks studiously away. “If you are hungry, I could make something else,” she says.
Suddenly Wei Ying looks like she’s tearing up again, but she blinks fast and smiles brightly until it seems the tears are nothing but a bright glitter, just part and parcel of her mischievous grin. “Lan Zhan, you’re like wife material,” she teases, and there’s a hard edge to her voice that Lan Zhan doesn’t really understand. “How is it possible that you haven’t been snapped up by some awful man yet? You cook, clean? Throw a mean punch? You keep,” she laughs breathlessly. “Clean guest towels?” She spreads her hands wide, heedless of the so-precarious hold of the towel. Lan Zhan’s heart is in her throat at the way the towel droops and shifts, but Wei Ying catches it and fixes it before any miraculous disaster can occur. “Jiejie you’ve got everything. You’re the whole package. How come nobody’s wifed you the fuck up yet?”
Is Wei Ying trying to be cruel? It’s unclear. In any case, it’s a preposterous idea. Even more preposterous if there are to be men involved. There is only one possible response. “I am gay,” says Lan Zhan flatly. Well, there are two possible responses, actually. But the other one of them shows all of Lan Zhan’s secret cards, so she holds that response close to her chest, lets the forbidden words flutter around like butterflies enclosed in the cage of her ribs. I am in love with Wei Ying.
Wei Ying squeaks and almost drops the towel. “Lan Zhan! You!”
“Me,” says Lan Zhan seriously. Is this really so surprising? Apparently it is. Wei Ying’s eyes are wide and her mouth is open (and red, Lan Zhan’s hindbrain helpfully supplies).
“I thought you were asexual!” exclaims Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan shifts uncomfortably. “No.”
“But Lan Zhan, you never date! Why?” Wei Ying’s eyes are imploring, pleading. Lan Zhan doesn’t correct Wei Ying’s assertion. It’s essentially true, Lan Zhan doesn’t date. Five unsuccessful romantic assignations over eight years ago are the exception to the rule.
Lan Zhan tries to be brave. Really, she does. “There is only one person I want to date.” She fixes Wei Ying with her eyes, tries to convey the gravity of her words. This is a confession. Just not with words. Though, to be fair, no amount of intense staring has yet been able to de-mystify Lan Zhan’s true feelings to their object, a fact about which Lan Zhan is both glad and disappointed. If hot stares were tantamount to love confessions, they would have had this all out in the open years ago.
“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying cries out, in a voice like someone being tortured. “Who is it? Please tell me! I’ll keep your secret, jiejie, I’ll help you even,” Her voice has taken on a desperate edge. “Ah don’t tell me, I know, it must be Mianmian! Is it Mianmian?” Her eyes are darting all over Lan Zhan’s face, her hands fluttering around like she wants to reach out, but she keeps having to put them back on the towel to stay decent.
Lan Zhan closes her eyes. Mianmian. Of all the— This is not a successful confession. Perhaps unsurprisingly. Because Lan Zhan never says enough to make herself clear, too afraid of how Wei Ying might respond. She doesn’t want to lose her again. Lan Zhan opens her eyes. “Wei Ying.” I want to date Wei Ying, joins the fluttering butterflies in Lan Zhan’s chest, bumping around haplessly inside of her, unspoken.
Wei Ying is nodding frantically, talking fast. “It’s Mianmian, I knew it, I knew you liked her, she’s the only person you ever talk to that you get that little tiny crinkle in the corners of your eyes that means you’re at least mildly interested, she’s the only one, I should have guessed so much sooner so I could,” she squares her shoulders. “So I could help you get together! Ai Lan Zhan,” she wails, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
And suddenly, Lan Zhan just loses her head. She can’t stand here letting Wei Ying get this so wrong, and before she can stop herself she’s crowding Wei Ying against the wall with her body, one hand on either side of Wei Ying, caging her in, eyes intent on hers, trying to make her understand, trying to tell her without telling her, because Lan Zhan’s never been good with words, no matter how many of them flutter inside her beneath her sternum, unexpressed. “Wei Ying,” she says, trying to put every unspoken, desperate thing she feels into it. But Wei Ying is still speaking about Mianmian, in between little shaky breaths, saying miserably how she’s gonna set them up on the best dates, just you wait Lan Zhan, I’ll be the best matchmaker ever, and Lan Zhan can’t stand it any longer, she leans forward and silences her with her mouth, slotting their lips together.
Lan Zhan swallows Wei Ying’s gasp of surprise as it turns into a thready moan, and everything Lan Zhan has held back all these years comes pouring out of her through her lips, hitting them both like a freight train. She’s kissing Wei Ying with heat, pressing her against the wall, demanding more, and Wei Ying goes so sweet and soft and pliant, and the towel even falls down to pool on the kitchen floor. Wei Ying shivers as Lan Zhan’s hands stroke down her sides, utterly naked, skin soft and damp under Lan Zhan’s touch, her every helpless, keening sound captured by Lan Zhan’s mouth.
Wei Ying’s mouth opens obligingly beneath Lan Zhan’s insistence as Lan Zhan dips her tongue inside. She wrings so many needy little moans out of Wei Ying that she loses count, and still she wants more, she wants everything Wei Ying can give her, she wants to tear Wei Ying apart and put her back together again, and although that feeling frightens Lan Zhan, it also feels overwhelmingly, soaringly, gut-clenchingly right.
So Lan Zhan bites at her lips and Wei Ying gasps, a punched out, desperate sound, and that sound fuels the fire inside Lan Zhan, makes her want to kiss, and bite, and keep, and fuck Wei Ying. It’s heady and overwhelming, and Lan Zhan wants to slow down and speed up at the same time, wants to catalogue and store away every gasp, moan, mewl, and hitch of breath, wants to make Wei Ying tremble and moan and melt, wants to kiss her so good, fuck her so good, that by the end of it they’re different people entirely than when they started.
Lan Zhan wants to leave a legacy on Wei Ying’s body that it won’t soon forget, wants to mark her far beyond hickeys and bruises, which fade with time. She wants to shape Wei Ying’s body of desire, mold it and imprint a permanent Lan Zhan shape onto it. She wants to train Wei Ying to associate Lan Zhan’s hands, her voice, her mouth with pleasure. Lan Zhan is overwhelmed by all she wants, overwhelmed to the point of dizziness.
Lan Zhan pulls away. “I don’t want to date Mianmian,” she says abruptly. She turns around. The dough is probably ready now. She tests it with hands that shake.
Wei Ying wraps the towel back around herself and clutches it as she edges closer, looking stunned. “Lan Zhan!” she says, indignant. “How are you gonna just stand there and make dumplings after kissing me like that! Shouldn’t you take some responsibility?” Wei Ying is flushed pink from the top of her head to the slope of her chest; her lips are reddened and kiss-bitten and just a little puffy.
“Wei Ying is hungry,” says Lan Zhan, beginning to portion out the dough to roll into wrappers.
