Rating:

Mature

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

MDZS/CQL

Relationship:

Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian

Tags:

drunken kissing, holding hands, modern au, practice kissing, size difference

Stats:

Posted on:

2021-01-21

Words:

4,118

The ceiling looks like popcorn.

“It does look like popcorn,” intones Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying gasps in astonishment. Or, he thinks he does. With so much alcohol in his body, horizontal on the ground, breathing is not as easy as it usually is. But Lan Zhan gets him. Lan Zhan is, like, a mind reader.

“I am not a mind reader,” Lan Zhan says.

That makes no sense, then. Why would Lan Zhan say these things if he could not hear Wei Ying’s thoughts?

“Wei Ying, you are speaking out loud.”

Oh. Well, that explains it. Wei Ying’s pretty sure if he stood up he would get dizzy, so it’s a good thing he and Lan Zhan are lying the way they are. Lan Zhan’s a good drinking buddy.

He wonders if he said that out loud.

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, so maybe he didn’t. Maybe he did keep that confined to his thoughts. Which he would prefer, because sometimes his thoughts go in weird, crazy, haha totally not embarrassing directions, like wanting to press down the furrow between Lan Zhan’s eyebrows sometimes, admiring his long fingers and sharp cheekbones, wondering if Lan Zhan masturbates—surely, he must—how it would feel if Lan Zhan fucked him into next week—

Wei Ying double checks that he’s not speaking. He puts a hand on his chin, then his mouth. They’re closed. Unmoving. Good.

He glances at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan is also staring at the ceiling that looks like popcorn. They’ve been lying here for a while, since they finished watching Happy Together, eating dinner, drinking, and crying a little bit. It’s kind of a typical day for Wei Ying and his roommate, except that he doesn’t usually try to rope Lan Zhan into watching gay movies with him while drinking alcohol. But Lan Zhan had been surprisingly open to both. Wei Ying doesn’t even know if Lan Zhan is interested in men, but at the end where they were a little tipsy and had finished only half of the wine, Wei Ying had asked, “What did you think?” and Lan Zhan had been silent before replying, “The movie was good,” then, “Is there more wine?”

Which brings them here—on the floor in their living room, an empty bottle of wine between them, pondering the depth of their popcorn ceiling. Except Wei Ying is looking more at Lan Zhan’s long eyelashes now, blinking slowly every so often, light shadows across his face in the yellow glow from their kitchen, the DVD menu still playing on the television. Lan Zhan had drunk a good portion of the wine heartily, until Wei Ying had gone, “Lan Zhan, what are you doing! You said that you had a low tolerance,” and insisted on finishing the rest of it. When Lan Zhan had clutched the wine bottle and refused to move, Wei Ying had threatened to throw out Lan Zhan’s entire green tea supply. He wouldn’t have, really, and sober Lan Zhan would’ve known—but drunk Lan Zhan had gotten pouty and upset and his eyes had widened when Wei Ying had taken out the box of tea bags from the pantry. He’d reluctantly handed over the wine bottle to Wei Ying, who proceeded to chug the rest of it down before Lan Zhan drank anymore.

Of course, his subsequent nausea and dizziness had led to a truce, and he’d slurred out, “Gotta go lie down,” and Lan Zhan had followed him into the living room. Wei Ying doesn’t remember the action of plopping his body down and sprawling on the floor, but they’re here now—like two snow angels without wings, and without snow. Instead they have the carpet. They’re carpet angels. Carpet humans.

Lan Zhan’s arms are long, though. His hand is below Wei Ying’s forearm, near his elbow, even though they’re a good ways apart. Wei Ying’s gaze drops down to his hand, too. Lan Zhan also has big hands. A lot of Lan Zhan is big, actually. He wonders if he’s proportionate in other areas—well, okay, he wonders if Lan Zhan’s dick is big. But it’s not the first time he’s had the thought. It’s a pretty welcome thought, too. Wei Ying likes to think of it when he masturbates.

He puts his hand on his chin to make sure he’s not talking again.

Wei Ying doesn’t necessarily have small hands, but Lan Zhan is just undoubtedly big. Big hands, big arms, probably a big dick. Hopefully. For whoever Lan Zhan fucks, he supposes. He knows that dick size isn’t everything, but Lan Zhan would know what to do with it. How to fuck with it. Now he’s thinking about Lan Zhan fucking, which is—Wei Ying is too drunk to be this horny.

