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Wei Ying is working his way through the small mountain of dishes when he feels his husband nuzzle into his neck. He pauses scrubbing the sippy cup in his hands and shivers at the brush of cool lips against his skin.
He hums pleasantly and then laughs as Lan Zhan’s hands wind around his waist and squeeze.
“Hello there,” he teases, letting his head rest against Lan Zhan’s. “Is it someone else’s nap time, too?”
“No,” his husband murmurs mulishly despite the fact that their teething, cranky 8-month-old has kept them both up half the night.
Wei Ying is more than halfway through a pot of coffee on his own and it’s only 11am. The caffeine is buzzing through him, so he simply continues washing the dishes and supporting Lan Zhan’s weight.
At least that’s what he means to do, but his stubborn husband has other ideas.
Lan Zhan’s hands wander, and he mouths at Wei Ying’s neck with biting intent.
“Er-Gege, I’m busy,” he murmurs, washing a plate and then another teething toy.
He can feel his husband’s pout against his neck, and he can’t help chuckling.
“Lan Zhan, you need more sleep.”
Lan Zhan nips at his neck. “No. Need Wei Ying.” Insistently, Lan Zhan nudges his erection against Wei Ying’s hip.
“We just had sex—“ Wei Ying pauses. “Huh, um… gosh, was that five days ago?”
“Six,” Lan Zhan corrects balefully.
Finally setting down the dishes, Wei Ying attempts to dry his hands on a damp towel and then settles on using his sweatpants to wick away the water. “Aw, is my Lan Zhan feeling neglected?” He turns around and cups his husband’s cheeks in his hands.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees. Those ears of his are already tinged adorably pink.
“Well, I’ll have to fix that right away.”
Wei Ying pulls his husband into a kiss, starting soft and sweet, but he quickly escalates things when Lan Zhan sweeps his tongue across Wei Ying’s lips.
Lan Zhan tries to grind their erections together, but Wei Ying holds his hip in place with a hand. “Be good for me, Lan Zhan. Patience.”
There’s a pout tucked into the corners of those plush lips and the subtle line of his brow. Wei Ying delights in knowing that he is one of three people who can read his husband’s expressions like this.
Wei Ying chuckles, nibbles an earlobe, and kisses the frown away. “Don’t give me that face, Lan-Er-Gege. Let your Wei Ying take care of you, hmm?”
Wei Ying turns Lan Zhan around and presses him down to the counter with his chest against Lan Zhan’s back.
Lan Zhan shivers and makes a quiet, pleased noise when Wei Ying gropes his ass.
He brushes Lan Zhan’s loose braid over one shoulder and presses kisses to the nape of his neck.
“Shall we take this back to the bedroom?” Wei Ying asks in between sucking hickeys just low enough that Lan Zhan’s collar will hide them from his students during the week.
Lan Zhan shakes his head, and Wei Ying’s grin grows. He reaches around his husband, palming the tented fabric there on his way to grabbing the bottle of lube from Lan Zhan’s pocket. “Er-Gege is so prepared. You must have wanted me so bad, sweetheart. You’re already so hard.”
Those blushing ears go deep red. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, pleading.
“I know. It’s been a long week,” Wei Ying soothes. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Wei Ying knows his husband. He can see that the man’s carefully maintained composure has been chipped away by the stress of their work, relatives, and more recently A-Yuan’s painful nights of teething and sore gums. He is stretched thin.
“What do you want, Er-Gege?” Wei Ying slips his hands under Lan Zhan’s shirt and runs his short nails over the fair skin. “What can I do for you?”
“Tie me up,” Lan Zhan requests. “Need you. Hard and fast.”
“Okay,” Wei Ying murmurs. He looks around the kitchen for something to bind his husband. “Ah, hmm… Lan Zhan, hon, would you mind if I used some of your macramé cord?”
“Don’t care,” Lan Zhan groans out, grinding back against Wei Ying’s crotch. “Need Wei Ying now.”
