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“I wanna have a baby,” Wei Ying announces one Saturday afternoon, seemingly apropos of nothing. He and his roommate, his best friend, his completely, entirely, no doubt about it, definitely platonic soulmate have just finished lunch.
“Oh,” Lan Zhan, aforementioned completely, definitely, surely, one hundred and ten percent platonic roommate, says idly.
“Yep. A baby. I want a baby. You’ve seen A-Ling. Who wouldn’t want one after looking at that fat little baby and his chubby arms and his fat little neck? He’s perfect. Just a blob. I have a blob for a nephew.”
It’s not as if Lan Zhan can disagree. Wei Ying’s nephew is a frequent enough fixture in their home, and Wei Ying’s shockingly adept babysitting skills have stirred something undeniable in him. A baby. A child. He’s always liked children. But he’s single. Single by choice, yes, single because he doesn’t want anyone other than the man sitting across from him now, but single nonetheless. But, then again, so is Wei Ying. Single parenthood is possible. His uncle did it. Not by choice, no, but he did it, and he did it well.
But Lan Zhan isn’t his uncle, and he isn’t Wei Ying, Wei Ying who could do anything at all if he put his mind to it. He has a dissertation to write — but so does Wei Ying. He has papers to grade. But so does Wei Ying. He knows he’s making excuses. Lying is wrong, but not if it’s to yourself. This works well for him except when it doesn’t. Like now.
“I see,” he says lightly. He supposes he should start looking for a new apartment. It will hurt, of course. They’ve been roommates for five years, since the end of college, through Wei Ying’s gap year, through Lan Zhan’s frantic preparation for grad applications, through Wei Ying’s lazy approach to the same until the three weeks before his applications were due and Lan Zhan knew that if it were anyone else, he would have moved out the third time Wei Ying chucked a stack of GRE flashcards off the fire escape in a fit of tears. Five years of Wei Ying in his home, five years of Wei Ying making messes that Lan Zhan cleans up without complaint, five years of Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying.
But if Wei Ying needs the space, he’ll go. Even if it hurts, and it will. Maybe more than anything in conscious memory. If he remembered his mother, maybe losing her would hurt more, but he doesn’t. No, he’s not losing Wei Ying. He’s just giving him space to start a family. That’s not a loss. If he believes it deeply enough, if he tells himself until he believes it, it really isn’t a lie, is it?
“Wow! You’re cool with this? With living with a baby? Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, I knew you were great, but, wow, you always manage to outdo yourself!” Wei Ying says.
What? The words don’t make sense. He isn’t great at all. But he can, he can stay? Across the table, when he finally drags his eyes from his suddenly very interesting hands, Wei Ying is smiling broadly, eyes crinkled. The decision is easy. He makes himself speak.
“I do not mind living with a baby, Wei Ying,” he says. He pauses. “But babies are in high demand for adoption. Are you opposed to an older child?”
Wei Ying laughs his pretty laugh, the one Lan Zhan wants to trap between his teeth, wants to hold in his lungs. “Lan Zhan! You’re so funny!”
Only Wei Ying has ever said that about him. It feels good that Wei Ying likes him, doesn’t find him odd or off-putting in the ways his professors and classmates and students do.
“Why is that?”
Wei Ying just laughs harder.
“I want to have a baby. Like the old fashioned way,” he says. A thoughtful pause. “Well, not that old fashioned. I’d get a sperm donor.”
Wei Ying round with child. Wei Ying glowing. Wei Ying eating increasingly foul combinations of food when the cravings hit. Ah. That sounds very appealing. Incredibly appealing. Perhaps too appealing. Lan Zhan shifts slightly in his seat. Behave. Behave.
Wei Ying goes on, “I already went off T a few months ago. Hopefully I can, you know, get knocked up. I guess you never know till you try, right? We’ll see.”
Lan Zhan knows his ears must be burning. He’s always been in control of his words, his body, his desires, his rampant, messy, too much desires for his dearest friend. So it’s a surprise when he says, “I can provide. If you like. You can say no. Of course. My apologies. That was too forward.”
