Work Text:
Snap!
Wei Wuxian tenses and nearly drops his carefully balanced tray of champagne flutes. He steadies it with his free hand and locks eyes with Jiang Cheng, who’s on his way back to the kitchen with an empty tray. They can’t share grimaces, not out here in the middle of the banquet hall for all the guests to see, but their twin dead-eyed stares say all they need to.
Of all the ways people can try to get a waiter’s attention, snapping has to be one of the most obnoxious. But Wei Wuxian is here to help Jiejie, not to teach wealthy blowhards how to respect the serving staff.
They’re lucky to have this gig, really, as a brand-new catering company with no references to speak of. They would still be sitting at home arguing over the layout of Lotus Catering’s website (well, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng would be arguing while Jiejie made too many test recipes) if not for Nie Huaisang, Wei Wuxian’s old college roommate. The text came out of the blue: Your sister’s a caterer, right? Da-ge’s boyfriend needs someone. He’s stupid rich, you can probably fleece him. The opportunity to get their first paying client was too good to turn down.
And Wei Wuxian can’t do anything to screw this up.
Snap snap snap!
What kind of impatient fuck…
Wei Wuxian schools his face into a bland smile, turns—and is immediately met by the irritable scowl of the Asshole.
Of course Nie-xiong’s brother’s stupid-rich boyfriend would have a whole banquet hall full of stupid-rich friends. Wei Wuxian came into the night expecting bullshit from the guests. But mostly they’ve all just treated him like furniture, ignoring his existence entirely even as they accepted food and drinks off his tray.
This guy, though. Every single time Wei Wuxian has passed his way, he’s been in the middle of saying something shitty.
“And I told her, of course my name should be on the project. She wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without my input!”
Then: “If you think your new Jag handles well, you should take my Lamborghini for a test drive sometime.”
But the worst—or at least the most blatantly tactless—was when Wei Wuxian delivered a fruity mocktail to the host, Lan Xichen, who could clearly hear the Asshole not six steps away. “The Lans really must have skimped on the event coordinator. If this is what they think passes for acceptable decor…”
Wei Wuxian isn’t one to rush to judgment—listen, some people can’t help coming across as rude, even if they’re secretly just scowly little marshmallows—but he feels pretty secure in his assessment of this guy. The man is an all-around dick. And apparently he’s also in the habit of snapping for waiters who would have circulated his way in three minutes if he’d just had a little goddamn patience.
So yeah. The Asshole.
The guy standing next to the Asshole leans in to mutter something in his ear (probably something haughty about how hard it is to find good help these days). This one Wei Wuxian has been calling the Peacock. With his flashy designer suit and the Rolex glimmering on his wrist, he doesn’t need to talk up his money the way the Asshole does; it’s already on display for all to see. And he clearly likes when it’s noticed by the ladies, judging by the way he preens whenever Jiejie passes him with a tray of appetizers. Wei Wuxian is definitely going to be keeping an eye on that one.
Wei Wuxian steps up to the pair, holding his tray out in front of him. “Champagne?” He only has three flutes left, which is a relief—any minute now, he’ll be able to slip away to the kitchen to scream into the walk-in freezer.
The Peacock nods his thanks as he takes a glass—and Wei Wuxian is not going to give the guy points for showing basic human decency. The Asshole doesn’t take his glass, though. Instead he says, “This way,” and turns to walk across the room. And Wei Wuxian is just supposed to follow him, apparently.
He considers turning and continuing in the direction he’d been heading before, toward a couple in the corner who haven’t gotten champagne yet. It would be satisfying to see the Asshole’s reaction to having his demand ignored. But a quick mental calculation tells Wei Wuxian that the cost to his pride is small compared to the risk of a guest leaving them a bad review online. What’s his pain and suffering in the face of Jiejie’s future success? So he sucks it up and goes trailing after the Asshole like a trained seal.
By the time he realizes where he’s headed, it’s already too late.
The small round tables at one end of the banquet hall stand mostly empty, more a place for people to set their empty plates than to actually sit and eat. Only one table is occupied. The client’s younger brother—and the guest of honor at this little soiree—is as beautiful and expressionless as a statue. He...Yep, he’s still the hottest person Wei Wuxian has ever seen.
They met earlier, when Lan Xichen came into the kitchen to check in with Jiejie—and to introduce the birthday boy himself, Lan Wangji. One look at him and Wei Wuxian’s brain went to static. He grinned and said…something. He can only assume it was charming—Wei Wuxian could flirt in his sleep—but all Lan Wangji gave him was a cold stare in return. Too hot and rich to make friendly conversation with the help, apparently.
So, maybe Wei Wuxian has made it his personal mission to get Lan Wangji to crack before the end of the night. He’s gone out of his way to circle past his table as often as possible. He’s been breaking out some of his best material, honestly, and he hasn’t gotten the tiniest hint of a reaction all night. No one else has gotten a reaction out of him, either. Lan Wangji doesn’t seem particularly happy to be at this lavish party thrown in his honor, or to like any of his guests. Clearly he’s a stick in the mud who needs to learn how to have fun, so Wei Wuxian would be thrilled to have another excuse to needle him, if not for—
“Lan Wangji!”
The Asshole.