“Patience, sweetheart.”
“No.”
Wei Ying snorts as he ties Lan Zhan’s forearms together behind his back with long strands of the linen rope. He then slips Lan Zhan’s silk pajama pants down, taking his boxer-briefs with. “Your impatience is noted,” he laughs, groping his husband just because he can.
Before the pout can return, he presses Lan Zhan down against the counter with one hand. The other spreads toned cheeks and slips not one, but two lube-slicked fingers into his beloved.
Lan Zhan moans. It’s a low, rumbling noise that Wei Ying feels against his chest, much akin to a cat’s purr. It’s one of his favorite noises that Lan Zhan can make.
“So pretty, Gege,” Wei Ying murmurs. “You take my fingers so well,” he adds, scissoring them without warning just to watch his husband squirm.
Lan Zhan clutches helplessly at his own bound forearms and rasps, “More.”
Wei Ying is a good husband, so he gives. A third finger slips into Lan Zhan’s stretched ass, and he shivers.
With teasing, gentle strokes, Wei Ying curls his fingers and rubs just right against Lan Zhan’s prostate. Lan Zhan gasps, so Wei Ying repeats the motion over and over until he sees precum dripping down their cabinets. Lan Zhan makes a sound that could be called a whine.
“How unlike you, Lan Zhan,” he teases, kissing his husband’s neck, back, and shoulders through his organic cotton tee. “You’re being so messy today. I hope you’re planning to clean up later.”
Whatever retort Lan Zhan opens his mouth to make is cut off by a punched-out groan when Wei Ying grabs the rope and pulls Lan Zhan back onto all three fingers. “W-Wei Ying,” he begs.
Though his voice never gets louder, Lan Zhan might as well by screaming in pleasure by his standards. Wei Ying feels drunk just watching the trembling way Lan Zhan gasps for air. He feels Lan Zhan clenching down on his fingers, and he knows they both can’t wait anymore.
“What do you need, Gege?” Wei Ying drags his teeth across Lan Zhan’s earlobe, licking his elegant silver piercings. “Tell your Wei Ying what he can do for you, hmm?”
Lan Zhan tilts his head to chase Wei Ying’s lips. The angle is awkward, but they’re both hungry for it.
“Fuck me,” Lan Zhan whispers into his mouth. “Now.”
So Wei Ying does. His lips curl into the type of grin that has gotten him into worlds of trouble over the years. His fingers leave his husband long enough to slip his own black sweatpants and boxers down under his flushed erection.
“You should see yourself, sweetheart. So ready for me. My perfect Lan-Er-Gege who begs for my cock.” The lube clicks open, and Wei Ying pours generously.
Lan Zhan’s ears are fully scarlet now, but he waits silently— eagerly—to be filled.
Slick with lube and precum, Wei Ying pushes into the welcoming embrace of Lan Zhan’s body.
They moan together.
For a long moment, Wei Ying simply leans against Lan Zhan’s back, soaking up the warmth of his husband. Sometimes, it baffles him to know how many people view Lan Zhan as icy when the man burns with the quiet, life-sustaining intensity of a sun.
“I love you,” Wei Ying says, kissing Lan Zhan’s cheek.
Lan Zhan, still squished against the counter by Wei Ying’s weight, vibrates with a bemused chuckle. “I love you, too. Move.”
“Yes, sir,” Wei Ying chirps, sliding his hips back and then fucking in hard.
Lan Zhan releases a content little moan, so Wei Ying does it again. And again.
More than a decade loving this man means that he knows Lan Zhan’s every reaction. His memory may be shit, but Wei Ying never forgets the sounds and faces his husband makes.
Lan Zhan’s cheek is pressed to their marble countertop, and his eyes are closed in bliss even as he bites his plush lower lip at the roughness of Wei Ying’s attention.
