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“Let me look,” says Lan Zhan, and Wei Ying spins in place for her critical eye, tall heels clacking on the hardwood, dress clinging dangerously to the tops of her thighs. She’s already admired herself in the mirror, her lips glossy and dark, eyes smoked with shadow, small breasts bouncing freely. But Lan Zhan frowns, and Wei Ying frowns back, wondering what could possibly be wrong. Then again there’s always something wrong, always room for correction. It’s part of the game.
“Come here,” says Lan Zhan, and Wei Ying’s pussy floods at just the solemn sound of her voice.
She stomps over, enjoying the crisp sound of her heels. “Lan Zhan! They’ll close before I get there at this rate.”
“Be patient,” says Lan Zhan, rising from the sofa to examine Wei Ying more closely. Her eyes are clinical, appraising, and she tips Wei Ying’s chin up to examine her makeup, rubs her thumb over the darkly stained swell of Wei Ying’s lower lip. “A brighter color would be better.”
Lan Zhan examines her thumb, sticky but uncolored. Wei Ying presses her lips together. “It’s a new lipstain,” she explains. “It won’t budge, even if you kiss me.”
“Mn,” says Lan Zhan noncommittally. She tips her face towards Wei Ying’s, and Wei Ying shuts her eyes, anticipating a kiss that doesn’t come. Instead Lan Zhan moves around behind her, fingers trailing over her waist. She rucks up the back of Wei Ying’s skirt, squeezes it up over her hips and inspects her ass, the string of her tiniest thong disappearing between her round cheeks. Lan Zhan cups one cheek, hefting it in her hand and then slapping the lower curve, making it jiggle.
Wei Ying gasps and wobbles on her heels. “Lan Zhan!”
“Hush. Something’s missing. Stay here.”
Wei Ying’s cunt throbs. Maybe Lan Zhan will return with a clamp she’ll fit to Wei Ying’s clit or the tiny remote-controlled vibrator she sometimes make Wei Ying carry inside when they travel together. Or maybe it will be something new. Wei Ying has been good this week, relatively.
She stays still and quiet, scrunching her toes in her shoes, and listens to Lan Zhan in the bedroom, opening the bedside drawer and then closing it with a click. When Lan Zhan approaches her from behind, she spreads her legs a little, arches her back just enough to show off her naked ass. Will Lan Zhan send her out without panties in a skirt this short?
Lan Zhan curves a hand between her legs, palming Wei Ying’s ass, middle finger teasing her taint. Her thong slips in between the lips of her hot cunt, a useless scrap that gives everything away. Wei Ying gasps and closes her eyes, and Lan Zhan’s finger parts her lips, rubs the thong against the slick of her.
“Suck,” says Lan Zhan, pressing something to her lips, and Wei Ying’s teeth tap something hard as she opens her mouth. She offers her tongue, and Lan Zhan slides a cool glass object across it. A plug, not big but thick to take on only spit. Wei Ying forms her lips around it, Lan Zhan still rubbing between her legs, a single fingertip making Wei Ying’s pussy feel like a yawning chasm. But Lan Zhan doesn’t push her thong aside to finger her properly, and when Wei Ying pushes down against her hand, she pulls it away, cupping the humid air around Wei Ying’s cunt.
Wei Ying whines around the plug, wobbling on her heels as she tries to chase Lan Zhan’s hand. Lan Zhan’s breasts press against her shoulder blades as Lan Zhan leans in close behind her. “Be patient,” she says, teeth catching the shell of Wei Ying’s ear as she leans away again. “Suck harder.”
Wei Ying bobs her head on the plug, and Lan Zhan gives her one finger back, following the string of her thong up the crack of her ass to the tight indent of her asshole. She presses dryly inward, and Wei Ying’s body, accustomed to opening, lets her in, just a narrow fingertip. It breaches her, too much friction, but she can take it. She runs her tongue around the girth of the plug, so much bigger in her mouth, but when Lan Zhan pulls it out, she lets it go, Lan Zhan’s breath still even and calm on the nape of her neck.
Lan Zhan’s lips touch her shoulder, an unexpected kindness as Lan Zhan slides the spit-wet plug down her crack and nuzzles it against her asshole, the rounded tip burrowing in as Lan Zhan pushes it forward, spreading Wei Ying’s hole apart. It aches as Lan Zhan pushes in, the rim of Wei Ying’s hole burning around the girth of it. Lan Zhan eases it in slowly, and every millimeter deepens the ache. Wei Ying bites her lip.