Wei Ying opens and closes her mouth a few times, and then she seems to come to a decision. She puts her hands on Lan Zhan’s shoulders. The towel falls to the floor again. She pays it no attention and Lan Zhan carefully looks away. “No, Lan Zhan, you do not get to look away right now! Look at me!” Lan Zhan looks, obediently, guiltily, hungrily, eyes traveling over every inch of exposed golden skin – the little dip of her waist, the soft, adorable, so-grabbable fat of her belly, the shadow of hair concealing the object of so many of Lan Zhan’s fantasies between her legs.
“You do not get to kiss a girl senseless in your kitchen and then go back to just making dumplings!” she says, marching Lan Zhan out of the kitchen by force. “The least you can do,” she bites her lip, considering. (It’s terribly sexy.) “Is get naked, I mean, I’m already naked here, I’m at a serious disadvantage, come on!” She pushes Lan Zhan down onto the couch and crawls on top of her. Lan Zhan thinks she might die. “You can’t kiss me like that and then not take responsibility, jiejie, I was hungry before, but now I’m horny. Are you gonna help me out or what?”
Lan Zhan swallows hard. “Wei Ying.”
“Is that all you can say now, Lan Zhan? You’re not going to explain yourself? You’d just ravish my mouth and say nothing about it?” Wei Ying jostles Lan Zhan, pulling her shirt off in a rush. Wei Ying groans at the sight of her. “Oh my God Lan Zhan, you, you have no idea.” Her hands flutter out. “Your breasts are,” Wei Ying grinds her hips down and Lan Zhan’s lips part. “Unbelievable. Please, please let me touch them.”
Lan Zhan’s mouth is open, breathing hard. Wei Ying is completely naked, pinning Lan Zhan down to the couch by her hips, by her, her, her – Lan Zhan’s brain stutters interminably – by her pussy.
“Wei Ying,” she says helplessly.
Wei Ying smiles, but there’s an edge. “Yes Lan Zhan?”
“Wei Ying, it’s you, it’s always been you.”
Wei Ying collapses bodily onto Lan Zhan, resting their foreheads together, her hands cupping Lan Zhan’s cheeks so softly. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, you don’t mean that, do you?”
“I’ve always wanted Wei Ying. Always.”
Wei Ying takes a shaky breath. “Okay, wow,” she breathes out. “Okay.”
“This can’t be a one-time thing,” says Lan Zhan desperately. “Wei Ying, I couldn’t, I can’t, I need”—Lan Zhan can’t speak. Suddenly, inexplicably, she is on the edge of crying.
“Shh, Lan Zhan, it’s okay.” Wei Ying caresses Lan Zhan’s face, unutterably tender. The hard edge in Wei Ying’s voice and face is gone now, replaced by something indescribably soft. She feathers the lightest kisses all over Lan Zhan’s face. “Lan Zhan is so good. I don’t know what I did to deserve you wanting me, but I’ll try, I’ll try to keep doing it. I’ll try to be good enough for Lan Zhan.”
“Wei Ying is good,” Lan Zhan says brokenly, tears leaking embarrassingly from the corners of her eyes. “Wei Ying is so good. Wei Ying is good because Wei Ying is Wei Ying. There is no need for trying when Wei Ying is Wei Ying.” There, finally, the real confession. So many words. Lan Zhan feels wrung out and raw from speaking them. Butterflies set free. Or not. Lan Zhan still feels the fluttering feeling, maybe even more so than before.
“Ah Lan Zhan, that’s, ah,” she pauses and looks at Lan Zhan, who is shaking. “It’s okay,” says Wei Ying, eyes a little teary, and she kisses Lan Zhan so softly on the lips. Lan Zhan, to her embarrassment, makes a little desperate, distressed noise in her throat.
Wei Ying collapses down fully, boneless, resting her bodyweight against Lan Zhan and her cheek against Lan Zhan’s collarbone, nosing into her neck. “It’s okay, Lan Zhan,” she soothes, her arms coming around Lan Zhan’s waist. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying, I’m staying.”
They stay there for many minutes, probably, skin to skin, breast to breast, until Lan Zhan comes back to herself, calm again. Lan Zhan does not know how much time has passed, but it has been enough that Wei Ying is almost asleep.
“Wei Ying must be cold,” Lan Zhan says finally. “And hungry.” She sits up and Wei Ying grumbles sleepily at the interruption. “Bed,” says Lan Zhan. “Cuddling.” She thinks for a moment, stroking her hand up and down the line of Wei Ying’s spine absently. “And ordering delivery.”
Wei Ying hums in assent but doesn’t move. So Lan Zhan picks her up. Her legs wrap around Lan Zhan’s middle, her pussy pressing hot against Lan Zhan’s belly for a moment, her ass plump beneath Lan Zhan’s hands. She clutches at Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “Lan Zhan!” she cries. But she lets herself be carried. “Ai Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, you’re going to be the death of me, you know,” she mutters into Lan Zhan’s neck. Lan Zhan shivers at the sensation of those soft lips moving against her skin.
Lan Zhan holds Wei Ying with one arm, pulling back the covers with the other, and sets her down gently. She crawls in on top of Wei Ying, bringing the comforter to cover them both.
“This is so nice, Lan Zhan,” murmurs Wei Ying, blinking up at her with a devious little smile, clearly awake now. “You know what would be nicer?” She tips her head so her mouth comes nearer to Lan Zhan’s.
“What,” says Lan Zhan, voice gone low.
“If you kissed me.”
So she does.
***
They still haven’t fucked yet. It’s weird. Lan Zhan was so, so intense, when she kissed Wei Ying in the kitchen. It was like she had snapped! It was just like the old days in school, when Wei Ying would tease and tease and tease until she got a response. Usually a glare, or sometimes even a fight! Lan Zhan has always been a secretly fighty person underneath the icy, proper exterior. She throws a mean punch! And she can pick Wei Ying up like it’s nothing and hold her with one arm! Wife material! Totally dreamy!
But since the kiss, she’s gotten quieter, more tentative. She touches Wei Ying like she’s afraid she might disappear in her hands like smoke.
That’s fair, thinks Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan has a tattoo about Wei Ying. A tattoo she got nine years ago, after Wei Ying disappeared. Lan Zhan’s not much of a talker, so Wei Ying has to draw this information out of her like blood from a stone. The tattoo spans all across Lan Zhan’s left ribs, curling around down her flank. Lotus flowers, pink and unfurling, with delicate, paper-like green leaves and soft little curly tendrils of vines.
“Wei Ying’s favorite,” says Lan Zhan mournfully when Wei Ying asks the meaning.
“Oh,” is all Wei Ying can say, mouth gone dry. “You remembered.” Who can remember a thing like that? Who can remember a thing like that about Wei Ying?
You know what’s fucking permanent?
A tattoo.
Lan Zhan has a tattoo of lotus flowers because they’re Wei Ying’s favorite.
Fuck.
Lan Zhan is so gentle with her. And it’s so lovely. But Wei Ying kind of, secretly, in her heart of hearts, wants to see what it looks like when Lan Zhan snaps. She wants to see if she can get Lan Zhan to snap so hard she fucks Wei Ying absolutely silly. Wei Ying thinks maybe Lan Zhan wants to do it. She doesn’t understand why Lan Zhan’s being so delicate with her.