Lan Wangji’s eyebrow twitches in the closest thing to an expression Wei Wuxian has seen from him all night. If he had to guess, he’d say it was mild disdain, which makes him like Lan Wangji a little more—he may be a spoiled rich boy who’s too good for his own party, but at least he has the good sense to dislike the Asshole. Lan Wangji’s gaze lands on Wei Wuxian, and his face goes completely blank again. Wei Wuxian tries not to feel disappointed.
The Asshole stops in front of the table and gestures to Wei Wuxian’s tray. “Drink a toast with me!”
“That won’t be necessary,” Lan Wangji says coolly.
Wei Wuxian has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. Lan Wangji is such a bitch. And as much as Wei Wuxian hates to admit it, it’s kind of hot.
“This is a celebration! I want to toast to your good health!” The Asshole takes one of the champagne flutes for himself, then gestures once more for Lan Wangji to take the final glass.
The Peacock has caught up with them now, and he sighs. “Zixun, please.”
“Please what? I’m just trying to make a friendly gesture. But it seems that Lan Wangji is too good to be friendly. Maybe he thinks he’s better than us.”
And okay, Wei Wuxian has had a few errant thoughts tonight about how Lan Wangji thinks he’s better than everyone. But he’s prepared to reevaluate that stance, if that’s what it takes to avoid being in agreement with the Asshole. Refusing the champagne, at least, isn’t a sign of haughtiness. Lan Wangji doesn’t drink—none of the Lans do, which was made clear to Jiejie when she and Lan Xichen planned the drink menu. You’d think their friends would respect that.
But the Asshole doesn’t let up. He turns narrowed eyes on Lan Wangji. “Don’t you forget, the Lan name may be older, but the Jin pockets are deeper. If you had any sense, you’d make more of an effort to retain our friendship.”
The Peacock purses his lips and looks away, like he’s embarrassed by the man’s behavior—not embarrassed enough to do anything about it, though.
Lan Wangji stares blankly ahead. Wei Wuxian might almost believe that he hasn’t heard a word that’s been said to him, if not for the fist clenched tight on his thigh.
“Go on, then,” the Asshole says. “Take your drink and toast to our families’ enduring friendship.”
Something shifts minutely in Lan Wangji’s face, and his fist unclenches. Wei Wuxian’s stomach drops. Is he about to take the champagne? That’s…It just isn’t right. Even if he is kind of full of himself, this is just uncalled for. No one should be bullied into drinking if they don’t want to. And Wei Wuxian, for one, refuses to be a part of it.
Before Lan Wangji can move, Wei Wuxian lifts the flute of overpriced champagne to his lips and tosses it back like a shot of cheap whiskey. As he sets the empty flute back on his tray, he blinks innocently at the Asshole. “Oh no, it looks like I’m all out.”
“You—” the Asshole snaps. “How dare you! Do you have any idea—”
Wei Wuxian doesn’t listen to the rest of the rant, too busy having a good panic as he realizes what he’s done. He just chugged their expensive-ass champagne. That could probably be considered theft. Sure, it was in the service of justice, but what are the odds Lan Xichen will see it that way? Wei Wuxian is representing Jiejie and her catering company out here. He feels like a bucket of ice has been dumped over his head. What if Jiejie loses potential clients because of Wei Wuxian’s unprofessionalism? What if he’s just done irreparable damage to her business?
She should fire him. Publicly, so that everyone here will know she won’t tolerate bad behavior from her staff. Or would that kind of scene only make this worse? Shit. Fuck. Why couldn’t he just do one thing right? Keep his mouth shut and serve the drinks. That’s what Jiang Cheng told him to do. That’s all he had to do.
Lan Wangji’s lips are slightly parted, his eyes dark. Wei Wuxian can’t quite read his look, but he thinks it’s a mixture of horrified and offended. He’s dealt with enough pretentious assholes to know that those are their two default settings. Lan Wangji probably didn’t appreciate being rescued by a lowly waiter. Fuck, why did Wei Wuxian think it was a good idea to get involved in personal drama he knows nothing about? He obviously doesn’t belong in the middle of this stupid rich-boy pissing contest.
Wei Wuxian looks around to assess just how much damage he’s done. The Asshole is still shouting, naturally, which is only drawing more attention. Several people are staring at the little tableau, Lan Xichen among them. He looks startled and…maybe a little amused? That could be worse. Nearby, Nie-xiong’s terrifying older brother is laughing so hard he can barely stand. Nie-xiong is there, too, with a paper fan held open in front of his face to hide his own laughter, the traitor. If he were any kind of friend, he would take this moment to create an over-the-top distraction so Wei Wuxian could make a hasty retreat.
The Asshole’s grating voice cuts through Wei Wuxian’s thoughts, and for a moment his panic fades beneath another flash of irritation. He can’t bear the thought of apologizing to this pompous fuck. He lets his customer service smile take on a sharp edge. “Enjoy that champagne,” he says. “I know I did.”
The Asshole splutters. “If this is the kind of service—”
Wei Wuxian nods to Lan Wangji, then turns and strolls lazily back toward the kitchen, ignoring the Asshole’s shouts behind him.
When he pushes through the door to the kitchen, he finds Jiejie arranging food on a tray and Jiang Cheng filling more champagne flutes.
