Pran wanting his boyfriend to pee on him isn’t something he thought he would like before, but maybe it’s his fault for always calling Pat his puppy anyway.

Pran says hi to him when they pass each other in the office even though Pat’s barely talked to him once. Pran gets him an extra coffee one morning exactly to his order, even though Pat already has his own cup and has never told Pran how he likes it. Pran’s eyes drop down Pat’s body every so often like he’s checking him out. Pat is three centimeters taller than Pran but the way Pran looks at him makes him feel like it’s twenty.

Pran rolls his eyes again. “Are we doing this or not? My parents are only going to be gone for so long.”

“We are,” Pat says, and begins taking his shirt off. “You know, I didn’t really think about it before, but fucking you in your childhood bedroom… I should’ve had this fantasy a long time ago.”

Lan Zhan picks up the joint from the ashtray at his bedside and lights it in his mouth. Wei Ying turns at the sound of the click of the lighter and brightens. “Gimme,” he says, as Lan Zhan takes his pull.

Lan Zhan hands it over, mesmerized as Wei Ying drags through the cherry, eyes heavy and hazing over as he exhales. “There,” he says, and then sticks the joint back into Lan Zhan’s mouth. “All yours.”

Lan Zhan and Wei Ying join the mile high club.

Wei Ying likes to wear chokers a lot. So Lan Zhan buys some for him. Then, testing their limits, collars.

Wei Ying wears those, too.

–

Or, the one where Wei Ying and Lan Zhan accidentally stumble into a BDSM relationship.

Lan Wangji must miss his husband over this amnesiac of a man Wei Wuxian has turned into. Well, Wei Wuxian will show him! He’ll be even better—or at least, try to be just as good of a husband as he would be, without his memory loss.

Another party, another hot tub.

As it turns out, the Lans have a perfectly good hot tub, too.

Wei Ying gestures to his outfit. His hands are buried deep within the hoodie; he’s mostly gesturing with the sleeves. “Well, it works with the whole get up, you see?”

“The…” Lan Zhan looks down at where his fingers are toying with the top of Wei Ying’s thigh highs. Wei Ying pretends he is not shivering. “…skirt. And these stockings.”

“Thigh highs, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says, batting at him with the end of a sleeve.