Maybe Lan Zhan just needs a little… help. A little friendly provocation. Permission to go wild.
Wei Ying will be happy to provide. But what does she have to do? Talk about Mianmian again? Probably not the wisest. Present Lan Zhan with her backside to mark up as she pleases? Tease her? She’s already lounging in Lan Zhan’s bed butt-naked. What more of an invitation does she want? Lan Zhan’s just kissed her silly, but for some reason she’s gotten up, leaving Wei Ying in the warm hollow of blankets she’s left behind. And worse, she’s gotten dressed, in work slacks and a button down, leaving her feet bare.
In the end, Wei Ying doesn’t do anything terribly provocative, she just whines. “Lan-jiejie, please, what do you want? What do you think about? What gets you off? Please, jiejie, I want you to fuck me; actually – I want you to ruin me. Please, Lan Zhan, please, I need it. I need you.”
Lan Zhan’s eyes leave her phone immediately. She leans down over Wei Ying, eyes gone dark, and she kisses her breathless for long minutes, making her gasp and squirm, making her pussy clench around nothing, making her ache to be touched. Then Lan Zhan stands and says abruptly, “I have a work call.”
Wei Ying blinks, thoughts moving slowly, probably because all the blood in her body has gone straight to her pussy, which has been very interested in the proceedings up until this moment, leaving no blood left in her brain for thinking. “What? I thought you took the day off!”
“It’s an emergency. I’ll take the call from home. I shouldn’t be long.” She presses a chaste kiss to Wei Ying’s temple. “Use my card to order delivery.” She hands over her credit card and disappears, probably into her office. Wei Ying hears the quiet snick of a door closing.
Wei Ying decides she needs to take matters into her own hands.
Well first she orders delivery. No reason to starve.
When she’s eaten and the vegetarian dishes are plated pleasingly for Lan Zhan on her pretty white plates, Wei Ying ties herself up, just as pretty and pleasing – though pretty and pleasing are normally not things that Wei Ying aims to be – and she kneels down underneath the kitchen table.
And she waits.
***
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls softly. She pads softly into the kitchen. The dumpling fixings have been put neatly away, but there’s a spread of plates on the kitchen table and where is Wei Ying?
“Lan Zhan,” comes a mischievous voice, and it, it came from. Under the kitchen table?
Lan Zhan comes closer. She blinks furiously, convinced she is dreaming. Wei Ying. Wei Ying is. Wei Ying is underneath the table.
Trussed up like a, like a, like a.
Lan Zhan can’t seem to finish that thought.
“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying chants, wriggling on her knees, peeking out from under the table. “Do you like it, do you like it? Is it pretty? I learned how to do rope on myself in a class one time in Shanghai. Very secret stuff, totally taboo and underground you know, and I only understood like, 30% of what they were saying, haha my Chinese is so bad, but with rope you kind of just copy, you know? I just kind of followed along and I know what you’re thinking, where did you get that rope? Well I’ll tell you, I just so happen to be the kind of queer who carries rope around just in case, and usually I don’t mean that in a dirty way, hahaha, you just never know when it might come in handy!”
“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, her heart thundering. Her hands itch to do something.
Wei Ying pouts. “Lan Zhan! Is it pretty? Do you like it?” she whines. “I worked hard on this rope for you.”
Something in Lan Zhan changes, a flash in her eyes. She straightens up. Unbuttons the cuffs of the button down she put on for her call. Rolls up the sleeves to her elbow, very neatly, with precision and patience.
Wei Ying is wrapped up like a present for her, waiting patiently beneath her kitchen table for her. Lan Zhan almost growls.
“Mm,” Lan Zhan says, voice low and heavy. “Very pretty. I like it.” The atmosphere crackles between them, like the humid, pregnant air before a lightning storm.
“Wei Ying did so well,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying sits up like she’s been jolted and almost hits her head on the table. Lan Zhan crosses the distance in two strides. She thinks she knows what Wei Ying wants.
So she sits. Scoots the chair in so that Wei Ying is between her legs under the table. Her hand finds Wei Ying’s cheek beneath the table and caresses it. Wei Ying presses into her hand like a cat.
And Lan Zhan eats. Slowly. Decorously. “Would Wei Ying like to touch herself while she waits?” she says quietly.
Wei Ying whines wordlessly, pressing her face against Lan Zhan’s thigh. Then she gets bolder, nuzzling into Lan Zhan’s lap, breathing deeply into the fabric that covers Lan Zhan’s pussy.
“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, a soft reprimand.
“Wanna taste Lan Zhan,” whines Wei Ying pitifully. Her breath is warm through the fabric. Lan Zhan feels herself clench.
“Mm,” she says. “Wei Ying must have patience.”
Wei Ying butts her head against Lan Zhan more persistently. She rests her wet pussy on top of Lan Zhan’s bare foot and squirms, making a noise like a high whine in the back of her mouth.
Lan Zhan pulls away from the table just enough to give Wei Ying a stern look. “If Wei Ying is patient, she will be rewarded,” says Lan Zhan, hiding the way she feels dazed, like maybe she is dreaming and any minute now she’ll wake. Never in her wildest fantasies was it like this. Never in her wildest fantasies was it this good, this heady. Lan Zhan wonders if this is what it feels like to be drunk – wild, elated, and unmoored. “Kneel properly.”
“But Lan Zhan, what’s the ‘proper’ way to kneel?” Wei Ying says, eyes glinting up at Lan Zhan from underneath the table. She grinds on Lan Zhan’s bare foot, slick and hot, and a wanton moan drops from her lips.
“Wei Ying,” warns Lan Zhan. “Behave.” Her mouth is dry. Wei Ying is naked and has tied herself up so prettily under her kitchen table. Wei Ying’s pussy is on her foot. Wei Ying’s pussy is impossibly hot and wet on her foot. Lan Zhan is going to go into cardiac arrest any minute now probably.
Wei Ying’s red, teasing mouth opens in a grin. “Make me,” she taunts.
And – unbelievably – Lan Zhan does. She hauls Wei Ying up and out from under the table, careful not to bump her head on the table, attentive not to jostle too hard at the ropes, mindful of the potential of rope burn, and very concerned internally with the idea of rope safety – a topic about which she has heard, but about which she knows precious little. She sits Wei Ying in her lap, and although she knows it’s far from discipline, she kisses into Wei Ying’s mouth possessively, greedily, demanding pliancy, threading her fingers into Wei Ying’s hair to keep her where just she wants her, quivering in Lan Zhan’s lap, whimpering into Lan Zhan’s mouth. Like it’s exactly where Wei Ying should be, always.
“Be good,” says Lan Zhan to Wei Ying’s dazed face. Then she tips Wei Ying over her knee and rests a heavy, proprietary hand on Wei Ying’s bare ass.