Jiang Cheng takes one look at Wei Wuxian’s face and rolls his eyes. “I’m not dealing with whatever this is,” he grumbles, heading back out into the banquet hall.
Jiejie looks up from her tray, eyes widening slightly. “A-Xian? Are you all right?”
Wei Wuxian nods, then shakes his head, then nods again. “Fine, fine. Just. I should maybe stay back here for a bit? I’ll prep the next few trays, or something. And you might have a little bit of damage control to do, I’m so sorry.” With every word, the sick feeling in his gut coils tighter. Without the Asshole’s shouting to fan the flames of his rage, Wei Wuxian is left only with guilt. He can’t believe he put Jiejie in this position, risked her reputation so thoughtlessly.
He doesn’t see her moving until she’s standing in front of him, placing steadying hands on his arms. “What happened, A-Xian?”
He flinches. “I…That guy was just being such an asshole, and I thought…”
Before he can pull the words together, he’s interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open again. He expected Jiang Cheng to take longer to come back. Unless the guests are still talking about his little scene, and he’s coming back to chew Wei Wuxian out. Which is fair. He sighs and turns to face the music.
But it isn’t Jiang Cheng. It’s Lan Wangji. Fuck.
“Ah, Jiejie, I’ve got this,” he murmurs. He reaches for the tray of mini tarts she just finished arranging and presses it into her hands. Maybe dessert will help smooth everything over in the banquet hall. “You get back out there. Can’t let the guests go hungry, ah?”
Jiejie frowns, her gaze flicking from Wei Wuxian to Lan Wangji and back again. And then, bizarrely, one corner of her mouth quirks up. “Of course, A-Xian,” she says. She nods to Lan Wangji politely as she slips past him out the door.
This would probably be a good moment to apologize. A little light groveling goes a long way with rich people. But Wei Wuxian was just trying to help! His anger snaps back to life.
“Look, you can take the champagne out of our tip, okay?” He doesn’t even want to think about how much one glass costs—more than his share of the tip, probably. So he hasn’t just affected Jiejie’s potential future income. He’s cut into her actual income today, and Jiang Cheng’s too. “You don’t have to worry about it going to waste or your brother paying for my drinking habits or anything. None of that is happening here.”
Lan Wangji blinks. “The cost of the champagne is of no concern.” His brow furrows slightly, like it bothers him that Wei Wuxian would even bring it up. Maybe he’s offended at the suggestion that the Lans can’t afford to waste one glass of champagne. Maybe he thinks it’s gauche to talk about money at all. Rich people.
“Okay, so you came back here to…what? Tell me off?”
Lan Wangji is actually frowning now. “That was not my intention.”
Wei Wuxian resists the urge to roll his eyes and instead starts arranging another tray. Everything Jiejie makes is delicious, but Wei Wuxian hates these tiny desserts. With their tiny, stupid perfection. Why can’t rich people eat normal-sized food? He slaps them into careless patterns. “Well then, what are you here for? Some of us are busy working right now.”
Lan Wangji says nothing. Wei Wuxian scoffs. Of course this devastatingly hot, unimaginably loaded man has nothing to say about the concept of work. In his anger, he squishes one of the stupid tiny cakes a little too hard, destroying the shape.
“Fuck,” he mutters, glancing up. Lan Wangji is staring at the thimble-sized cake-monstrosity. Fuck. Well, he already stole their champagne. Might as well go all in and steal some dessert too. He pops the tiny cake into his mouth and locks eyes with the other man, daring him to object.
Now Lan Wangji is staring at his mouth. “I…thought…” Lan Wangji clears his throat. “Apologies. I should…let you get back to your work.”
Okay then. Wei Wuxian doesn’t have time for whatever this is. He closes his eyes as he chews, enjoying the most delicious overpriced thing he’s ever had in his mouth. It’s over too soon, and then he has to face what he’s done. His tray is a disaster. None of the cakes are together, and the cream-covered raspberries on fancy white toothpicks are melting into the shot-glass crème brûlée. Now they’ll be all sticky when guests pick them up. He thinks of Jiejie, her new business. How sad she’ll be when it tanks because Wei Wuxian is an idiot. There has to be a way he can fix this. Maybe if he takes all the crème brûlées off and replaces them with fresh flutes of champagne—if he apologizes for consuming not one but two different items purchased by the client—and then maybe if he brings back the concept of groveling—
But before he can do any of this, Lan Wangji draws in a slow breath and releases it in a soft huff. “Thank you.”
Wei Wuxian looks up. Lan Wangji is staring at him. Wei Wuxian stares back, mouth open, lost for words. He’s never lost for words. But suddenly the kitchen is very hot, and his head feels heavy, like he’s shot back five glasses of champagne instead of one.
“For…what you did,” Lan Wangji clarifies. “Back there.”
The door bangs open. Jiang Cheng practically chokes on his own tongue when he sees Lan Wangji. Before Wei Wuxian can say anything, Lan Wangji speaks.
“My guests need more champagne.” His eyes don’t leave Wei Wuxian.
Jiang Cheng looks like he might explode. But then he storms across to the fridge, grabs two bottles, and leaves, staring daggers at Wei Wuxian the whole time.