Wei Ying grabs the rope and yanks his husband back in time to meet his thrusts, pouring on the speed and force without worrying about finding a rhythm. Lan Zhan’s amber eyes snap open, and he chokes when their skin slaps together and echoes through the kitchen.
“Oh, you like that?”
Lan Zhan nods, so Wei Ying rewards him by grabbing his braid to pull him back into another sloppy kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth, hot and messy like the way their hips move together.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan gasps.
“I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Everything is desperate and heady. Days of stress and tension and falling into bed too exhausted to do more than tangle their hands together compound the frenetic energy singing beneath their skin.
They need this. Need the release of it. Wei Ying moans at the sight of his cock slipping in and out of Lan Zhan. He moans at the way Lan Zhan grinds back against him, chasing pleasure and—
Static crackles.
His ears register the sound before his brain can react. They both stutter to a halt, immediately turning to the baby monitor which sits innocuously next to the rice cooker.
Over the line, Wei Ying hears their baby grumbling in discontent. Already, he’s anxious at the prospect of A-Yuan’s fresh tears as those sharp baby teeth rip through his poor little gums.
Lan Zhan’s shoulders go stiff with the same sort of worry.
The two of them share a glance and wait with their ears devoted to the device.
After a long pause, they hear a tiny burp, and then the baby settles again.
A full minute of silence passes before Wei Ying breaks into exhausted giggles. He rests his forehead on Lan Zhan’s left shoulder blade. When he pulls back, he sighs. “I’m glad it was just gas.”
“For now. He will probably wake again soon,” Lan Zhan muses. With great sympathy, Wei Ying notes the purple tinge to the skin under those amber eyes.
“Yeah,” he says, kissing the ridges of Lan Zhan’s spine. “Shall we see if I can wreck you before A-Yuan decides nap time is over?”
“Mn. We shall.”
It takes a long minute to settle back into the right mind-space. Dad Brain, as Wei Ying calls it, is not a switch that can be easily flicked off until the next bout of crying. Still, they manage to resume.
Wei Ying thrusts slowly in and out of his husband and licks across Lan Zhan’s pulse where it beats beneath his jawline.
The tension recedes from Lan Zhan’s body. He goes soft and pliant again under Wei Ying’s touch. Like this, the artist in Wei Ying wants to sculpt the warm clay of Lan Zhan’s muscles. To build him up into something peerless and immortal the way Lan Zhan is in his heart.
At the end of the day, Wei Ying is a selfish creature. And he doesn’t want to share this side of Lan Zhan with anyone. This— Lan Zhan, flushed and bright-eyed and hungry— is his alone.
“Er-Gege, you’re so warm,” he whispers, one hand on the rope and the other thumbing the ridge of Lan Zhan’s hip bone. “So handsome and pretty, Lan Zhan. If only you could see yourself like this.”
His husband gasps out, “Wei Ying.”
“Faster?”
“Mn.”
“Rough?”
“Please,” Lan Zhan says, sounding very prim for someone whose face is smushed against the counter.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Wei Ying soothes, groping Lan Zhan’s ass and then smacking it hard with his palm.
Lan Zhan groans quietly and clenches tighter around Wei Ying’s thrusting cock. His eyes beg Wei Ying for more in a way his voice rarely can.
Both of them can get stranded in their own heads; Lan Zhan is especially susceptible to it. Growing up in the silence of Lan Qiren’s household, the man can sometimes get trapped in his brain by a tangle of worries he doesn’t know how to express.
Sex, especially the hard and fast kind they indulge in, helps ground Lan Zhan in the present. Where he belongs: In his body and with Wei Ying.
It’s a very nice body, indeed. Tall and lean. Toned by years devoted to dawn pilates routines while Wei Ying slept the morning away. Now, their beloved, precious son makes sure they’re both awake and occupied bright and early. He spares a chuckle on the thought.