The backs of his hands have once again become incredibly interesting. There’s a freckle on his left pinky, a round, shiny burn scar no larger than his thumbnail on his right hand, evidence of interjecting in a Wei Ying cooking experiment gone wrong — “How was I supposed to know oil splashes if you try to fry something wet, Lan Zhan?” — and when he can bring himself to look up again, Wei Ying’s mouth is open, face slack.
“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan! Do you know how much money that would save? And, oh, a baby with your genes? They’ll be so tall and pretty when they grow up. Like, I’ll be raising a model. Better keep them humble, haha!”
Lan Zhan stares. This is not how he expected to spend the afternoon. He expected a normal afternoon. Grading while Wei Ying chatters around him, resolutely ignoring his own grading until it’s past midnight on Sunday. Maybe a walk together in the park or a movie. Maybe even a hike. Spend time with the rabbits, spoiling them while Wei Ying goes on about how they’re eating the two of them out of house and home. Dinner with Wei Ying, maybe takeaway depending on the state of the refrigerator. Pretend he doesn’t want Wei Ying. Sleep at 9pm. Wake up and make Wei Ying brunch. Not this.
“This is so great!” Wei Ying says, rising to clear the dishes. “We should totally do this. So, how do you wanna do it?”
Again, he doesn’t know why he says it, except he does, “You said you wanted a baby the old fashioned way.”
And then he would like to curl up and die, thanks.
The floor doesn’t open up, but Wei Ying does drop a spoon with a clatter. Well, if he didn’t have to move out before, he certainly does now. What a stupid way to ruin a nearly decade-long friendship.
“Um. Like as friends?” Wei Ying’s voice sounds funny. Probably embarrassed. “Friends have sex all the time.”
No. Not as friends. But Lan Zhan’s feelings don’t matter here, not now.
“Yes, as friends.”
Wei Ying’s face is bright red. “Yeah. Lan Zhan. As friends. Friends. You’re doing me a favor. Um. You wanna. Um. Like. Try today? I, uh. Am tracking. Um. My cycle. Um. I’m. Like. Laying eggs.”
Of course Wei Ying would say ‘laying eggs’ instead of ‘ovulating.’ Lan Zhan is so in love with him. Has been for years. But this isn’t about him or his feelings. It’s about giving Wei Ying what he wants and needs. They should talk about this, though. They should.
They don’t. This surprises no one.
—
Lan Zhan has seen him bare chested before, at the beach, after a shower, when he lounges around their apartment, the home they share together, on hot summer days. But he’s never seen Wei Ying fully nude before. Has never seen the jut of his dick or the spread of his bare thighs or the slickness of his cunt.
Now, in Wei Ying’s bedroom, he’s going to get the chance to see all of this. Lan Zhan doesn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe perfunctory sex, just the motions, a means to an end. But that’s not what happens. Wei Ying’s mouth is hot on his as he kisses his, arms looped around his neck. Their first kiss, unexpected and sweet. It’s just as sweet as Wei Ying’s hands firm on his chest as he pushes him down onto the unmade bed and climbs on top, letting his knees part around Lan Zhan’s hips.
“Undress me,” Wei Ying says. “Come on, undress me, Lan Zhan. Don’t you wanna touch me?”
A gift. Lan Zhan chooses to savor it, to not think about how this is a one time thing as he pulls the black shirt over Wei Ying’s head, as he fumbles with his binder for so long that Wei Ying laughs and intervenes, helping Lan Zhan bare him to the waist. And this isn’t new, but it’s new to touch with intent, to say, “Can I touch you here?” To hear, “Yes, yes, please, yes, play with my tits.”
He touches with intent, stroking from collarbone to sternum, spreads his palm to touch uncertainly. This is new. Wei Ying’s tits are small and soft, nipples growing hard and dark when he rolls one and then the other between his fingers, and Wei Ying’s voice grows dark along with them, moaning that it’s good, more. He wants to put them in his mouth.