The air in the kitchen tightens in the aftermath of Jiang Cheng’s appearance. Lan Wangji seems to be deciding something. Wei Wuxian waits, his fingers sticky with chocolate and cream. He’s pretty sure by now that he isn’t about to be escorted off the premises, but his stomach is attempting to fold itself into a particularly painful yoga pose.
Lan Wangji takes a step closer—tentative, then sure. Wei Wuxian holds his breath.
“Suite 1201,” Lan Wangji murmurs. And—are his ears turning red? His eyes flick down. “Bring the tray.”
And then Wei Wuxian is alone in the kitchen. What the fuck just happened? He stares at the gently swinging door. Bracing himself against the counter, he runs out the last few minutes in his head. Offend rich Asshole—check. Steal liquor—check. Get propositioned by another rich asshole—check. Reevaluate life choices leading up to this moment—check.
Suite 1201. Bring the tray.
Wei Wuxian laughs quietly to himself. Who does this Lan prick think he is? Just because he can afford to rent out the entire venue doesn’t mean he can buy sex in the middle of a gig. For starters, this is not the proper establishment for sex work. And second, he probably couldn’t afford Wei Wuxian anyway. Not even with his tiny-dessert trays and fancy silver streamers.
But…the way he’d looked at Wei Wuxian, the way he’d thanked him—it didn’t seem like he was propositioning him. Wei Wuxian’s grip on the linoleum countertop tightens as he remembers the way the space between them had changed, the hot intensity of the other man’s gaze. The way they’d both jumped when Jiang Cheng appeared, like something important was interrupted.
Wei Wuxian breathes, closes his eyes, and lets himself imagine it. Knocking on the door. Being greeted by Lan Wangji. He’s taken off his suit jacket, draped it over the back of a velvet sitting chair. The lights are dimmed. Before Wei Wuxian figures out what to do with his tray, Lan Wangji grabs him, and the tiny desserts fall to the floor, and Wei Wuxian’s hands are grasping for his collar—
The door clatters open again, and Wei Wuxian jumps, coming back to himself. “Jiejie!” Mortified, he snatches up his tray and holds it in front of him like a stage prop. “I’m just—uh—taking a break. Fifteen minutes.” Fifteen minutes? “An hour, tops. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”
Yanli smiles at him, unperturbed. “Take as much time as you need, A-Xian. I’m just here to refill the pitchers.”
When she’s gone, Wei Wuxian takes several steadying breaths. Then, before he can talk himself out of it, he loads a few more tiny cakes and raspberries from the fridge onto his tray and exits through the back door that leads to the elevators.
1201 is a penthouse suite. This venue is new to him, but he knows that much. As he rides the elevator to the twelfth floor, he starts to have second thoughts. What if Lan Wangji isn’t even in his room yet? What if he had meant for Wei Wuxian to bide his time until the party’s over, and then come up?
Ding.
Wei Wuxian wanders to the end of the hall, breathing in the scent of fresh linens. This is fine. He’ll knock, and if Lan Wangji isn’t there, he’ll simply go back down to the kitchen and get through the party and try to avoid eye contact with the guest of honor for the rest of the night. He’s just talked himself into leaving when the door opens.
“Um, hi,” he says. Lan Wangji is there, looking at him. And then before he vanishes like a mirage, the door opens fully, and he steps aside.
Wei Wuxian enters in a daze.
The door clicks softly behind him, and he absorbs the room’s twilight wash, the wall-spanning windows that look out onto the city, the fresh white towels on the tastefully large bed. He’d been expecting a tacky bedspread, but it’s a pleasing deep blue with silver flowers embroidered in the fabric. Nondescript artwork decorates the walls, and a pair of bottles sit on the cherrywood nightstand, both uncorked, a full glass next to each. Wei Wuxian’s gaze catches on them. After all the fuss downstairs, is Lan Wangji really up here popping not just one bottle, but two? But then he realizes, only one of the bottles is champagne—the second is some kind of fancy sparkling water. Water for Lan Wangji, and champagne for—
“Oh,” he says. Lan Wangji comes around to stand in front of Wei Wuxian, who notices for the first time that the rich boy is a little taller than him.
“Thank you for coming,” Lan Wangji says. His shoulders are rigid, his face impassive. Wei Wuxian remembers he’s holding a tray of desserts and gestures awkwardly with it.
“Um, where should I…?”
At first, Lan Wangji doesn’t seem to know what he means. Then he nods toward the nightstand. Wei Wuxian places the tray, quietly panicking. Downstairs, there was a discernible vibe between them. Now Lan Wangji won’t even look him in the eye. Is he embarrassed? Does he have regrets now that they’re alone? Did Wei Wuxian misinterpret this entire thing? Maybe he really did just want Wei Wuxian to bring up a tray of desserts. He should go now that he’s done his job. He’ll just leave the tray, claim a busy night ahead, and bow out. That way Lan Wangji doesn’t have to suffer a wounded ego and Wei Wuxian can go on living his life the way he had been before. Maybe he won’t get as big of a tip at the end of the night as he’d anticipated, but whatever, there are worse things—
“Thank you for coming,” Lan Wangji says again, putting a stop to Wei Wuxian’s spiral. There’s something in his voice now that wasn’t there before. It’s softer, more intimate. Wei Wuxian feels less like he’s making a delivery and more like he’s done someone a personal favor. Someone he cares about. When he turns around, Lan Wangji meets his gaze. “I…did not know if you would.”