Hands, he reminds himself. He can’t see Lan Zhan’s dick, but Lan Zhan’s hand is right there. He’s almost tempted to nudge it, or hold it, or lick it. Except they’re bros, and that’s not what bros do. They’re not even bros, actually—they’re roommates, because Lan Zhan’s brother’s friend’s brother is Nie Huaisang, who Wei Ying has known since high school, and Wei Ying was looking for a place to live in the city and Lan Zhan was looking for a roommate, supposedly. Wei Ying doesn’t mind, of course, but Lan Zhan’s kind of asocial and cold so it’s hard for him to imagine Lan Zhan actively looking for a roommate. Except after their first meeting, a lunch that Wei Ying was ninety-nine percent sure he was seriously overcompensating for, Lan Zhan had said, “Give me your email address. I will send you the details of our lease.” And that had been that.

So they’re friends, kind of. In the way that a guy you move in with kinda becomes your friend after a couple of months, no matter how asocial and cold Lan Zhan is. So Wei Ying thinking about his dick size and his hand size is totally normal. Like, Lan Zhan’s hand looks proportional to him. And Wei Ying likes to think he has a pretty proportional body, too. But he just feels like if he pressed their palms together, if he saw just how big Lan Zhan’s hand was, it would probably dwarf him.

His spine shivers in delight.

“Hey, Lan Zhan,” he says loudly, so he can actually hear himself talk.

Lan Zhan’s gaze flickers to him.

“Lan Zhan, you’ve got hands, right?” Wei Ying says. He makes sure he doesn’t say a dick.

Lan Zhan blinks. Then he lifts a hand, and stares at it.

“Yes,” he answers. “I do have hands.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying processes Lan Zhan’s words—his own question—then laughs. “That’s not what I meant! I mean, it is what I meant.” He giggles. “But of course you have hands, that’s not what I really wanted to ask.”

Lan Zhan keeps his hand lifted, but looks at Wei Ying again.

“I mean,” Wei Ying continues, “you’ve got some pretty big hands! I thought I had big hands, too—” and he does, because he’s been aware since he started playing piano at four, fencing lessons at twelve, “—but I think yours might be bigger!”

Lan Zhan glances at Wei Ying’s hand sprawled near his face. “Mn,” he intones, but says nothing more.

“Hey, let’s compare.” Wei Ying lifts his own hand, puts it in the air next to Lan Zhan’s. Perched on their elbows, their extended fingers make shadows over the carpet in the soft light.

Wei Ying turns his palm towards Lan Zhan’s hand. “Put it against mine,” he says, and Lan Zhan does, moving ungracefully through the air until his palm collides with Wei Ying’s. It lands with a loud smack!

“Look,” Wei Ying says, because Lan Zhan’s fingers are almost long enough to arch over Wei Ying’s, heels of their palms pressed together. “Your hands are bigger.”

“Indeed.” Lan Zhan tilts their pressed hands at a slight angle, that it almost looks like they’re holding hands. “Wei Ying has small hands.”

“Hey, mine aren’t small. They’re still pretty big!”

There’s a small rustle of movement. Lan Zhan is shaking his head.

Wei Ying laughs. “Lan Zhan, do you like that your hands are bigger than mine?” He presses the pads of their fingers together—or rather, the tips of his along the length of Lan Zhan’s. “Who knew Lan Zhan could be so prideful?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, but doesn’t move away, either.

Even though he’s so cold, his body isn’t. His palm is warm against Wei Ying’s, and there are calluses on the tips of his fingers. It’s nice, Wei Ying thinks, just touching Lan Zhan like this. Being able to touch Lan Zhan like this. Like a human angel carpet. An angel human carpet.

He giggles again and shifts his fingers, curls them down. “Well, big hands are nothing to be ashamed of—”

But it’s about a moment of their fingers interlocked when Lan Zhan jerks away suddenly, yanking his arm down and bringing it close to his chest, like Wei Ying’s hand had burnt him.

Wei Ying ignores how his chest clenches at this—it’s not nausea, though it is when he sits up.

“What the hell, Lan Zhan,” he says, ignoring the hurt in his throat. “I wasn’t, I just thought—since we were already touching—never mind—” He tries to pick himself up, but decides to wait a second for his stomach to stop turning. “Sorry, I’ll just—I’ll go to bed—”

“No, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying pauses. Good, too, because the more he sits upright, the more the unease is going to his head. “That is not what—I did not intend to offend you.”