Wei Ying’s bare ass! Is any of this real? It must be; Lan Zhan could never have imagined how it would feel to squeeze the flesh of Wei Ying’s ass (plump, warm, and juicy supplies Lan Zhan’s hindbrain helpfully). Obviously she imagined it, (more times than Lan Zhan would care to admit), but the fantasy came nowhere near the reality of Wei Ying’s body rising and falling with her breath, slumped and warm across Lan Zhan’s lap, her little fidgety motions against the rope with which she tied herself, the breathy little ‘hhah – ah’ sounds she makes when Lan Zhan so much as ghosts her hand anywhere near her pussy.
Then Lan Zhan continues to eat as though she could possibly be interested in food right now, as though doesn’t have a lapful of panting Wei Ying, as though she doesn’t have a handful of Wei Ying’s bare ass! under her hand.
She strokes up and down. She comes perilously close to the edge of Wei Ying’s pubic hair. Well, not literally perilous. As perilous as it may feel to Lan Zhan’s poor heart which seems to want to burst out of her chest, she is, she thinks, not actually in mortal peril. Idly, absently, her fingers reach out to brush a little errant curl of that dark hair.
Wei Ying whimpers brokenly and quivers.
“Good girl,” says Lan Zhan, feeling wrecked, and Wei Ying shivers again, with her whole body.
***
Wei Ying is all bluster. She makes this big show of being an absolute unsubduable mouthy, defiant brat and then all it takes is one good kiss and she melts into the biggest, subbiest bottom bitch who ever lived.
It’s kind of embarrassing.
And also, kind of hot.
Because at some point in Wei Ying’s life the wires got somehow crossed so that for Wei Ying, embarrassing = hot.
And no person can provide Wei Ying with embarrassment better than Lan Zhan.
Ah Lan Zhan. Sweet Lan Zhan.
Wall Street Lan Zhan. Proper, organized, button-down-wearing, investment banker Lan Zhan.
Fuck.
Mean Lan Zhan.
Wei Ying might be drooling. Actually drooling. Lan Zhan hasn’t been mean to her, not yet. Well, she was plenty mean in middle and high school. When they used to get into fights, Lan Zhan pinched, totally a dirty trick that should have been below someone so cool, so aloof. But Wei Ying has always brought out the fight in Lan Zhan, brought her down from her high horse (figuratively and literally, as it happens) to roughhouse in the dirt (yes literally, in the dirt) with her.
Lan Zhan hasn’t been mean to her in ages. Wei Ying wants to be careful. Lan Zhan seems so normal, other than the fact that she’s calmly eating buddha’s delight with one hand while with the other she palms Wei Ying’s naked ass and occasionally twirls a curl of Wei Ying’s pubic hair around her finger.
Wei Ying doesn’t want to scare Lan Zhan off by being too kinky.
But Wei Ying really wants Lan Zhan to be mean to her. Wei Ying wants Lan Zhan to be so mean she makes Wei Ying cry.
Time will tell whether Lan Zhan is also up for that.
For now, this much is enough to send her quivering into subspace.
She waits.
And waits.
And waits! Dear God! How long is she going to sit there eating Buddha’s Delight!?
Honestly, she can only be expected to wait for so long. After all, she is a bit of a brat.
“Lan Zhaaaaaaaan,” she whines. She wiggles under Lan Zhan’s hand. “Lan-Jiejie, pleeeeeeeeaaase, I’m gonna dieeeee,” she says, all drawn out.
“Wei Ying.”
Oh Lan Zhan has her stern voice on. Lan Zhan is probably the kind of person who gets on the phone with her bank when they have done her wrong and just tells them, “This is completely unacceptable,” and the person on the phone just begs her for mercy and gives her free money.
Okay maybe that’s not a thing. But if Wei Ying worked at a bank’s call center and Lan Zhan used that voice on her, she would give Lan Zhan anything – her virginity (non-existent), her credit card information (probably overdrawn), her social security number, her first-born child.
Her whole ass, on a silver platter.
Wei Ying wiggles said ass. She has it on good authority that it is an excellent ass. “Lan Zhaaaaaan,” she mewls.
She twists herself this way and that, trying to get a good look at Lan Zhan’s face, and her efforts are rewarded when she gets to witness Lan Zhan’s eyes turning unbelievably intense, in a way that reminds her breathlessly of the way Lan Zhan used to look whenever she was about to wrestle Wei Ying to the ground in the middle of gym class. It’s only a moment’s glimpse though, because Lan Zhan brings one heavy controlling hand to the nape of Wei Ying’s neck, putting her in her right place, looking down at the floor, and the next thing Wei Ying knows, Lan Zhan’s other hand is coming down on her ass with a loud smack that Wei Ying finds absolutely mortifying, so mortifying in fact, that actual tears come to her eyes.
“Ow Lan Zhan! That hurts!” She squirms as Lan Zhan gently rubs the spot she spanked, which has gone all hot and stinging, and somehow that’s even more embarrassing, and what’s worse, Wei Ying’s getting wet from all this embarrassment, wet in a way that Lan Zhan cannot possibly fail to notice, and –
Yep, there it is. Lan Zhan’s hand comes between her legs, one finger slipping lightly from Wei Ying’s wet entrance up to her hard clit. Wei Ying is even more embarrassed at the breathy mewl that escapes her own traitorous mouth.
“Hm,” says Lan Zhan. How can she make a wordless hum sound smug?
The second resounding smack on her ass is somehow more surprising, and hurts more, although it landed in a different spot, and Wei Ying cries out, almost a sob. “No, Lan Zhan, it hurts, it hurts!” She kicks her legs like she’s having a tantrum, but Lan Zhan’s hand goes completely still on her ass and she pulls Wei Ying upright with a gentleness that slays Wei Ying.
“Does Wei Ying want me to stop?” she asks, eyes very grave. Wei Ying squirms under the intensity of her eyes. “If Wei Ying wants me to stop, I will stop.”
Wei Ying hunches her shoulders, avoiding Lan Zhan’s eyes.
“Do you want me to stop?” she tries again. “Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s face is doing something funny – grave and concerned and terribly genuine and unutterably, unbearably soft. “Look at me, please, Wei Ying.” And there’s something in her tone that devastates Wei Ying into looking up, to see what might be hiding in Lan Zhan’s eyes. What she sees there makes Wei Ying feel more naked than actually being naked feels.
“No,” Wei Ying whispers, wanting to hide herself from Lan Zhan’s piercing golden gaze.
“No what?” says Lan Zhan softly. Too softly. God. Lan Zhan’s going to be the death of her, isn’t she.
“No, I don’t want you to stop!” Wei Ying exclaims with a frustrated little hop-wiggle in Lan Zhan’s lap. “Alright?” If Wei Ying’s hands weren’t tied, she would have given Lan Zhan a whack to make up for the pain of being asked to be honest. “Did you have to make me say it?” Wei Ying says, affronted.
Lan Zhan tilts her head, considering. “Yes,” says Lan Zhan, very seriously. “You will tell me if you are uncomfortable and want to stop, or we will not do any of this.” She fixes her eyes on Wei Ying. “Can you do this?”
Wei Ying wiggles a little bit to express the butterflies in her stomach, but then she says, “Yes,” with a little half-scowl half-smile, and what Lan Zhan does in response is like murder.