“Well, I am a waiter,” Wei Wuxian says with a shrug. “I come when I’m called.”
The deflection falls between them like a dropped ball. Lan Wangji looks away. Wei Wuxian takes the opportunity to really study him. The blazer he has on is navy, he sees now, not black as he’d thought before. The shirt underneath is ruffled at the collar and slightly disturbed, as if he’d just hastily undone one of the buttons. A dusting of silver makeup rims his eyes, and his hair is swept over to one side in a neat arc.
Wei Wuxian’s stomach swims. This man asked—no, ordered—him to his room in the middle of his own party. This devastatingly gorgeous man. Who’s taller than him. “I’m kidding.” He puts on a dazzling smile, the one he saves for the rich assholes who might actually leave a decent tip. But it’s more than that, he realizes. He wants, suddenly and desperately, for Lan Wangji to look at him again. “I mean, yeah, I came up here because you told me to. I’m not actively trying to get fired, believe it or not. But that’s not the only reason.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes are still trained on the area of carpet right next to Wei Wuxian’s shoes. Wei Wuxian dares a tentative step closer. When the other man doesn’t run away, he takes another. They’re at arm’s length now. Wei Wuxian could reach out and grab him by the collar.
“Lan Wangji. It’s Lan Wangji, right?” Is the rich boy blushing? Wei Wuxian grins fully now. This might be a terrible idea, but he's probably never going to see this guy after tonight. He might as well have some fun while he has the chance. “Do you want to know the real reason I came?”
The beautiful rich boy finally looks at him. “Lan Zhan.”
Wei Wuxian tries hard to school his features into something neutral to hide the sudden riot taking place inside him. Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan. “Lan Zhan.” The words fizz in his mouth like champagne.
Lan Zhan’s ears are definitely pink, but he holds his head up. “May I call you Wei Ying?”
“Sure,” Wei Wuxian says automatically, but then his eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, how did you…?”
The smallest smirk graces Lan Zhan’s mouth. Wei Wuxian’s brain performs a record scratch.
“I...inquired,” he explains. “So. Wei Ying.” He pauses, the name hovering between them. “Why did you come?”
Wei Wuxian wonders if he’s drunk from that single glass of champagne earlier. It’s like he’s watching himself move and speak from somewhere far away, like he’s living the life of someone else, someone who doesn’t wait tables as one of five different side gigs for a living. Someone who belongs with the man standing in front of him. Before he knows what he’s doing, his mouth is on Lan Zhan’s.
Every remaining bit of Wei Wuxian’s hesitance snaps in half at the slide of Lan Zhan’s lips against his, soft at first, then rough. He grabs the collar of his blazer, just like he’d imagined, and pushes him up against the nearest wall. When he presses into him, he feels the hardness in the other man’s pants, and lets out a little involuntary groan.
“Fuck,” he mumbles into Lan Zhan’s mouth, grasping for the buttons of his blazer—gently so he doesn’t tear the expensive stitching. “I don’t, ah…normally…do this.” He realizes how that might sound and rushes to add, “Not that doing—this—all the time is bad or…or slutty or whatever—”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan becomes impatient with his fumbling fingers and does away with his own blazer, then starts on the buttons of Wei Wuxian’s shirt. “Does Wei Ying think I’m a slut?”
That word in Lan Zhan’s mouth causes Wei Wuxian’s blood to rush south so fast he thinks he might pass out. By the time Lan Zhan undoes the last of his buttons, he’s practically bursting out of his jeans. He tries to clear a path through the horny fog in his mind. Somehow he doesn’t think Lan Zhan is looking for the most obvious answer to his question. Dimly, Wei Wuxian realizes he’s being teased. He drags a hand along Lan Zhan’s flushed, exposed chest. “If he does?”
Lan Zhan’s eyes flash. He snatches Wei Wuxian’s hand and guides it down to the bulge in his pants, answering with a silent moan that Wei Wuxian cuts short with his mouth.
When they’ve stripped to their underwear—Lan Zhan’s tight white boxer briefs are already stained wet where the tip of his prominent dick strains against the fabric—they make their way to the bed in a dance of limbs and breath as if they’ve rehearsed it a hundred times. Lan Zhan pulls Wei Wuxian on top of him, and Wei Wuxian straddles him, rocking their hips together. It feels so good already and they aren’t even fucking yet, the rough slide of their clothed dicks against each other sending sparks of heat up Wei Wuxian’s spine. He could probably come from this.
He forces himself to slow and sit up. Underneath him, Lan Zhan is panting and pink-cheeked, his fingers digging into the flesh of Wei Wuxian’s thighs as he watches him through dark lashes. Beautiful. Wei Wuxian wonders what he did to deserve such a random act of divine intervention tonight—and suddenly, all the ways in which he could fuck it up come crashing down on him. Lan Zhan’s fingers tighten on his thighs.
“Wei Ying,” he says, and Wei Wuxian knows it’s a question. But he can’t meet his gaze. His eyes catch on the bottles on the nightstand, and he reaches to grab the delicate stem of the champagne flute. The drink is room-temperature by now, but it’s still bubbly. He rights himself and smiles at Lan Zhan over the rim.