“Well,” Wei Ying says, and he doesn’t know if the turning in his stomach is real nausea or just more discomfort at this honesty. “I—you didn’t offend me,” he lies. “But thanks, I guess.” And he stays, because his head is swimming and okay, maybe he should just stay on the ground.

Lan Zhan is still lying next to him, clutching his hands together. “I have never,” he says. Wei Ying watches his throat as he swallows. “It has been a long time since I have held hands with anyone.”

Wei Ying’s eyes widen. “Anyone? Like, what do you mean, since your last girlfriend?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze is steady. “I have not had a girlfriend.”

This shocks Wei Ying, because surely Lan Zhan—hot, talented, terrifying, big—has had a girlfriend before. Or someone.

“A boyfriend?” he guesses.

“I have not held hands since I was very young,” Lan Zhan replies. “Since my parents.”

Wei Ying’s curiosity falls. “Oh.” They don’t talk about parents often, because—well, Wei Ying doesn’t know Lan Zhan’s whole story and he hasn’t told his own, either, but it’s not like he can just casually bring up that he’s an orphan and lived in foster homes for all his life.

But still! The handholding. That’s tragic.

“That’s tragic,” Wei Ying says. “So you’re telling me you haven’t had a boyfriend or a girlfriend to hold hands with your entire life?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes slide over to him and narrow.

Wei Ying rushes, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being terminally single! I mean, I’ve been—” he thinks, “—well, I guess, not single my entire life since I ‘dated’ a girl in middle school.” He uses air quotes. “But like, it’s middle school. We didn’t even kiss. And I hold hands with my jie all the time.” He grins. “You should try holding hands with your brother to get more used to it.”

“Do you hold hands with your brother?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Okay, fair, fair.” Wei Ying scratches the back of his head. “If I tried to hold hands with Jiang Cheng, he’d probably bash my face in,” he says thoughtfully. “But like, holding hands is common. Easy! We can hold hands more often if you’d like.”

Lan Zhan opens his mouth, closes it. Parts his lips again. “Do you hold hands with your friends often?”

Definitely not. But Wei Ying brightens, because getting to spend more time with Lan Zhan, to touch him, is an opportunity he will not miss. “Sure!”

Lan Zhan uses his long elbows to sit himself up. His trousers are wrinkled; he smooths them out, seemingly instinctively. “And your girlfriend?” he asks.

Wei Ying cocks his head. “What girlfriend?”

Lan Zhan steadies himself, balancing on his arms. “You discussed having a girlfriend in middle school, and being comfortable with holding hands,” he says. “I assume you would have a girlfriend now as well to hold hands with.”

“Oh! No,” Wei Ying says. “I’m almost as single as you. Almost. I don’t think I’ve dated anyone since middle school. Not in high school or undergrad, either, academics were kicking my ass.”

There’s a flush on Lan Zhan’s ears. “That is good. Focusing on schoolwork is important.”

“You say that, Lan Zhan, but I bet you’ve never taken an engineering course,” Wei Ying grumbles. “I could slack off all I wanted before and learn things easily, but now I have to do things. Show my work. Turn shit in, or else my advisor would show up in my bedroom at two in the morning with a knife.”

“I would protect you,” Lan Zhan says.

He says it so solemnly that Wei Ying laughs. “I don’t need protecting now, Lan Zhan, but thank you,” he says. “Now that I have the time to date, though, I just—I haven’t.” He hastily leaves out the part where the person he actually wants to date is in the room with him. Talking to him. “Would you believe it if I said that I haven’t kissed anyone yet? Me? With this pretty face?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “I would not believe it.”

“Right!” Wei Ying throws his hands up in exasperation. “Why haven’t I been kissed yet? Or railed to death yet? It should be a crime.”

Immediately once the words leave his mouth, he feels embarrassment come in waves. He didn’t mean to confess that part, where he’s a virgin—which, okay, isn’t that big of a deal if he’s never been kissed. But also that he’s horny and wants to be railed to death. Lan Zhan certainly doesn’t want to hear that.

Lan Zhan’s expression is unreadable, but his gaze is piercing on Wei Ying. “I have not been kissed as well,” he states.

And it shouldn’t be a surprise considering everything about the handholding, but—”What!” Wei Ying squawks. “You haven’t? Lan Zhan, that’s also a crime! The two of us, two good-looking men, who haven’t been kissed. What’s the point of our pretty faces if no one will kiss us? What’s the point of my tongue if I’m not sticking it in someone’s mouth?”

“You enjoy talking,” Lan Zhan points out.