The plug at its widest feels enormous, as big as their biggest dildo, going in with only spit to ease the way. Probably it’s not that big, but when Lan Zhan twists it, Wei Ying makes a little squeak of discomfort. Lan Zhan goes still behind her, rubs a fingertip against the stretched rim of her hole. “You can take it,” she assures Wei Ying, and Wei Ying bends her head and tries to relax.
Lan Zhan works the rest of the plug into her, Wei Ying’s hole clutching the narrow neck of it at last, and she breathes a sigh of relief. It’s heavy inside her, rubbing differently as she clenches on it, and the rounded base spreads her cheeks a little, making her feel exposed even as Lan Zhan slips the string of her thong into place alongside it and ruffles her dress back down over her backside, the material clinging to the sweat of her bare skin.
She straightens up and something brushes the back of her thigh, just below the crease of her ass. Instinctively she reaches back, expecting a loose thread, but what she finds is a silky tassel, its cord looped securely around the neck of the plug. It feels like the one that decorates her flute, but Lan Zhan wouldn’t do that. “What is this?” she asks Lan Zhan, turning to face her, the tassel swinging across the backs of her thighs.
“Decoration,” replies Lan Zhan. She tugs on the tassel, and Wei Ying gasps as it pulls inside her.
“Can people see it?” Wei Ying asks in a small voice.
Lan Zhan strokes her ass, calmly meeting her eyes. “They may be able to. But probably they won’t notice. Will you make them notice? Do you want all the strangers in the shop to know what you’ve got inside you?”
Wei Ying’s breath catches in her throat and she swallows around a snarl of embarrassment and arousal. “I don’t know,” she tells Lan Zhan.
Lan Zhan wears a flush high across her cheeks and over the tips of her ears. “Call me if you don’t feel safe,” she says seriously, cupping Wei Ying’s hips between her hands.
Wei Ying nods, equally solemn. The tassel dances silkily against the backs of her thighs as she leans up for a kiss. Lan Zhan pulls her closer, licks into her mouth possessively for a moment before she pulls away, pressing her lips to Wei Ying’s cheek.
“I should go,” says Wei Ying, not moving.
“Yes,” agrees Lan Zhan. “Come back soon.” She turns away, picks up Wei Ying’s tiniest purse and holds it out to her by the wrist strap. She has to carry her purchases home by hand; it’s part of the game.
She takes the bag from Lan Zhan and goes to the door, looking back over her shoulder briefly. But Lan Zhan has already returned to the sofa and her book.
Wei Ying tugs down the hem of her dress again, smooths it over her thighs, but it rides up a little as soon as she takes her first steps down the hall. The plug is heavy inside her, and there’s an embarrassing slickness between her legs, spreading from the narrow strip of her thong.
She makes it to the elevator and waits, holding her breath, until the doors open. Empty. Thank god. She could not handle exchanging pleasantries with Mrs Luo from down the hall with a tassel dangling out of her ass. Her knees are wobbly, and she puts her hand on the wall to steady herself. Her skin feels too sensitive, and her thighs rub stickily together as she steps out into the lobby, tugging at her skirt again, grateful that they live in a building largely full of old people who don’t go out on Friday nights.
It’s humid when she steps outside, and sweat springs up under her arms and behind her knees immediately. The heaviness if the plug makes the sway of her hips feel different, and every step between her and the corner store might be too far. Lan Zhan would let her turn around, but she’d be disappointed, and that’s the last thing Wei Ying wants. So she keeps going, the tassel dusting the backs of her sticky thighs, her cunt throbbing uselessly. Her breasts sway freely under the thin material of the dress, nipples pouting hopefully upward.
The first few times they played this game, she walked with her arms folded tightly across her chest all the way, even though she goes braless in her regular summer wardrobe of muscle tees and jean shorts all the time. It felt too different, her hard nipples visible beneath clingy tops that hint at the shade of her areolas. But then she got into it, showing off the perfect little mounds of her tits briefly and then going home where Lan Zhan would suck on them and tell her what a good job she’d done.
There are a few people out, walking in ones or twos, but mostly their eyes don’t stray towards her. She straightens up and walks with confidence, listening to the beat of her heels on the concrete, swinging the little bag on her wrist like she doesn’t have a care in the world. The plug shifts heavily inside her, wobbling with every step, making her body clench around it. She’s distractingly aware of sweat sliding down the crack of her ass, around the base of the plug.