Lan Zhan smiles this tiny, beautiful, private smile, and Wei Ying feels like her heart is breaking, that she gets to see that, like she’s being murdered, and then Lan Zhan says, “Wei Ying is so good.” Then she swings Wei Ying back over her lap and says, “Ask me to do it.”
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying wails, kicking her legs. Lan Zhan holds her legs down in a brutally effective grip.
“Ask me, or I’ll stop,” says Lan Zhan, immovable and stern. Wei Ying gets the distinct impression that Lan Zhan is enjoying this.
“Lan Zhan, this is like murder,” says Wei Ying, twisting to look at her face. “I can’t, I can’t ask! It’s too shameful!”
Lan Zhan gives Wei Ying a little vicious pinch that makes Wei Ying gasp and her nerves light up like a sparkler candle on a birthday cake. Wei Ying moans and then her pussy clenches in a mix of embarrassment and arousal that such a thing, a pinch, could make her moan like that.
“Ask,” Lan Zhan commands. Her voice is so forceful, so good, so true.
And Wei Ying can’t help it. She gives in. “Ah, please, please Lan Zhan, spank me,” she says in a breathless rush, “Spank me until I cry!”
And Lan Zhan does, spanks her hard and heavy, until Wei Ying’s ass stings and flames and aches and glows. Lan Zhan makes her wail, makes her cry big fat messy tears, makes her pussy clench around nothing, growing slick.
And after a time, Lan Zhan stops, just caresses Wei Ying’s throbbing ass gently and murmurs softly, “Wei Ying is such a good girl for me; Wei Ying did so well,” and Wei Ying’s sobs and gulps calm down into little shivers and sniffles.
Lan Zhan leads Wei Ying to the living room, pulling her to sit in her lap on the couch, where she gently unties the rope, setting it to the side. She presses sweet kisses everywhere the rope has touched, then all over Wei Ying’s tear-stained face, tasting her tears. One arm wraps around Wei Ying, holding her close. Lan Zhan’s hand rests possessively over Wei Ying’s pussy, a warm weight that makes Wei Ying squirm and buck her hips for more contact. They stay like that for Wei Ying doesn’t know how long, as Wei Ying comes back to herself.
Lan Zhan dips a finger into Wei Ying’s wetness and then licks it clean before Wei Ying’s eyes. Wei Ying sighs. “Lan-Jiejie, you’re so sweet,” she says dreamily.
“Am I?” says Lan Zhan, her eyes crinkling just so at the corners, showing that she’s amused.
“Mmmm,” affirms Wei Ying, just short of purring, and she nuzzles her nose into Lan Zhan’s neck and breathes deeply of the warm scent of her. “Lan Zhan is the sweetest,” she says, and she captures Lan Zhan’s mouth in a languid kiss, filthy and open-mouthed. “You have too many clothes on, jiejie,” says Wei Ying, working at the buttons of Lan Zhan’s dress shirt. “I want to see you so bad, jiejie. I want to make you feel good.”
Lan Zhan hums once, a low, indulgent sound, letting Wei Ying peel her out of her dress shirt and her sports bra. Wei Ying groans. “Lan Zhan, you are unreal,” she says, brushing against Lan Zhan’s dark nipple with her hand, eliciting a tiny, sexy puff of breath. “I’ve been fantasizing about these titties…” she pauses and tweaks gently at Lan Zhan’s nipple, this time getting a hahh out of her. “About twelve years, give or take.”
Lan Zhan moans. “Wei Ying,” –Lan Zhan breathes out, hahh ah ah, as Wei Ying tweaks her nipples with her nimble fingers, and licks into her mouth— “Thought about me? Then?”
Wei Ying kisses her way down Lan Zhan’s chest to where her nipple hangs heavy, and suckles sweetly there, making Lan Zhan suck in a breath. “Oh boy did I,” she says, eyes twinkling. “Lan Zhan, you were my entire Sapphic awakening.” Lan Zhan huffs a breath at that, not quite laughter, not quite disbelief.
Wei Ying wiggles her hand into Lan Zhan’s pants, pressing against the warmth and wetness that she can feel through Lan Zhan’s underwear and they both groan.
“Jiejie, you’re so wet. Can I taste you?”
“Mm,” Lan Zhan affirms, shucking her pants and underwear in a smooth efficient motion while Wei Ying kneels beside her on the couch and watches.
Then Wei Ying goes to move to the floor, but Lan Zhan stops her with her hand and a shake of the head. “I want to play with your pussy while you do it,” she says.
Wei Ying’s mouth drops open. “Uh,” she says, slack-jawed and wanting. Her brain plays back play with your pussy a few times for good measure. “Yeah,” she nods. “Please, jiejie. Put me where you want me.”
“Lie down on your back,” instructs Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan’s couch is a weird, modern minimalist piece, almost as wide as a bed. Wei Ying lies down in the center of it and Lan Zhan kneels with one strong, beautiful leg on either side of Wei Ying’s face and Wei Ying whimpers happily as she understands that Lan Zhan is going to lower her pussy onto Wei Ying’s face now.
But Lan Zhan hovers uncertainly. “Wei Ying?” she says, and Wei Ying’s heart breaks even though she can’t see Lan Zhan’s face. She wants to give Lan Zhan everything.
She lifts her head up the remaining few inches so she can nuzzle her nose into Lan Zhan’s folds and just breathe her in. “Yeah, Lan Zhan,” she sighs in deep satisfaction, her voice soothingly low. She rubs her face against Lan Zhan’s slick, warm pussy, surrounded by her scent. “I’ve got you.” Lan Zhan relaxes down minutely with a shuddering sigh.
Wei Ying gives Lan Zhan a playful lick, trailing her tongue from Lan Zhan’s slick opening up to her clit, already hard and wanting, and Lan Zhan bears down with her hips, with a breathy little involuntary ah! sound.
“Yeah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs into Lan Zhan’s pussy. “You can press down on me, I don’t mind.” Wei Ying laps at the source of Lan Zhan’s slick, her opening, lost in the salty, tangy taste of her, and she groans. “Jiejie tastes so good.”
Lan Zhan’s hand trails across Wei Ying’s breasts, giving a nipple a sharp pinch that makes Wei Ying’s pussy clench, and makes her yelp, the sound muffled in Lan Zhan’s sweet cunt. Lan Zhan leans over her, giving Wei Ying easier access to her clit, and Wei Ying can feel Lan Zhan’s breath coming closer to her cunt. She rests one hand down beside Wei Ying’s hip, and with the other hand, she does as she promised – she plays with Wei Ying, skimming over Wei Ying’s thigh, pressing into Wei Ying’s hip, which makes her moan, then finally, finally coming to Wei Ying’s soaked pussy, her aching clit. The touch is so slight but Wei Ying is so sensitive at this point that she moans embarrassingly loud (and embarrassing = hot, so she’s not surprised when she gushes a little) and her hips stutter, chasing Lan Zhan’s fingers.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says feelingly, and at the vibration of Wei Ying’s hum against Lan Zhan’s clit, Lan Zhan presses her cunt down against her open mouth. Lan Zhan brushes Wei Ying’s swollen clit with her thumb again and again and Wei Ying jerks uncontrollably, moaning helplessly into Lan Zhan’s slick heat. She thinks she’d be happy to die here with Lan Zhan’s legs pressing on either side of her head, Lan Zhan’s pussy bearing down on her face, Lan Zhan’s thumb working her so sensitive clit, bringing her so fucking close to the edge. She wants to sob, wants to tell Lan Zhan she can suffocate her if she wants, wants to tell her fuck my face, but all she can do is moan under the onslaught. Here Wei Ying thought it was her turn to serve Lan Zhan’s pleasure, but it’s looking a lot like Wei Ying’s going to come first, barely breathing through Lan Zhan’s pussy, surrounded by the taste, the smell, the sensation of her.