“Pah.” Wei Ying waves a hand. “Sure, I enjoy talking, but I’d probably love kissing, don’t you think? I’ve thought about it a lot, I think I’d be really good at it. How about you, Lan Zhan, do you think you’d be good at kissing?”

Lan Zhan parts his lips again. It’s a long moment before he answers.

“I have not thought about it.”

“How could you not think about it? People are kissing around me all the time, and I’m like, so when’s it my turn to stick my tongue down someone’s throat?”

Lan Zhan says, “I do not think tongues are that long.”

“Maybe yours isn’t, but I think mine is.” Wei Ying sticks his tongue out and tries to look at it. “Actually, I can’t tell from here. But I like to think it is!”

He sticks his tongue out of his mouth again. Long and pink and a little bit wet, it extends from where he’s looking down at his nose. He would like to stick it in someone’s mouth. Or have someone suck on it. People always seem like they’re having fun with their tongues when they’re kissing. It looks fun; Wei Ying’s sure he’ll be into the sensation.

Lan Zhan says, “Would you like to compare?”

“What?” Distracted by his tongue, Wei Ying looks up. Pink runs high on Lan Zhan’s cheeks—from the alcohol, surely—as well as the tips of his ears.

Lan Zhan glances away, then back to him.

“Would you like to compare tongues?” he asks.

“What? Compare tongues?” Wei Ying asks, blinking. “What do you mean? Should we just, like, put our tongues side by side and see which one is longer?”

Lan Zhan’s expression is hard to decipher. His hands are clenched into fists by his sides. His gaze is dark.

“We cannot put them side by side,” Lan Zhan says, and points to his cheek. “But there are alternative methods.”

“There are?”

Lan Zhan huffs and looks away again. Seems to be thinking hard about something. Wei Ying lets him take his time, because sometimes a guy’s gotta be considerate. Especially with someone as thoughtful as Lan Zhan, who never minces words and always has worthwhile things to say. Wei Ying waits patiently, while the heater runs in the background.

Then Lan Zhan moves. Still on the ground, he shuffles forward on his knees until he’s in front of Wei Ying. Wei Ying watches, a little bewildered, as Lan Zhan sits for a moment, as if deliberating—or waiting. For what, Wei Ying wouldn’t know.

Then, in one swift motion, there’s a hand on the back of Wei Ying’s neck beneath his ponytail, another on his cheek and he’s—he’s being kissed. A press of Lan Zhan’s lips to his, wet and warm, warmer than his hand had been, a sizzling heat that makes sparks flare up Wei Ying’s body. Wei Ying gasps in surprise but Lan Zhan opens his mouth up with him, soft and guiding. Like he’s done this before, even though the back of Wei Ying’s mind is reminding him that he hasn’t, Lan Zhan hasn’t, he hasn’t been kissed and he doesn’t lie, so why is he kissing Wei Ying like he knows what he wants? There’s still a bit of clumsiness, some teeth bumping into each other, but Lan Zhan replaces that with his lips, soft kisses, and then his tongue in Wei Ying’s mouth.

And his tongue—oh god, his tongue. It’s thick and heady in Wei Ying’s mouth, would almost be like it’s invading if not for the way that Wei Ying wants it, overwhelmed at Lan Zhan licking the roof of his mouth, along his cheek, his own tongue like he wants to crawl inside. Wei Ying is lightheaded, brainless as Lan Zhan tastes inside of him, slides their tongues together like he wants to know what Wei Ying tastes too. Lan Zhan’s tongue is long and big and wide and maybe it’s not long enough to slink down Wei Ying’s throat but Wei Ying wants it, he wants Lan Zhan everywhere, length and inside of him.

It’s just the pressure, the heat, and the weird, slick sounds of their mouths and the faint scent of Lan Zhan’s sandalwood soap. Lan Zhan cradles his face gently, fingers running along Wei Ying’s cheek, the other hand tilting his head to adjust the angle. Wei Ying lets out a small gasp to breathe, to—to let go, because he’s so overwhelmed. But Lan Zhan keeps going, keeps kissing him like he’s devouring him, like he wants to swallow Wei Ying whole as much as Wei Ying wants him to. Wei Ying’s growing hard in his sweatpants, but it’s almost an absent weight with the way Lan Zhan holds him, presses into him, like he never wants to break their bodies apart.