“Go ahead,” Wei Ying says and grabs a fistful of Lan Zhan’s hair, drawing his head closer to his chest. “I like it, go on, oh, yeah, yeah, like that.”
Gently, he draws one nipple into his mouth, lapping experimentally while Wei Ying wriggles in his lap, sucking more confidently until Wei Ying grips his hair hard and says, “Bite me,” and Lan Zhan is not a strong enough man to deny him what he wants. So he presses the brown nub between his teeth, and Wei Ying lets out a yelp that turns into a groan, deep and full chested. He looks up, sees Wei Ying dark eyed and excited, feels a hand against his cheek, tender. He savors that, too.
He savors flipping them, putting Wei Ying on his back, savors Wei Ying’s laughing gasp — “Pushy!”
Maybe he is. Under him, Wei Ying is panting, red in the face, pushing up against him, eager, hands grabbing at his ass. But Lan Zhan wants to savor. He kisses Wei Ying’s breastbone and cups his tits with both hands, pinching his nipples hard, the ghost of a bite. He could live here. Just for the afternoon because this is just for the afternoon. And if it’s just for the afternoon, he wants to see. Pulling back, Lan Zhan lets his eyes fall over Wei Ying, still in his dark jeans. A thin smattering of hair on his chest. Probably no more than Lan Zhan has himself. Thicker under his arms and down his belly, a trail that goes under the waistband of his jeans.
A trail he could chase with his tongue. Wei Ying drags one hand from his ass to his chest and cups at his pecs through his shirt.
“Not fair,” he says, a whine. “Not fair. I’ve shown you mine. Let me take it off, Lan Zhan. It’s only fair.”
It’s only fair, so he lets Wei Ying unbutton his shirt and mouth at his chest, teasing his nipples with his tongue and fingers. And all the while he’s pushing up against him, grinding against his cock through their pants.
“Wei Ying, Wei Ying,” he groans, cupping Wei Ying’s face gently, pulling him off his chest.
“Huh? Lan Zhan?” he says. “You don’t like it?”
“I like it,” he says. “Can’t you feel me?”
Another laugh. “You are funny! My funniest friend. Favorite friend. Of course I can feel you.”
“It’s only fair.”
A wrinkle forms between Wei Ying’s brows. It’s cute, so he kisses him because he won’t get this for long. Wei Ying kisses back and mumbles, “What’s only fair?”
“If you can feel me, shouldn’t I be able to feel you?”
“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan! Oh, you wanna feel my dick? Then finish undressing me like I said!”
That’s something to savor, too. Peeling Wei Ying out of his jeans, baring his legs, running his fingers against the coarse hair on his thighs and calves, seeing his red briefs blooming dark and wet at the crotch. Seeing the impression of his dick through the wet fabric. Wei Ying’s hands are shaking a little when he takes one of Lan Zhan’s hands and brings it to touch his dick through thin cotton.
“Now you’re feeling me,” he pants and helps Lan Zhan stroke him through the fabric. He’s thick under Lan Zhan’s fingers. “Wanna see me? But, well, it’s only fair…”
No one could accuse Wei Ying of being unpersuasive. So, since it’s only fair, Lan Zhan guides Wei Ying to strip him of his slacks and underwear, and finally, finally, he peels Wei Ying out of his briefs, and finally, finally, he gets to see him the way he dreams of more nights than not.
“Um. Um. Is — is this okay?” Wei Ying says, sounding shy. “I know I’m, like, not what you’re used to.”
“I’m very used to you,” Lan Zhan says because it’s true. And then he takes Wei Ying’s hand and guides it between their bodies, guides it to his cock, letting him feel how hard he is, how much he wants this. How much he wants him.
“Oh, you definitely don’t mind,” Wei Ying says, giving him one long, slow stroke from base to tip. Lan Zhan moans. “Wow, you’re big. Oh, oh, and wet, that’s so hot. You’re wet for me. You like this. Fuck, fuck, you wanna touch me more? I think you’ll like it.”