Wei Ying feels her cunt squeezing helplessly around nothing, feels herself twitching irrepressibly under the perfectly rough touch of Lan Zhan’s thumb on her clit, little hitches of her hips. And then suddenly Lan Zhan presses her cunt down against Wei Ying’s face involuntarily, and for a moment, she can’t breathe, and at the sweet sound of Lan Zhan’s moan, Wei Ying comes, hard, toes curling as every muscle in her body goes tight, her body like a drawn bow, eyes screwed shut. Lan Zhan strokes her through it, her thumb relentless, squeezing every drop of pleasure out of Wei Ying until Wei Ying is whimpering pathetically through little hiccups of breath.
Then Lan Zhan gets up and Wei Ying looks at her blearily as she blinks her eyes back open. “Jiejie?” she says, the huskiness of her own voice surprising her. Lan Zhan is flushed prettily, her lips parted, her hair tousled and perfect, nipples hard and dark.
“Wei Ying, I want to fuck you,” Lan Zhan says, and she scoops Wei Ying up into a bridal carry.
Wei Ying yelps in surprise. “Ah! Lan Zhan! Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“With my strap,” clarifies Lan Zhan, carrying her to the bedroom and depositing her like a sack of potatoes upon it. (Sexy potatoes, apparently. Because Lan Zhan isn’t asexual. Lan Zhan is gay. And wants to fuck Wei Ying. Unbelievable.)
“But jiejie,” Wei Ying whines, propping herself up on her elbows to watch as Lan Zhan’s digs through one of her dresser drawers. “I want to make you come.”
Lan Zhan looks over at her seriously. “Wei Ying, you will,” she says, and there’s no mistaking her meaning. She goes back to her search.
Wei Ying shivers. Can Lan Zhan come from strapping on? Wei Ying’s never heard of that except in like… trashy free smut she reads online sometimes when she’s had a bad day. She didn’t think anyone could actually come that way, but it’s very hot to think about. Wei Ying lets her own hand drift down to her clit and presses against it, biting her lip.
Wei Ying didn’t even notice that she’d closed her eyes momentarily until she hears Lan Zhan saying softly, “Wei Ying,” from a position much closer than where she was previously, the bed dipping under her weight. Wei Ying blinks her eyes open, still pressing lazily at her swollen clit, and groans loud and low at the sight of her, heavy tits hanging down, swinging gently as she moves, and a marble-white cock jutting out proudly from her hips.
“Oh my God, Lan Zhan, you’re going to kill me,” she says, rubbing harder at her clit until Lan Zhan’s hand encircles her wrist and plucks it away, pinning it to the bed. Wei Ying whines at the loss.
“Shh,” says Lan Zhan, and she pushes Wei Ying’s legs to either side of her, dipping her head down to lick at Wei Ying’s cunt, little teasing kitten licks that make Wei Ying whimper and writhe until Lan Zhan holds her hips stationary with the heavy weight of her arm.
Wei Ying makes breathy, helpless ah – ah – ah – sounds, her head empty, her hips making little aborted jerks as Lan Zhan concentrates her tongue on Wei Ying’s swollen, sensitive clit, flicking it hard, but not fast, bringing Wei Ying close, then backing away, again and again.
“Uhhh,” Wei Ying moans, “Lan – hhah – Zhan.” Wei Ying pants and feels her cunt clench around nothing. She whimpers. “Please…”
“Mm?” Lan Zhan hums innocently against Wei Ying’s clit. “Does Wei Ying want something?”
“Ahh – ah! Lan Zhan!” says Wei Ying, slurring around the consonants of the name, pleasure drunk and wanting. She groans long and low when Lan Zhan dips her tongue down to taste Wei Ying’s slick. “Uhnnnn Lan Zhan… Please, I – ah!” Wei Ying jerks in surprise as Lan Zhan’s finger pets at Wei Ying’s slick entrance, just teasing, not pushing in. “Please, Lan Zhan, please,” she pants, almost sobbing.
Lan Zhan teases, gentling her tongue on Wei Ying’s clit, just grazing it, brushing it, until Wei Ying’s trembling and crying out with need. “Please, Lan Zhan!”
“Huh,” says Lan Zhan, her breath light on Wei Ying’s aching pussy. “Please what?”
Wei Ying moans loudly, head tossing feverishly on the pillow. “Please Lan Zhan – ah!” Lan Zhan strokes her clit more firmly again, and Wei Ying sees stars for a moment, making an ugly involuntary noise in the back of her throat. Lan Zhan eases up the pressure infinitesimally, just long enough for Wei Ying to pant out, “Please fuck me!”
“Mmm,” hums Lan Zhan, low and satisfied. “Good girl.” She picks up the pace on Wei Ying’s clit, making her cry out wordlessly. She pulls away for just long enough to speak. “Fingers first,” Lan Zhan says, and she places a mimicry of a light, chaste kiss on Wei Ying’s clit, which makes Wei Ying shudder. “Then my strap.” Then Lan Zhan applies herself vigorously, licking hard and fast, putting a finger inside to unerringly press up against Wei Ying’s g-spot, making Wei Ying buck and clench and cry out.
Lan Zhan groans as Wei Ying’s cunt squeezes violently around even the one finger. “So tight for me, Wei Ying.”
“More, please, more,” begs Wei Ying shamelessly. “Please, Lan Zhan, please.”
Lan Zhan complies, pressing another finger inside and curling her fingers in to massage relentlessly at Wei Ying’s g-spot as she continues to lave at Wei Ying’s clit, harder and faster, until Wei Ying’s entire body goes still and tight, and she comes with a shout.
It is at this moment, when Wei Ying is so hypersensitive all over her body that even Lan Zhan’s hand coming to rest on her thigh makes her shiver, that Lan Zhan nudges her lubed cock against Wei Ying’s opening. Wei Ying stares up at her, dazed and fucked out. “Lan Zhan?” she says, and Lan Zhan brings her hand to Wei Ying’s low belly, stroking there so gently. Then she rests her thumb on Wei Ying’s clit and Wei Ying’s lips part around her needy little moan. “Lan Zhan,” she gasps, hips hitching. “Please,” she whines.
Lan Zhan’s thumb moves, the slightest motion. Wei Ying keens and bucks up at even the slight pressure on her clit.
“Please what?” says Lan Zhan, her voice low and amused, but just slightly breathy.