Wei Ying’s lips feel swollen and bruised. He moans, a little, when his tongue dangles out, unable to close his mouth, and slides his tongue into Lan Zhan’s mouth. And Lan Zhan sucks on it, sucks on Wei Ying’s tongue and it’s obscene, it’s the best feeling in the world. Wei Ying groans and bucks, dizzy and lost in the sensations and maybe, maybe wanting more—

Lan Zhan breaks away. There’s a long string of spit between their mouths. Wei Ying can’t stop staring at it, staring at the way Lan Zhan’s lips are dark too as Lan Zhan pants, bruised. He’s just as pink as before, and his jaw is pale and his neck is long and Wei Ying thinks, absently, of marking it, of biting it. Of maybe Lan Zhan biting him, too.

“I think,” Lan Zhan says, his voice hoarse. Wei Ying’s cock jerks in his sweats at that. “I think my tongue is longer than yours.”

It takes a moment for the words to register in Wei Ying’s brain. “What!” Wei Ying says. “What are you talking about, my tongue is plenty long!”

“Was it?”

But Lan Zhan’s gaze is averted like he doesn’t want to meet Wei Ying’s eyes. Which—which makes sense, with how he just kinda ruthlessly kissed Wei Ying, except Wei Ying really wants it to happen again. He no longer feels drunk or nauseous (well, maybe a bit nauseous but it’s quickly dissipating), just wet and heavy and a little turned on. He’s too aware of the way his ponytail is brushing the back of his neck instead of Lan Zhan’s fingers, the space between their bodies, how his lips feel when they’re not being pressed against Lan Zhan’s.

Wei Ying licks his lips. “We should,” he says. “We should, um. Compare again.”

Now Lan Zhan looks at him. “Compare again?”

Wei Ying nods. “Our tongues. I don’t think yours is longer,” he babbles, searching for more excuses. “I think you’re just biased. Or jealous, yeah, that’s it. You’re jealous that my tongue is so much longer than yours.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow—but also glint, like he’s pleased. “I am not jealous,” he says. “But if you think we need to continue to compare, then perhaps we should.”

“Yeah, totally,” Wei Ying says, and gets up. He sways a little, but then Lan Zhan’s up like a shot too, steadying him at his elbow. He really is so big. Wei Ying wants to lean bodily into him, so he does. He’s warm, too.

Wei Ying might not be drunk on alcohol anymore, but he’s drunk on this. The proximity. Lan Zhan.

“I think we should continue to compare,” Wei Ying says. “And we can do that in my bedroom, it’s got my bed, which is like, way more comfortable than our living room floor. It’s a good place to compare tongues and hands and other things, don’t you think?”

He slides his hand down to tangle his fingers with Lan Zhan’s. This time, Lan Zhan does not pull back.

“I agree,” Lan Zhan says. He follows as Wei Ying drags them to his room, holding on the whole way.

*

It’s a bit of a different story, about a half an hour later, when Wei Ying has his shirt hiked up to his nipples, sweatpants down to his knees. Lan Zhan’s biting at his shoulder with his hands around Wei Ying’s dick and Wei Ying had been pretty sure kissing Lan Zhan was the best thing he’d ever felt until now.

Until Lan Zhan’s fingers wrapped around him, stroking him, thumbing the slit as Wei Ying moans and whines.

“I think,” Lan Zhan breathes against Wei Ying’s collarbone. His eyes are so fucking dark that it makes Wei Ying twitch in his hands. “I think we should compare cock sizes too.”

Out of his mind, Wei Ying says hazily, “What?”

“I would like to know if my cock is bigger than yours,” Lan Zhan says plainly.

Wei Ying blushes all the way to the roots of his hair. “What the fuck, Lan Zhan,” he says, and kisses him, tongues brushing. Wei Ying gropes at Lan Zhan through his trousers. “Okay, okay,” he says, breaking apart, “yeah, I think yours is bigger than mine—”

“I think we should still compare,” Lan Zhan says, and strips out of his trousers and underwear.

Wei Ying’s mouth waters at so much of Lan Zhan’s naked body on display. Lan Zhan turns to him when he’s done, and Wei Ying’s disastrously aware of how many clothes he still has on, so he hurries to take them off, too.

“What about after that?” Wei Ying says, shimmying out of his sweats. “What are we supposed to do if, if we’re done measuring dicks and tongues and hands—”

Lan Zhan crowds over him on his bed, dark gaze full of promise. He licks a finger, slips it between Wei Ying’s thighs. Lower, and behind him, and Wei Ying giggles and squirms.

Lan Zhan says, “We will have plenty of other body parts to compare,” and kisses him again.