Of course he wants to touch him more. Of course he wants him, of course he wants to savor this. He answers with his mouth on Wei Ying’s chest again, biting again, and Wei Ying’s hand falls away, goes back to his head, holding him down. He holds him there, letting him bite his chest and tits, one hand pawing at Lan Zhan’s ass to press them together, until he’s keening, mewling that he’s so wet, so wet, please, your mouth, please more.
That’s — he never thought — he never dreamed. No. That’s a lie. He dreamed this plenty, how Wei Ying would taste, how he’d feel in his mouth. This isn’t how babies are made. This is just pleasure for pleasure’s sake, and he savors this, too. Under his open mouth, Wei Ying’s skin tastes of skin and sweat and himself. Wiry hair under his mouth at Wei Ying’s navel, thicker as he follows it down between his spread legs, where he smells musky and masculine and sexy and good. Where he’s wet.
When he gets between Wei Ying’s legs, he pauses. He looks because he’s allowed. Wei Ying is lovely here, dick thick and flushed with blood, and he wasn’t kidding — Wei Ying is sopping wet, folds dark and glistening.
“Sorry,” Wei Ying says from somewhere up above. It could very well be the moon. “I get — I get really wet.”
“No apologies,” Lan Zhan says firmly. How could he apologize for this? “I like it.”
A broken moan. “Ohhh, okay. Um. Good. Oh, oh, yes.”
This is new. Lan Zhan has never done exactly this before, not like this, but he understands the mechanics, and, even if it’s different, he’s a dutiful student. And it turns out Wei Ying is a very good teacher. He shows Lan Zhan what he likes, pushing up against his mouth, mumbling, “Play with it. Like the tip of a cock, ohhhh, yeah, yeah like that.” He tells him to put it in his mouth, so he does, and then Wei Ying moans and tells him to push back the hood, to tease the tip, to suck his dick, to blow him, to make him feel good. All the while, Wei Ying groans and bucks up against his mouth, open in what he wants, talking the whole time, it’s good, so good, more, more, more.
It’s more than good. Too good. Too good to lose. Savor the taste of him, the feel of him. Musky, slick, thick between his lips. The scratch of his pubic hair, the taste of his cunt, has Lan Zhan thrusting against the bed, chasing friction, just a little, because Wei Ying is so beautiful like this. Lan Zhan wants to keep this forever. But if he can’t, at least he can make Wei Ying feel good, so he blows Wei Ying until he’s keening, until he’s tensing up, wailing — “Yes!”
And thus Lan Zhan gets to hear what Wei Ying sounds like when he comes. Selfishly, he hopes they keep trying.
“Mm, now you,” Wei Ying says, tugging him for a sticky kiss. Lan Zhan is wet down to his neck, and Wei Ying chases it with his tongue. To his neck, Wei Ying says, “Wow, wow, you’re good at that.”
Of all things, of all times, Lan Zhan flushes, embarrassed. “I’ve never —”
“Oh, you’re a natural,” Wei Ying breathes. “Yes, a complete natural dick sucker. Now, let’s see if you’re a natural at fucking a baby into me, huh, Lan Zhan?”
Wei Ying reaches between them. Wraps his fingers around him. Moans, “Oh, yeah, you’re so big, so big. Yeah, you’ll definitely be a natural.”
He hopes so.
They shuffle a little, rearranging heavy limbs, and then Wei Ying slicks his hand between his legs and strokes him, hand tight and warm, mouth soft against his, kissing deeply as he jerks him off. A shiver runs down Lan Zhan’s entire body. It’s good. Wei Ying is good, and he can still taste him on his lips, and he’s not going to last if Wei Ying keeps that up.
“Wei Ying,” he pants against his mouth. “Wei Ying, if you don’t stop —”
Lost in his task, truly lost, Wei Ying sounds unfocused as he says, “Oh, you wanna come for me? You want me to make you come all over me? Wanna come on my tits and lick it off?”
Yes. But not now. They have a plan.
“Wei Ying,” he moans helplessly. “Wei Ying, inside.”
Sobering with a laugh, Wei Ying says, “Oh, yeah. Right. In my cunt. You’re gonna fuck me. You’re gonna come in my cunt, fuck me full of babies. Oh, yes, please, please.”