She’s only a few steps from the corner shop when someone calls her name, and this time her asshole clenches up in fear. She looks from side to side and sees Lan Zhan’s brother and his boyfriend crossing the street towards her. It’s so awful she wonders if he’s a hallucination. No one she knows has ever interrupted the game before.
She shifts uneasily from foot to foot, trying to make her face do something normal like smile. She wants to text Lan Zhan, but they’re too close already.
“Wei Ying!” Lan Huan exclaims, looking unperturbed by her outfit, his eyes staying respectfully on her face while Meng Yao’s roam more freely, his uncomfortable smile spreading outward until it threatens to consume the rest of his features. “Are you meeting Lan Zhan somewhere?”
Wei Ying looks at Lan Huan because she can see largely accurate ideas blooming in Meng Yao’s brain. “Hi, Lan Huan! No, I was just going to get a few snacks for the weekend. Lan Zhan’s at home. What are you doing out here?” Her heart is beating so fast it feels like a bird caught in her chest, and all of her erogenous zones are caught in a chaotic swirl of humiliation that doesn’t make her any less wet.
“Meng Yao lives right up the street,” Lan Huan explains. “We should all meet for brunch or something, you know.”
“Sure,” says Wei Ying, casually crossing her arms and pressing her thighs together, teetering from heel to heel the longer she stands there. “Whenever. Probably.”
“I know Lan Zhan isn’t much for socializing, but even she needs to eat,” he says with a knowing smile that says he absolutely doesn’t know as much as Meng Yao does.
Meng Yao tugs at his sleeve. “Come on, let’s get going. Wei Ying will want to get to the shop before it closes.”
Wei Ying isn’t sure whether to be grateful. “You should totally text Lan Zhan about brunch. You know I’ll forget.”
“I will. It was nice to run into you.”
“Yeah! Totally. Nice to see you both.” She realizes she can’t walk away from them with a tassel hanging out of her ass, so they have to leave first. She does an awkward little wave, and after an awkward moment they cross the street again, and she can keep going with them at a safe distance. One block to go. And just as the sign above the corner store comes into focus, Wei Ying’s phone buzzes.
She tugs it out of her tiny bag, stepping back to allow a group of wobbly young men past, their eyes lingering for a moment as they pass. My brother texted. Please call, says Lan Zhan’s text.
So Wei Ying calls. “It’s fine,” she says, before Lan Zhan can say anything.
“Is it?” asks Lan Zhan seriously. “Do you want to come home?”
Wei Ying shifts her weight from one foot to the other, the tassel swaying against her thighs. Just the sound of Lan Zhan’s voice, practical and gently concerned, turns her on more. “No,” she replies in a small voice. “I can still do it.”
“Of course you can,” says Lan Zhan. “You’re a good girl.”
Wei Ying twirls a bit of her ponytail around her finger. “Am I?”
“You are,” Lan Zhan confirms. “You’re a good girl, and you’re going to finish your errand and then come straight home so I can fuck you like you deserve.”
“Lan Zhan! I’m in public!” she protests, squeezing her thighs together, her damp panties clinging to her skin.
“I know that, Wei Ying. You’re in public with a plug in you and your pussy soaking wet.”
“Lan Zhan, this is too much. I’m hanging up.”
“Mn,” says Lan Zhan.
Wei Ying doesn’t hang up. She strains against the ambient noise of the street to hear Lan Zhan’s soft breath. She props her shoulders against the wall beside the shop window. Her body feels like it’s sinking. They’ve never talked like this when she was running an errand, and Lan Zhan’s voice and the receding adrenaline of meeting Lan Huan in the street loosen her joints and set her blood buzzing.
“You haven’t hung up,” says Lan Zhan, and Wei Ying’s knees wobble.
“I like when you talk to me,” she admits.
“Do you want to take the phone in with you? You could talk to me about your purchases.”
Wei Ying’s breath catches. “Yes,” she answers without thinking.
“Good. Please be thorough.”
Wei Ying tucks the phone between her ear and her shoulder and tugs the hem of her dress down a little. Then she goes to the produce bins at the front of the shop. The strip light overhead is unforgiving, and she ignores the wilting lettuces and shiny onions for a bin of deep green cucumbers. Just the sight of them, their length and girth, makes her pussy twitch.
She picks one up, hefting it solidly in her palm. “How long should I get it?” Wei Ying asks, feeling up the length for any softness, checking the ends. One is a little wrinkled, so she puts it back and tries another.
“How long would you like it?” Lan Zhan replies.