“Can’t let all this expensive stuff go to waste, Lan Zhan, that would be irresponsible,” he says, then drains the glass. As soon as he’s done it, he regrets it. Now Lan Zhan will think he’s an alcoholic—if he didn’t already. He couldn’t stop himself from stealing a drink earlier, and now he’s taking a swig right before they fuck. He wouldn’t be surprised if Lan Zhan kicked him out, and he steels himself for the indignant rebuke of the higher class he’s experienced so many times before.
But instead, Lan Zhan sits up and kisses him, licking inside his mouth like he’s chasing a taste of the liquor. Like he’s hungry. Possessed by an idea, Wei Wuxian pushes Lan Zhan gently away, ignoring his tiny huffs of protest. He goes for the tray, placing his empty glass down, and when he returns, Lan Zhan eyes the cream-covered raspberry he grabbed with betrayal, as if he can’t believe Wei Wuxian would choose this insignificant fruit over him.
“Here,” Wei Wuxian tries, holding the raspberry up for Lan Zhan. But Lan Zhan gropes impatiently at the waistband of Wei Wuxian’s boxers and rolls his hips. Wei Wuxian bites his lip at the press of Lan Zhan’s dick against his ass, but he’s trying something, here. He puts one hand on Lan Zhan’s hip and holds him in place, then lowers the timbre of his voice. “Open.”
Lan Zhan stills. Wei Wuxian can see in his eyes the desire to protest, to tell Wei Wuxian he has no right to order him to do anything. After all, he’s the help, hired to perform a service for Lan Zhan at a function in his honor. Lan Zhan is the one who ordered him up here—he should be the one giving the commands. But Wei Wuxian has committed to domming tonight, never mind that he’s never dommed a single time in his life, he’s always been a natural sub, but fuck it, he holds firm, digging his thumb into the soft flesh of Lan Zhan’s hip. The other man inhales.
And then his lips part, ever so slightly.
A heady rush of power fills Wei Wuxian. He didn’t think he could get any harder, but at the sight of Lan Zhan with his mouth open, waiting for him…He rubs his thumb over Lan Zhan’s hip in loving little circles. “Good. That’s good. A little wider.”
Lan Zhan’s cheeks go pink and his eyes darken, but he obeys a second time, and Wei Wuxian has a sudden, feral urge to pin him to the mattress and feed him his dick until he comes down his long, beautiful throat. He resists. “So good for me, Lan Zhan,” he coos, and then pushes the raspberry into his mouth. Some of the cream melted on his thumb, and before he can pull back, Lan Zhan closes his teeth around him, scraping against the soft skin. Wei Wuxian moans and thrusts once mindlessly against Lan Zhan’s abs, then fights to get control of himself and the situation. He retracts his thumb and cups Lan Zhan’s jaw. “Chew.”
Wei Wuxian watches and listens to the pop of the seeds as Lan Zhan works his jaw. He keeps his hand on his chin, letting it slowly drift down his neck so he can feel it when Lan Zhan swallows. As soon as he does, Wei Wuxian kisses him, chasing the tartness of the raspberry, licking it out of him, and— Oh. He’d been wrong earlier. Lan Zhan is the most delicious overpriced thing he’s ever had in his mouth.
He says, “On your back,” and Lan Zhan lowers himself onto the bed, never breaking eye contact.
Heart pounding, Wei Wuxian slides off the bed and allows himself a moment to wonder whether Lan Zhan has lube and condoms, and if so, where he would keep them. He drifts toward the nightstand drawer and glances at Lan Zhan questioningly, and the answering nod he receives in return is enough. When he returns, he orders Lan Zhan to take off his briefs—“So wet, Lan Zhan”—and then he divests himself of his boxers and positions himself in the warm crease between Lan Zhan’s thighs.
He slicks his fingers with lube and circles them around Lan Zhan’s opening, watching the quick rise and fall of his torso as he breathes. When he inserts a finger, Lan Zhan gives a small, almost inaudible moan, and Wei Wuxian opens him up slowly and methodically, enjoying the increasingly impatient noises Lan Zhan makes.
“Wei Ying.” He’s squirming now.
“You think you’re ready?” Wei Wuxian asks, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. He thrusts his fingers in farther and frowns at the tightness. “Ah, I don’t know, Lan Zhan, I don’t know if you can take me.”
Lan Zhan huffs and grabs at Wei Wuxian’s hips. Wei Wuxian pulls his fingers out, snatches his hands, and pins them over his head. He pours his weight into the hold—he knows it must pinch. Lan Zhan glares up at him, the fullness of his dick pressing into Wei Wuxian’s belly like a promise or a threat.
Wei Wuxian tsks at his mouth. He can smell the raspberry on his breath. “You were being so good, Lan Zhan. Now what am I supposed to do with you?”
The glassy look in Lan Zhan’s eyes tells Wei Wuxian exactly what he thinks should be done to him. He can’t take it. If Lan Zhan keeps looking at him like that, he won’t be able to last three strokes.
He turns him over roughly onto his stomach and presses into the curve of his ass, lines his thumbs up with the dimples at the small of his back and kneads. Lan Zhan’s moan is muffled in the bedspread as he grasps handfuls of the fabric.