And how could Lan Zhan deny him, deny him anything he asks? So he pulls Wei Ying’s hand away, pressing it down firmly against the bed, and teases him for just a moment, a moment you’d think was a century for all of Wei Ying’s demanding cursing, stroking against his dick, against the slick opening between his folds, before pressing in, and, fuck, he’s so tight, so slick, so hot.
He’s not only tight and slick and hot — he’s loud. He squirms in his arms, on his cock, whimpering, taking him easily and eagerly. And he talks. He talks a lot.
“Oh, oh, Zhanzhan,” he moans as he takes his cock, meeting his thrusts, pressing his tits against his chest. “So big, so big, harder, please, baby.”
Maybe it’s the endearment. Maybe it’s the situation. Maybe it’s just having Wei Ying in his arms, feeling the tight, wet heat of his cunt, the drag of his nipples across his chest, Wei Ying’s hand between their bodies, stroking his dick in time with his thrusts that makes him say it. But he says it.
“I love you, Wei Ying. I love you. Fuck, fuck.”
In for a penny. Wei Ying’s eyes are unreadable, dark and hazy, but he’s gasping and clutching at him even tighter, so he hauls him up by his hips and fucks him into the mattress, and says it again, and then again, and then he tries again, but it’s drowned out by first a moan, then a shriek, then a howl, and he’s suddenly sopping wet as Wei Ying squirts all over him, on his cock, on his thighs, on the rumpled sheets. He can’t not follow, tugging at Wei Ying’s hips as he fucks his squelching, clenching cunt through his own orgasm, spilling inside.
They lie like that for a moment, joined. When he pulls out, Wei Ying is dripping, cum smeared on his cunt and thighs. He’s panting, limbs soft when Lan Zhan gives into the urge, the overwhelming, undeniable urge, and drags his fingers through it and pushes his cum back inside, fingering him gently, pressing kisses to his chest.
Wei Ying whines helplessly, “Yes, inside, inside, put it in my cunt, please, please.”
He keeps at it, gently feeding his cum back into Wei Ying’s waiting cunt, teasing his tits with his mouth, fingering him until he clenches up again, a weak shiver running through his body as he comes one more time on Lan Zhan’s fingers.
“So good, so good,” Wei Ying says quietly. Lan Zhan gently pulls his fingers free, and he does mourn the loss. It was nice while it lasted. There’s no point in cleaning up. In fact, that’s the exact opposite of the point of this all, the reality of what they’re doing snapping back all at once, cruel and cold, a winter morning in his chest, when he watches Wei Ying grab at a pillow and stuff it below his hips, holding his thighs to his chest.
“To help it take,” he says, sounding dazed. “Um. Hold me? Please. If you want.”
He does want. A shred of warmth comes, that unseasonable mid-winter day that says spring may still come if only you can make it through the dark, a reminder that one day it won’t be this cold. He holds Wei Ying in the comedown, arms around his body, and tries to make himself believe that he won’t feel cold forever. Wei Ying looks pensive. The warmth shrinks. Now they’ll talk.
“Um. What you said earlier…”
The warmth disappears all at once. Lan Zhan is a frozen lake. Now Wei Ying will kick him out. Out of his bed, out of their home.
“Did you mean it?” Wei Ying says quietly. “Like, as a friend?”
The summer solstice, the longest, brightest, day of the year, comes early, and Lan Zhan thaws all at once, all the way down to the core of himself.
“Yes.”
And Wei Ying’s face crumples. Oh. None of that.
“Yes, I love you,” Lan Zhan says. “As a friend and more than a friend. As a boyfriend, if you would let me. As a father to your child. If you’ll allow me.”
Wei Ying’s face splits with a grin. He toys with Lan Zhan’s hair, playing with the braid he’d put it into this morning.
“Oh,” he says, a laugh in his voice. “Oh, good. I love you, too. A lot. So much. For so long. Like, so long. So, um. Boyfriend is nice, but…”
But?