With A-Yuan’s nap like an hourglass running out of sand, Wei Ying indulges in every inch of his husband he can reach. Roaming hands and seeking lips reign. He fucks in and out of Lan Zhan hard and rough with no care for rhythm. Only speed and power. Only the sound of their wet skin echoing in the kitchen. Only the harsh shudder of Lan Zhan’s breath when Wei Ying wraps his fist around Lan Zhan’s stiff erection and starts jerking him off.
“A-Zhan, you’re so wet for me,” he teases, rubbing precum over the tip of his husband’s cock. “So good for your Wei Ying. Your body was made for me, wasn’t it, sweetheart?”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan chokes out when Wei Ying nails his prostate. Lan Zhan is slumped over the counter, but he jerks with every thrust against his sensitive nerves. “Hn!”
“Me too,” he says, reading the words Lan Zhan doesn’t say in the frantic crease of his brow. “Go on, sweetheart. You’ve earned it.”
Lan Zhan stubbornly fights the inevitable. Wei Ying understands. He doesn’t want this to end, but their stamina has limits. Finally, Lan Zhan makes a pretty, broken noise and cums into Wei Ying’s fist.
Watching is hypnotic. Lan Zhan’s cheeks finally pink, and his mussed braid spills like ink across their white countertop when he folds, boneless and sated. Wei Ying shudders and yanks the rope to pull Lan Zhan onto his cock for one, two, three more thrusts before he comes undone.
They are breathing hard in the aftermath. Endorphins reign as both men swim in the post-orgasm bliss with their sticky, clothed bodies pressed together.
Wei Ying forces himself to move when Lan Zhan stirs.
He withdraws and nudges Lan Zhan over so he can wash his hands and towel them off.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan reminds once Wei Ying has tucked them back into their underwear and slipped their pants up.
“On it,” Wei Ying says, picking at the knots he tied in the macramé cord. His husbands skin is chafed a slight pink underneath. He kisses the marks down the length of each forearm. “You alright?”
“Mn.”
While Wei Ying is rubbing the circulation back into Lan Zhan’s wrists and fingers, A-Yuan’s plaintive wails echo over the baby monitor and through the house.
“And thus, nap time is officially over.” Wei Ying laughs, flopping back against the counter.
Lan Zhan stretches and winces when his back cracks. “I shall-“
“Take a nap is what you shall do,” Wei Ying interrupts, patting his husband’s shoulder. “I’ve got A-Yuan.”
He receives a flat look in response.
“Sweetheart, I’ve had coffee. I’m fine, promise!” Wei Ying kisses the corner of that pout quickly before he starts slipping toward the nursery. “Meanwhile, you looked like you were going to keel over even before I railed you.” Lan Zhan makes an offended noise that Wei Ying ignores. “Besides, you took him yesterday while I was helping A-Jie.”
“Fine.” Lan Zhan cedes with a frown. Wei Ying counts it as victory as he snatches a clean teething ring from the freezer and darts down the hall to calm their son.
It takes nearly 30 minutes before little Lan Yuan wears himself out and quiets in his baba’s bouncing arms. He finally falls back asleep with the now-mildly cool teething ring between his gums.
Wei Ying kisses his downy baby hair and walks them both to the master bedroom.
Fatherhood has broken Lan Zhan of sleeping on his back just as it has broken Wei Ying of sleeping ‘til noon.
Wei Ying carefully settles A-Yuan into the space Lan Zhan is curled around. A-Yuan turns toward his diedie’s warmth and wraps his little body around Lan Zhan’s broad hand.
Something tightens and then bursts in Wei Ying’s chest at the sight of his little family snuggled together. He carefully snaps pictures with his phone and sets one of them as his new lock screen.
Soon enough, his own heavy eyelids drag him down toward the bed. Wei Ying arranges himself to mirror Lan Zhan’s body so little A-Yuan can doze between them.
It’s nice. He’s warm and sleepy and sated in more ways than one.
Obligations will return soon, as will A-Yuan’s cries. But for now, in the early afternoon light, they sleep.