“Fuck,” Wei Wuxian breathes as he applies the condom and lube and guides himself into Lan Zhan. “Lan Zhan, you’re so…”
Words vanish along with the rest of his capacity for thought as he eases himself inside, then gives small, hesitant rolls of his hips. When Lan Zhan presses against him, asking for more, asking for it harder and faster and rougher, asking with his body and not with words, Wei Wuxian holds him firm. He can already feel his self-control spiraling away from him as Lan Zhan’s tightness threatens to overwhelm him, and he breathes through his excitement.
Only when he’s sure he’s not going to come does he speed up, fucking Lan Zhan the way he wants to be fucked—deeply and thoroughly, sinking him down into the bed with each shuddering thrust. He loses himself in the movement, the pleasure, lapping at the space between Lan Zhan’s shoulder blades and biting at his sweat-slicked skin. He goes somewhere warm and safe and far away in his mind—away from snapping customers and final notices and broken radiators. Here, there’s nothing but the two of them, Lan Zhan’s body welcoming him like an endless pool as Wei Wuxian pours himself into it over and over.
Heat builds in his lower back, low at first and then a blazing torch announcing the approach of his orgasm. Desperately, he reaches around and grabs Lan Zhan’s dick, wet with precome, and lets his hand drag down the length of him with each grind of his hips. Then, like a popped cork, Wei Wuxian comes, white noise roaring in his ears. Moments later, Lan Zhan stiffens underneath him and then jerks, gasping in relief as he finishes all over Wei Wuxian’s hand. They collapse, boneless, on the bed.
“I’m sorry,” Lan Zhan says between breaths.
It takes Wei Wuxian a few moments to realize he’s talking about the mess on his hand. “Oh, this? I liked it.” He grins.
Lan Zhan’s mouth thins with disapproval. “It is…unsanitary.” When Wei Wuxian raises a brow, he clarifies. “For your profession.”
The buzz of post-coital pleasure burns off as Lan Zhan’s meaning sinks in. “Ha. Right.” Of course Lan Zhan is thinking about Wei Wuxian’s position as a server; that’s all he’s thinking about. Because what else is there? Wei Wuxian is one of probably hundreds who have served Lan Zhan over the years—in more ways than one.
He ducks the intensity of Lan Zhan’s gaze as he inches off the bed. “Just gonna…”
In the bathroom, he shuts the door, trashes the condom, and scrubs his hands with hot water and sandalwood-scented soap until they hurt. He can still smell the sex on himself, but he can’t shower—he doesn’t have any other clothes besides the ones he’s been sweating in all night.
Leaning against the counter, he takes in the bathroom. Pleasant yellow light washes over bronze wall tiles that surround a massive oval tub complete with brass fixtures and glittering white steps leading up to it. Wei Wuxian stares at it and thinks of the cramped standing shower he shares with Wen Qing and Wen Ning. The spots of mildew that have grown into the shower liner. The water that floods to his ankles every time he uses it because the drain is permanently clogged. The sputtering fluorescent light over the sink that highlights every browning patch of wallpaper.
The toilet in this hotel is worth more than Wei Wuxian’s entire apartment put together. More than Wei Wuxian himself.
“Wei Ying?” The voice is small and far away, like Lan Zhan is still on the bed.
Closing his eyes, Wei Wuxian fights down a wave of embarrassment. What’s he doing here? He doesn’t belong in Lan Zhan’s world. In his bed. Lan Zhan must know that.
A sinking suspicion takes root in Wei Wuxian’s mind. What if this was all just some joke? Maybe the sub act was just that—an act—and Lan Zhan has been letting Wei Wuxian make an idiot of himself all night. He imagines what Lan Zhan might say about him to the Asshole, the mocking tone his voice would take on as he recalls the evening’s events. He actually fed me. Can you believe it? Even in bed he can’t stop serving. Wei Wuxian’s cheeks blaze.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s voice is closer now.
“Just a sec.” He splashes cold water on his face and towels off quickly, wishing he’d had the forethought to bring his clothes with him. When he opens the door, Lan Zhan is there in a new pair of gray boxer briefs, soft concern etching his face.
“Heya, sorry for hogging it,” Wei Wuxian says, far too chipper. “All yours.”
“Did you wish to bathe?” Lan Zhan asks. “I have spare clothes.”
Wei Wuxian tries not to laugh at the thought of wearing Lan Zhan’s six-thousand-thread-count pajamas and pulls on his used boxers, black skinny jeans, and long-sleeve shirt. “No, I’m good, really. Thanks—ah, thanks for tonight.” He zips his fly and smiles at Lan Zhan. “It was fun.”
Lan Zhan says nothing as Wei Wuxian pulls his hair out of his destroyed ponytail and ties it expertly back into a messy bun. When he heads toward the door, Lan Zhan says, “Your tray.”
Wei Wuxian doubles back for it, swallowing the lump in his throat at the sight of the ruined cakes and melting raspberries. When he turns back around, Lan Zhan looks like he might say something more, but seconds go by and Wei Wuxian has no more pride left to flush down this rich boy’s toilet. He goes to open the door, but Lan Zhan beats him there, hand resting on the polished handle.
“Don’t thank me,” he says.