Wei Ying shuts her eyes. Sometimes Lan Zhan sends her to the shop for shiny purple eggplants or deeply ridged bitter melon. Wei Ying holds each one in her fist and imagines easing them into herself, squeezing her pussy or her ass around a cold, strange vegetable. Lan Zhan has never done that, diligent about food safety, but Wei Ying presses her thighs together, imagining this will be the time. Maybe Lan Zhan will bend her over the kitchen counter as soon as she comes in and slide her soaked thong to the side to fuck the cucumber into her. She thinks she’ll come immediately, just as soon as she has something to squeeze on.
“This one’s longer than my hand,” Wei Ying says, nearly whispering as she notices an older woman inspecting the candy selection by the shop door. The woman doesn’t look up.
“Would you like one that long?” Lan Zhan asks evenly, sounding almost bored.
“Maybe,” says Wei Ying, rubbing her thumb on one end of the cucumber. With Lan Zhan on the phone, she wants to linger, tease herself with every piece of produce in the shop. But she also wants to get home as soon as possible, her thighs sticky.
She considers another cucumber, but it hardly even matters. She doesn’t have anything different to say to Lan Zhan about this one. It’s also big and green and makes her pussy throb vaguely. “I think this one’s good,” she says.
“I will trust your judgment,” says Lan Zhan. “Please remember the other item on your list.”
“Right,” she replies, and goes into the shop to complete her shopping, the air conditioning hitting her already stiff nipples like a blow.
There are a couple of teenagers arguing in front of the drinks case in addition to the woman dithering over candy. Wei Ying feels wobbly and lightheaded, crouching carefully to grab a jar of Vaseline from the lowest shelf, feeling the plug pull against the rim of her asshole, wondering if the tassel will brush the floor as it hangs out of her. No one is looking at her, down on one knee among the hand lotion and shampoo, Lan Zhan’s breath soft in her ear, but she blushes anyway. She likes the way embarrassment flows beneath her skin.
“Okay. Got it,” Wei Ying says, rising to her feet again, wiggling her dress down and chancing a look at the teenagers, who have made their way to the till with two armfuls of soda and snacks and are now arguing over who’s going to pay for them. She stands well back from them, though hopefully close enough to indicate she’s waiting to pay.
The shop door opens, and a man comes in, older and tired-looking under his baseball cap. She doesn’t make eye contact and he doesn’t try either. She told Lan Zhan her most secret fantasy was a strange man fucking her in public, quick and impersonal, and Lan Zhan’s hand tightened possessively on hers in the dark of her bed. She tried to explain: it was the objectification, the idea that a stranger would see her and think about using her body. That’s where the game started, and it’s better for her than the fantasy ever was.
The teenagers leave in a rustle of bags, heads already bent over one of their phones, and she steps up to the till. She’s seen the man working before, and his eyes dart down her body as she sets her purchases on the counter. He’s probably her age, and he may be sick of her weird Friday night purchases, but his face is impassive. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s part of the game that he looks without being prompted. Her nipples feel hard as stones beneath her dress.
He reads out her total and she feeds in her card. She notices that he no longer asks if she needs a bag. Instead she takes the cucumber in one hand and the jar in the other, walking out with her thumb on the label as though that will make it less obvious. She imagines the cashier’s eyes following her, maybe the other man peeking from under the brim of his cap to watch the sway of her ass. She imagines them seeing the fringe of the tassel and a new rush of heat goes through her. Anyone would know it’s connected to something inside her.
On the street she wants to pull down her dress again, but now her hands are full, so she lets it go as long as she can before balancing the cucumber and the Vaseline against her chest with one hand and frantically tugging down her hem with the other. She sees a couple’s heads turn on the other side of the street, towards her and then away, and when she looks over her shoulder she sees the man in the cap leaving the shop, making his way to a parked cab. Will any of them talk about her, that woman in the tiny dress carrying a cucumber, definitely some kind of freak? She hopes they do, that she winds her way into their amorphous fantasies the way strangers on the bus do hers.
Her sweaty thighs are rubbing and the straps of her shoes are beginning to pinch by the time she reaches the door to their building, and she holds her breath again hoping for an empty elevator. The old people are all in for the night, low TV noise spilling into the hallway as she makes her way to the apartment door where Lan Zhan will be waiting. The anticipation of Lan Zhan’s praise makes her stomach flutter warmly.
She has to juggle the cucumber and the jar again to get out her key, and she smooths down her dress again and adjusts the neckline, prepared for Lan Zhan to be on the other side of the door to inspect her purchases. But when the door opens, Lan Zhan is on the sofa reading, just as she was when Wei Ying left. She looks up, her eyes sliding over Wei Ying’s body, and this is new too, the waiting silence between them.