“But maybe,” Wei Ying says, turning to kiss him, soft and wet and sweet. “But maybe, maybe husband would be even better.”
Ah. This really isn’t how Lan Zhan imagined this would go, when he dared to imagine it, but nothing of this day has been to his expectations.
“Yes. Husband would be even better. Yes. Yes, Wei Ying.”
“Good,” Wei Ying declares. “Yes. Husband. And daddy. You wanna be a daddy? Wanna be my daddy?”
Lan Zhan must be red from forehead to chest because Wei Ying laughs, loud and lovely, right in his ear.
“If that’s the case, you wanna try again? Wanna make sure I have your baby? Come on, give it to me, daddy.”
He gives it to him.
—
They keep trying. Every day. Two months into their engagement — engagement! He’s engaged. To his best friend, his favorite person, his Wei Ying — Wei Ying crawls into his lap and waves a test in his face. He’s smiling broadly.
“We’re — we’re — Zhanzhan, my love, my dearest, my beloved. We’re having a baby.”
That requires a celebration. Wei Ying agrees, grinding down against him. They’re in their bed, theirs, not Wei Ying’s, not Lan Zhan’s, their own bed in their own shared room. They haven’t dressed for the day yet. It’s easy to press into Wei Ying, to feel him open around his cock, slick and hot. Wei Ying moans in his lap, taking him eagerly, moaning as he rides him, whimpering into his ear, “Come on, give me another.”
Biology doesn’t work that way, but Lan Zhan doesn’t care. He fucks Wei Ying hard in his lap, fingertips digging into his hips, mouth teasing his tits as he groans.
“More, more, more.”
So Lan Zhan gives him more, gives him so much that his fiancé is a wrung out mess by the time he’s done with him, sprawled on his stomach, cum and lube smeared on his cunt and his hole.
“That’s not how babies are made,” Wei Ying says after Lan Zhan cleans him with his mouth. “If it is, why haven’t I knocked you up yet?”
“You can keep trying,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying squints at him.
“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart,” Wei Ying says. He paws at Lan Zhan’s cock and finds him already fattening up again. Wei Ying’s engaged to a sex fiend. He couldn’t be happier.
“I could go again. I can fuck your little hole as long as I want to. No, no, don’t tempt me. I’m too tired to strap. I’m in a delicate condition,” Wei Ying whines. Then, slowly, thinking it through, “Unless you wanted to ride me? Do all the work?”
Lan Zhan isn’t opposed to work. After all, Wei Ying is in a delicate condition. And if he comes on Wei Ying’s tits and licks it off while Wei Ying whines that he’s wasting it, well, they can’t exactly put another baby in Wei Ying now.
—
Three months later, they have a significantly less sexy celebration, surrounded by their friends and family in their home. Wei Ying isn’t really showing yet, but he’s definitely glowing, and he’s definitely eating even more atrocious combinations of food, and he’s his, his, his.
“We’re having a baby!” Wei Ying announces, arm tight around Lan Zhan’s waist. “And we’re getting married! Ha! So no need to look like that, Uncle Jiang. He’s a perfect gentleman. Perfect proposal. So romantic.”
Lan Zhan flushes scarlet. Shameless. But this is their home — no need for shame.
—
In the end, nearly a year after Wei Ying’s lunchtime demand for a child, their baby comes right on time, fat and perfect. Maybe the order was all messed up, but that doesn’t matter, not to them. They bring their child home, and that’s a celebration in itself. They’ve been married for all of a month, and it’s exactly as it should be.
At home with their child at his chest, Wei Ying grins, bone tired and very lovely and sore in ways he didn’t know it was possible for a person to be sore, and says, “So we’re parents. As friends, right?”
Lan Zhan nods, kissing him, running a finger through the tuft of black hair on their baby’s head.
“Best friends.”
“And husbands,” Wei Ying says firmly.
“And husbands. Best friends who are husbands.”
“Anything else you’re missing, Zhanzhan?”
Oh, yes, he is. “As fathers?”
Wei Ying’s grin grows wider. “Yes, daddy.”