Wei Wuxian blinks. “Huh?”
Lan Zhan gathers himself. “Please…don’t thank me. For tonight. It makes it seem like a…” He searches for the word.
“A service?” Wei Wuxian supplies, balancing his tray on one hand.
Lan Zhan nods.
“And that’s,” Wei Wuxian says slowly, “not what this was? To you?”
Lan Zhan shakes his head. He’s still in his briefs, his chest bare, his hair ruffled. He looks so vulnerable like this. So normal. Wei Wuxian feels his confidence in his assumptions wane.
“But you ordered me up here,” he says. “The way you’d order…someone like me around.”
Panic flickers across Lan Zhan’s face. “You feel I…ordered you? As in, you didn’t have a choice?”
Wei Wuxian blanches. “No! No, that’s— No. I knew what I was doing when I came up here. I wanted to, trust me. It’s just.” He shrugs self-deprecatingly. “You don’t have to be nice to me or offer me your clothes.”
Lan Zhan considers this, then shakes his head. “I’m…not very good at this.”
“Random hookups?” Wei Wuxian guesses. “One-night stands?”
“Saying what I mean. Without it sounding like…”
Oh. Wei Wuxian understands now. “An order.”
“Mn.”
The resentment that’s been building up in Wei Wuxian all night breaks apart, like the tiny cakes splitting on his tray. He’s been so primed to believe Lan Zhan is like every other rich douche he’s had to wait on in his life, expecting Wei Wuxian to grovel at his feet due to the depth of his pockets and the volume of his snap. But earlier, when the Asshole was being an asshole, it wasn’t just to Wei Wuxian. He was being an asshole to Lan Zhan too. At his own party. He had ordered Lan Zhan to take a drink with him, even though Lan Zhan clearly didn’t want to. And the way Lan Zhan had reacted when Wei Wuxian stood up for him…He clearly knows what it’s like to feel belittled by powerful men.
“So,” Wei Wuxian begins, “you don’t think that I’m…beneath you?”
Lan Zhan raises a single eyebrow. “I believe I was the one beneath you earlier.”
Wei Wuxian’s mouth drops open. Maybe he was too quick to judge this rich boy after all.
Lan Zhan glances at the tray. “Must you get back to work?”
Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Jiejie is probably getting on fine without me. Things have probably improved down there since I left, let’s be honest.”
Lan Zhan gives him a look that says he disagrees but he’s not willing to argue the point.
“Don’t you have to get back to your party?” Wei Wuxian ventures. They drifted closer to each other at some point, and he can smell soap and sweat on Lan Zhan.
“It’s more my brother’s party than mine,” Lan Zhan admits. “He is somehow under the impression that I have been insufficiently lavished on my previous twenty-four birthdays.”
Wei Wuxian remembers seeing Lan Xichen doting on Lan Zhan earlier, making sure he got everything he could possibly want, even if Lan Zhan seemed to want for nothing other than to be left alone. He smiles. “I see. Well, I don’t think your brother would really want these lavish desserts to go to waste.” He holds up his tray, examining the sad wares. “And they’re not exactly servable at this point.”
Lan Zhan hums, thoughtful and serious. Then he moves back over to the nightstand and picks up the bottle of champagne.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, feigning shock. “You don’t drink.”
“No,” he agrees, pouring a glass. He returns to Wei Wuxian’s side, taking the tray, and offers him the champagne. “This is for you to drink while I draw us a bath.”
Wei Wuxian doesn’t take it. “You’re not really going to make me drink alone, are you?” he wheedles.
Lan Zhan blinks, his shoulders tensing slightly.
Wei Wuxian crosses to the nightstand, and when he reaches for the glass of sparkling water, he hears Lan Zhan exhale. He glances back over his shoulder. “Lan Zhan! Did you think I was about to get pushy about the champagne? What do you take me for? I’m hurt!” He turns, fixing Lan Zhan with his most spectacular pout. “Crushed, Lan Zhan. Deeply wounded. You’re going to have to make it up to me.”
Lan Zhan’s eyes are warm as he watches Wei Wuxian approach. “And how would Wei Ying like me to do that?”
Wei Wuxian hums, tapping his chin. “I have a few ideas. But first—” He takes the champagne from Lan Zhan’s hand and replaces it with the sparkling water. “How about a toast?”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan lifts his glass and says tonelessly, “To our families’ enduring friendship.”
Wei Wuxian grins and clinks their glasses together. And at this point, a normal person would probably just take a sip, maybe actually enjoy the taste of the fancy champagne. But Wei Wuxian throws it back just like his first glass, spilling a little down his chin. Lan Zhan watches him with eyes that have gone dark again—and how did Wei Wuxian ever think that was an angry expression?
“Now, wasn’t someone supposed to be drawing me a bath?” Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow at Lan Zhan and snaps his finger three times in quick succession.
Lan Zhan purses his lips, and for a second Wei Wuxian worries that he took the joke too far, that snapping for service is shitty enough behavior to ruin the playful mood. But then Lan Zhan laughs. Wei Wuxian’s eyes go wide. He thought Lan Zhan was beautiful before, but holy shit. Before he can stop himself, he presses Lan Zhan back against the wall.
It’s a long time before either of them remember their plan to draw a bath.