“Please, Lan Zhan, need your cock,” Wei Ying babbles, words rushing out of her, beyond shame at being so needy, at begging so abjectly. “Need it inside me. Need you to fuck me. Please, jiejie, please.”
“Mm,” says Lan Zhan, and her warm, firm hands spread Wei Ying open as she presses her cock inside in one smooth, powerful slide that makes Wei Ying cry out.
Then she fucks her, brutally, powerfully, carving out a space inside of Wei Ying’s tight, silken heat, drawing out of Wei Ying low, guttural, animal sounds as Lan Zhan presses up against all the most internal, private spots inside her. Wei Ying has had her fair share of cocks, but never has she felt so overwhelmed, so taken care of, so intimately known.
“Lan Zhan,” she says, desperate and urgent, reaching for her. Lan Zhan leans over her, pressing her thighs up so they burn just a little with the stretch, essentially bending her in half.
“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, just as urgent and just as wrecked, her eyes intense on Wei Ying, breathing hard. They crush their mouths together, brief and sweet, moaning into each other’s open mouths.
“Lan Zhan,” gasps out Wei Ying, her cunt squeezing. Her face screws up in pleasure, her hands fisting in the sheets, her back arching up off the mattress.
Lan Zhan snaps her hips with a growl, redoubling her efforts, rubbing her thumb roughly up and down Wei Ying’s clit, making her cry out, higher, and louder, and more raw with each thrust, approaching a cry more like a scream, guttural in her throat, until Wei Ying’s vision whites out, eyes screwed shut, head thrown back in a hoarse yell, grasping at the sheets, as her orgasm explodes over her.
Lan Zhan fucks Wei Ying through her orgasm, gasping, grinding hard against the base of the strap, deep inside Wei Ying, until finally Lan Zhan follows her over the edge, shuddering as long, broken moans spill from her throat.
She has the presence of mind to slide the strap out of Wei Ying at least before they lie there for long minutes, skin to skin, Lan Zhan collapsed bonelessly on top of Wei Ying, breathing against her neck.
“Lan Zhan,” murmurs Wei Ying finally, nudging her with her nose. The strap pokes into her leg uncomfortably. Wei Ying strokes her hands down Lan Zhan’s sides, kissing wherever her mouth can reach. “Lan Zhan, take the strap off. Can I make you come again?”
Lan Zhan makes a sweet little confused noise.
Wei Ying has to huff a little laugh, pushing herself up to sit against the headboard. “Come on, you’re clearly familiar with the concept of multiple orgasms,” she teases. “You just gave me several mind-blowing orgasms in a row. Quite relentlessly, I might add,” she says, just a little smug.
“Mm,” affirms Lan Zhan, eyes still closed, wriggling a little, pleased.
“So how about it? Or are you a one and done kinda gal?”
Lan Zhan considers this. “No one has ever offered,” she mumbles into Wei Ying’s hip. “Usually I make the other girl come and then she goes to sleep or goes home. I’ve never come with somebody else there before.”
“Lan Zhan!” cries Wei Ying and she tosses a pillow at her, playfully. “Then how did you know you’d come using the strap if you’d never done it before?”
Lan Zhan surfaces from where she’d burrowed her face against Wei Ying’s skin. “It’s Wei Ying,” she says, guileless, as though this explains everything. Lan Zhan nuzzles back in, content and sleepy. “I always think of fucking Wei Ying when I come.”
Wei Ying goes still with shock, mouth opening and closing, blushing. “Lan Zhan, you think of me when you touch yourself?” she says, astounded.
Lan Zhan nods against Wei Ying’s hip. “Every time.”
Wei Ying wiggles back down to lie next to her, to look into her sleepy eyes and kiss her, open-mouthed and sensual, until they’re both gasping. She unbuckles the strap, tossing it to the side. Then she presses her hand against Lan Zhan’s pussy, gently gliding one slender finger from Lan Zhan’s wetness up to her hard clit, making her moan. “Do you want to come again, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying murmurs, licking at the sensitive outer shell of her ear, nipping at her lobe, which pulls a breathy little ahh from Lan Zhan’s mouth.
“Yes, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan sighs, as Wei Ying circles her clit with one finger.
Then slowly, sweetly, Wei Ying slides one finger inside Lan Zhan’s slick cunt, pressing up against her walls. Lan Zhan moans brokenly, clenching around Wei Ying’s finger. “Is this okay, Lan Zhan? Do you usually touch yourself inside?”
Lan Zhan breathes heavily, mouth open as Wei Ying’s finger works inside of her. “It’s good,” she manages. “I’ve never – Wei Ying,” she pulls at Wei Ying, kissing her deeply, desperately, letting Wei Ying swallow all the sweet, husky moans that spill out, uncontrolled, from her mouth.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” says Wei Ying between kisses, eyes full of wonder at the way Lan Zhan looks in ecstasy – her eyes closed, her perfect, full lips parted, chest heaving. “Ah, Lan Zhan, let me look at you, I want to see you when you come,” she says, pulling away just slightly, still warm and present, pressed against Lan Zhan’s side as she brings her other hand to Lan Zhan’s clit, grinding against it, slow.
Wei Ying adds a second finger to the first inside Lan Zhan, and after that it’s a shockingly short amount of time before Lan Zhan’s cunt clenches, crushing Wei Ying’s fingers painfully, her beautiful mouth open, her eyes trained helplessly on Wei Ying’s as she comes, moaning fluttery and breathy and broken in a way Wei Ying has never heard in Lan Zhan’s voice before.
They twine themselves together after, just kissing, slow and sweet.
Before Wei Ying can get worked up again as she easily could do – (one frat bro once told her in the backroom of a deeply stupid party, “uh you have an insane libido… Are you sure you’re not part rabbit or something?” before stumbling out of there like a soldier leaving the field) – Lan Zhan swings her legs over the side of the bed and gets up. Wei Ying whines. “Lan Zhaaaaaaan,” she grouses, making grabby little motions with her hands.
Lan Zhan scoops her up into a bridal carry again – and fuck Wei Ying shouldn’t like that as much as she does, but how can she help it? It’s not her fault she grew up in a culture that has movies like An Officer and a Gentleman, is it? Maybe she should get Lan Zhan to rent a uniform and fuck her in it… And just as she thinks the image of Lan Zhan in uniform might just get her infamous rabbit libido going again, Lan Zhan deposits her softly on the toilet.
“Lan Zhan, what is this? Why would you do something so romantic as a bridal carry and then sit me on the toilet?” complains Wei Ying, a teasing glint in her eye. She grins suddenly. “Are you going to watch me pee, jiejie?” she says slyly, watching Lan Zhan for any signs of a blush. “Does that get you off?” She winks exaggeratedly.
Lan Zhan is nonplussed. She raises an eyebrow expressively. “Would Wei Ying like that?” she says, her voice completely even and impassive.
Wei Ying gapes. Unfair! The old Lan Zhan would be pink right now and spitting, stammering mad!
Lan Zhan tilts her head, then nods. “So you would,” she answers as though Wei Ying has spoken.