“Do I know you?” Wei Ying asks, cocking her head, trying to guess how Lan Zhan means to play it.
“Do you need to?” Lan Zhan replies calmly, and when she sets aside the book in her lap, Wei Ying can see the dildo in her other hand, the edge of the harness above the pulled-down waist of her pants.
Wei Ying’s whole body goes hot, her empty cunt clutching wetly, and she gasps and trips forward, towards Lan Zhan who is stroking her cock and staring. Three steps and Wei Ying sinks into her lap, knees thudding onto the couch cushions. Her dress rides up as her legs part around Lan Zhan’s hips, sliding up over her ass, bunching around her waist. The plug inside her shifts, her thong catching around the base. The cucumber and the Vaseline are clutched to her chest, and Lan Zhan says, “Will you show me what you bought?” Her voice is calm, but her eyes are intent.
Wei Ying holds up the cucumber, rubbing little circles with her thumb the same way Lan Zhan is doing on her cock. “Is it good?” she asks.
“Do you think it’s too big for you?” Lan Zhan replies.
Wei Ying looks down at the dildo poking up between her legs. “Maybe you’ll need to open me up first,” she says. “Do you want to use this?” She holds out the jar of Vaseline.
Lan Zhan takes it from her and sets it aside, along with the cucumber. “You don’t need that.” She hooks a finger under Wei Ying’s soaked thong, pulling it away from her skin, and Wei Ying holds her breath, watching and wanting. Lan Zhan presses a fingertip to the insistent throb of her clit, and Wei Ying bites her lip as Lan Zhan strokes her, a light touch that she can’t even press into. “You’re so wet,” Lan Zhan says, and her finger slips lower, parting the lips of Wei Ying’s cunt and dipping inside. She can hear how slick she is, and she reaches for Lan Zhan’s cock, dragging her hand down the smooth silicone. “Can I have this?” she asks quietly, wondering if Lan Zhan will make her wait.
But Lan Zhan leans back and says, “If you’d like.”
Wei Ying doesn’t bother to take off her underwear, just pulls it to the side a little more and angles herself over Lan Zhan’s cock. The tip nudges into her, and she sinks all the way down until her sticky thighs are resting against Lan Zhan’s. The dildo rubs against the plug in her ass, shifting it inside her, and she gasps and bobs her hips, flexing on both of them. Lan Zhan’s hands settle on her waist, and Wei Ying moves her knees a little wider apart, settling more of her weight on Lan Zhan’s lap as Lan Zhan pushes her down, filling her up as much as she can. Wei Ying wriggles until the dildo is rubbing on the front wall of her cunt, feeling like almost too much as she rocks on it, both her holes clutching tight.
Lan Zhan tries to keep up her impassive mask, like she’s a stranger who’s just using Wei Ying’s willing body, but her hands are gentle, kneading into Wei Ying’s hips and the curve of her ass, and Wei Ying sways forward until their mouths brush. Lan Zhan doesn’t respond for a second and then her lips part and her tongue slicks into Wei Ying’s mouth. Kissing Lan Zhan is always kissing Lan Zhan, like she can’t be anything but tender, even in the midst of the game.
When Lan Zhan pulls away, her expression has softened and her full lips are wet and inviting. Their breath mingles, and Wei Ying tilts forward again, seeking another kiss. Lan Zhan stops her with a hand on her chest, just above the swell of her breast. “Take what you asked for,” Lan Zhan tells her.
Wei Ying shivers, Lan Zhan’s fingers straying down to tease the peak of her nipple. “Make me,” replies Wei Ying. “Or I’ll find someone who will.”
“They’ll be lined up outside,” says Lan Zhan. “You won’t have to look long. Everyone who sees you will want to fuck you just like this.”
Wei Ying twitches on her cock. “Would you like that? Watching them line up to fuck me?” She twists her hips a little, pulling herself up on Lan Zhan and sinking back down again, the tip nudging deep inside her.
Lan Zhan says nothing, but she presses her thumb against Wei Ying’s clit, grinding down until Wei Ying is on the sharpest edge before orgasm, her slick flesh giving Lan Zhan little friction to work with.
“Would you have liked it if I let them fuck me first?” Wei Ying says, warming to her subject. “If I came here full of other men’s come and still wanted you to fuck me?”