Wei Ying feels her mouth working, opening and closing, though she can think of nothing to say. Wei Ying’s cheeks feel hot. She ducks her head. “I wouldn’t,” she mutters.
Lan Zhan smiles one of her tiny devastating smiles and oh my God, this one is… indulgent. That is one deadly fucking smile, thinks Wei Ying. “Alright,” says Lan Zhan easily, as though it does not matter to her. What a massive fucking bitch. God Wei Ying loves her. “Wei Ying should pee, regardless of whether she wants me to watch,” she says, her voice softly stern and maybe a tiny bit teasing.
“Alright, alright,” Wei Ying grumbles, though the grumbling is really for show. She doesn’t care about peeing in front of anybody. One particularly late and drunken night in Jieshou, she’d actually peed in the bushes on the side of the road. The embarrassing thought isn’t Lan Zhan watching her pee, it’s Lan Zhan watching her pee and getting off on it, and Wei Ying getting off on Lan Zhan getting off. It’s the two of them being unrepentant shameful perverts with each other. The unapologetic intimacy and trust of that makes her squirm with desire, makes hot embarrassment lick like a little flame in her gut.
In the end though, they don’t do anything untoward. For the moment, they just take turns peeing so they won’t get UTIs, Lan Zhan wipes them both down with a warm washcloth, and then they tumble back into bed and cuddle beneath the covers.
“So,” says Wei Ying, muffled against Lan Zhan’s breasts. “Just to be clear. You… don’t like Mianmian?”
Lan Zhan huffs and shifts on the bed. Holds Wei Ying closer as though if she squeezes hard enough, maybe they will fuse. “I do not like Mianmian,” she repeats. She appears to think about it, tilting her head. “Mianmian is a friend,” she amends.
Wei Ying nods against Lan Zhan’s chest and nuzzles in closer. “And so you… like me?” asks Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan runs her hand up and down the curve of Wei Ying’s spine, making her shiver. “I like Wei Ying,” she affirms. “And Wei Ying…” Lan Zhan trails off. “Wei Ying likes me?”
“I like you the most, Lan Zhan,” answers Wei Ying, voice warm. “I like you so much, jiejie.”
Lan Zhan’s arms are tight around Wei Ying, squeezing her close. They are quiet for long moments. “You’ll stay with me?” says Lan Zhan finally, so softly that Wei Ying almost doesn’t hear it.
Wei Ying presses her mouth against Lan Zhan’s beautiful collarbone. “I’ll stay with you forever if you let me,” she mumbles. “I’ll never let you go. You’ll be stuck with me.” She hides against Lan Zhan’s neck. “You’ll never be able to get rid of me!” Her tone is jovial, but there’s something hard and panicky underneath it.
“Stay with me forever,” says Lan Zhan. “Never leave.” She presses a kiss to the top of Wei Ying’s head. “There’s no feeling stuck when it’s Wei Ying.”
“Lan Zhan, you—” Wei Ying rolls a little, back and forth in the hard, unbreakable circle of Lan Zhan’s arms, agitated. “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”
“I can,” says Lan Zhan firmly. “I do.” She makes Wei Ying sit up and they just look at each other, cross-legged on the bed. Lan Zhan lifts Wei Ying’s chin with one finger. Examines her face carefully. “You won’t leave?” she asks again, uncertainly.
Wei Ying studies Lan Zhan just as carefully. That’s fear on Lan Zhan’s perfect face, Wei Ying realizes. Wei Ying’s heart aches. “Ah Lan Zhan,” she says softly, cupping her cheek. Lan Zhan presses into the warmth of her hand, affectionate like a cat. “What am I going to do with you?”
Lan Zhan growls and pushes her down on the bed, straddling her hips, pinning her down by the wrists. “Stay with me,” she says. “Never leave me.” She punctuates her words with hard, bitey kisses that make Wei Ying gasp. “Wei Ying.” She sounds lost. “Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying brings her hands around Lan Zhan’s neck and pulls her down to rest her weight fully on top of her. Lan Zhan’s face is hot and suddenly wet with tears against Wei Ying’s neck. “Wei Ying,” she says brokenly, like a prayer against Wei Ying’s skin.
Wei Ying recovers her voice. “I didn’t think anyone missed me when I left,” she murmurs, quiet and sad. Lan Zhan makes a little wounded noise against her neck, and Wei Ying strokes her hair soothingly. “Ai Lan Zhan,” says Wei Ying. Tears spring to her eyes, but she’s smiling. “I’ll never leave you behind again, okay? I promise. If we ever leave, we’ll leave together.” Lan Zhan is crying, very quietly, sniffling into Wei Ying’s neck. If Wei Ying weren’t so concerned, she’d be almost impressed at how quiet and beautiful Lan Zhan is, even when she cries, apparently. “It’s okay, Lan Zhan,” murmurs Wei Ying. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m staying.” Lan Zhan presses her face harder against Wei Ying’s neck, squeezes around her waist.
Then, unexpectedly, she bites! Hard!
“Ow! Lan Zhan!” cries Wei Ying. “That hurts!” Lan Zhan licks and kisses delicately over the bitten-red skin like an apology, but the expression on her face when Wei Ying can get a proper look at it is unrepentant and altogether too satisfied.
“Mm,” she affirms, tears still sparkling in her eyes, but a tiny little half-smirk on her lips. “You like when it hurts.”
Wei Ying laughs nervously. “Ahaha Lan Zhan I do not!” Wei Ying protests, but Lan Zhan bites her again, deeper this time, and she feels all the blood in her body rush to her clit, and she becomes aware suddenly that she’s making these little unconscious ah – ah – ah sounds as Lan Zhan licks the tender semi-circle of red teeth-marks she left behind.
Lan Zhan presses her hand against Wei Ying’s pussy and she squirms against that firm yet not enough pressure. “Wet again,” says Lan Zhan blandly, as though she is merely commenting on the weather. She dips a finger shallowly inside. “And so soon.”
“For you,” gasps Wei Ying, her hips making little desperate thrusts up against Lan Zhan’s hand, seeking pressure on her clit. The finger inside her presses up and in sharply and Wei Ying screws her eyes shut with the pleasure of it. “For you,” she says again when she can open her eyes again, helpless, falling into Lan Zhan’s eyes.
“For me,” agrees Lan Zhan, looking and sounding as happy as Wei Ying has ever seen her. She withdraws her hand and Wei Ying whines at the loss. Lan Zhan’s eyes crinkle at the corners, amused. “All for me,” she says, and she begins to fuck Wei Ying in earnest, two fingers in her pussy stroking against her most sensitive places, and her thumb pressing against her slick clit. “Always,” she says, leaning her forehead against Wei Ying’s.
“Always,” breathes out Wei Ying.
They stay like that, touching each other soft and slow, foreheads pressed together, enraptured by each other, breathing each other’s warm air, skin to skin, until they both come, long and slow and beautiful and hard.
“We’re going to do this every day,” says Wei Ying after, sweaty and drowsy and cuddly and warm. “Every day, jiejie, every day.”
“Every day,” repeats Lan Zhan, pressing a kiss to her hairline and drawing her in closer. “Every day.”
***