“I would,” says Lan Zhan simply. “I would fuck it all back out of you if I had to. In the end you wouldn’t think of anyone but me.” She scrapes her thumbnail across Wei Ying’s clit, and Wei Ying gasps and tightens on her cock, thighs trembling.
“I’d keep you in me forever,” Wei Ying replies, drifting close so that Lan Zhan’s sharp inhale brushes her parted lips. She rocks her hips, teasing her g-spot with Lan Zhan’s cock, listening to the slick sound of her pussy, almost meditative. It’s a shock when Lan Zhan grabs her ass and flips her onto her back on the sofa, not even pulling out as Wei Ying squawks and hooks her ankles over Lan Zhan’s back, heels clacking together.
Lan Zhan fucks into her deeper and faster, the plug pressing solidly into her ass, and Wei Ying’s whole body tenses, sensation overwhelming her. She arches into Lan Zhan and comes so hard her vision blurs and her breath comes in a desperate wail. She goes lax beneath Lan Zhan, knees falling open as Lan Zhan thrusts into her a few more times, keeping her spread wide.
Wei Ying slides her numb fingers under the harness, feeling for the fastenings to loosen it from Lan Zhan’s hips. She gets enough space to wiggle her fingertips down to the hot split of Lan Zhan’s pussy, and Lan Zhan sighs as Wei Ying finds her clit. She’s wet, slippery under Wei Ying’s fingers, and Wei Ying looks up into her face, Lan Zhan’s eyes fluttering shut as Wei Ying strokes her, lazy and slow, Lan Zhan’s cock still lodged solidly inside her. She’s drowsy and uncoordinated now that she’s come, but for Lan Zhan it doesn’t take much. She angles herself for Wei Ying’s hand, and Wei Ying twitches on her cock. The slightest pressure on her clit makes her bite her lip. She must be so sensitive after grinding the base of the dildo into it all this time.
When Lan Zhan comes, it’s with the smallest murmur of sound and little hitch of her hips that Wei Ying nonetheless feels all the way to her cervix. She feels wrecked, nearly boneless as Lan Zhan pulls out, the loosened harness dangling absurdly. She closes her eyes and brings her two wet fingers to her mouth to suck, tasting Lan Zhan on her skin as Lan Zhan herself rises from the sofa.
There’s a significant wet spot under Wei Ying’s ass, and she’s glad for Lan Zhan’s forethought with the washable couch cover. She lets one of her feet drop to the floor, wriggling uncomfortably on the plug. Her dress is bunched under the small of her back, and she whines for Lan Zhan, who is now out of sight.
Lan Zhan reappears with a wet washcloth, her leggings pulled up straight, her top smooth and immaculate. As though she hadn’t just fucked Wei Ying better than a street full of strangers. She takes the cool washcloth to Wei Ying’s slick cunt, her sticky thighs, then around the base of the plug. Lan Zhan pulls it out slowly, but Wei Ying hisses anyway, sore. “Lan Zhan, did I do a good job?” she asks, flopping her head onto the arm of the sofa as Lan Zhan unfastens the straps of her heavy shoes.
“Of course you did,” Lan Zhan says.
“I brought you a big one,” Wei Ying offers, and Lan Zhan “hm”s at her and disappears from Wei Ying’s eyeline again. She thinks if she lies here long enough looking fucked out, Lan Zhan will pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, and she dozes a little, dragging her fingers lazily back and forth between her legs, enjoying the air conditioning on every overheated part of her body.
“Sit up,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying slits one eye open skeptically. “Sit up and enjoy the fruits of your labor.” She’s holding a bowl and a pair of chopsticks, and Wei Ying reluctantly slumps upright, letting Lan Zhan sit down beside her and not bothering to straighten her dress. Wei Ying realizes the bowl is full of smashed cucumber salad, slippery with sesame oil and flaked with chili. Lan Zhan holds out a piece of cucumber for Wei Ying, and she takes it between her teeth, crunching down on the cool cucumber and licking the oil away. She can tell Lan Zhan spiced it to Wei Ying’s taste rather than her own, and she appreciates it, the tingle on her tongue as she swallows.
“I did do a good job,” Wei Ying says, and Lan Zhan’s eyes soften in a smile. “So did you.” She opens her mouth for another bite of cucumber, but Lan Zhan kisses her instead.
“We’re having brunch with my brother on Sunday,” Lan Zhan says, pulling away to ruin the moment.
Wei Ying flushes with remembered shame, hot and cold at the same time. “Let’s just stay inside until then.”
“That won’t be a problem.”