Wen Ning really could get used to most things, he thinks. He’s… adaptable. So what if it tends to come with enough anxiety to make his gut twist painfully and his eyes burn with tears he won’t let himself shed? He still adapts!
But that didn’t mean he understood why he was here. He had the bow in his hands and Wei Ying was somewhere behind him, moving around in a way that really did make him deeply anxious, if only because not knowing where Wei Ying was generally was a opportunity for him to make trouble - now seemed more likely than ever. He tried to turn his head, tried to seek him out to know that he wouldn’t accidentally hit Wei Ying with an arrow because he darted out like a startled alleycat when he finally calmed down enough to shoot, but the very moment his head starts to turn, Wei Ying’s normally boisterous and normally energetic voice comes low and smooth and magnetic from way too close - had he always been standing there?! - “Wen Ning, focus on what you’re doing. I want to see you hit a bullseye.”
Wen Ning nearly fumbles the bow, but those beautiful hands of Wei Ying’s quickly appear to hold the bow steady in his hand. The touch is simple, casual, should mean nothing, but the proximity of Wei Ying, the heat of him against his back, and the way those fingers clasp around his make it hard for him to focus.
“Y… yeah.” He mumbles, gently shaking the hand with both of Wei Ying’s clasped over it, trying to buy freedom, if only the freedom to think for a second. Wen Ning breathes, trying to forget Wei Ying’s presence behind him, trying to forget that Wei Ying had insisted he bring him out here and show him this when they had never really asked before. He’d never really shown anyone this before, either!
In and out, he reminds himself. Except when he inhales, he can smell the scent of Wei Ying behind him, and he feels the tremble in his hand. He’s never going to hit anything at this rate, and then Wei Ying will think even less of him! He just.. he needs to focus. He can do that! He can focus.
Wei Ying, at least, stays hands off for a bit. Wen Ning is worried that it must be annoying to stand there while he tries to keep himself from falling apart over two hands tight around his when they’ve done so much worse to him and for him and in front of him. He tries to breathe deeper, tries to calm down, tries to get in control of himself instead of being disgusting when Wei Ying just wants to see him shoot a bow.
Ah.. There it is. There’s something old and comforting in reminding himself that he is the worst - that he doesn’t deserve this, deserve Wei Ying, and it lets him focus on something other than the hammering of his heart. At this point, the thoughts are so well-worn that they’re little more than internal mantra that helps him stay calm as he draws the bow, as he pulls his elbow back. At this point, he’s been shooting a bow for so long that it’s second nature now that he’s out of his own head for a moment, but at the very moment he goes to release the arrow, a gentle hand touches his elbow. He jerks, within his own control, and the arrow goes wide - at least it hits the target, but only barely. He could’ve done worse for himself.
“W--” Wen Ning pauses, voice stuck in his throat for a second as he tries to calm the shame and the tears at missing a shot that shouldn’t have been that difficult for him. “Wei Ying, I-”
But whatever self-effacing thing he’d meant to say is left unsaid and quickly forgotten at the press of Wei Ying so close to him again, warmth radiating through his body, one hand still on his now lowered arm, the other on his back. He can feel Wei Ying’s breath on the back of his neck and he shivers slightly, eyes closing for a moment as he struggles to remember the art of breathing.
“You looked,” is what he says, voice low and private and just for them despite the fact that they are - very much - in public, “really good, Wen Ning.”
Which is, he knows, a lie, because it must be. He couldn’t look good missing a shot, which was the only thing that Wei Ying has asked of him in awhile, but there is still something very undeniable about the sultry purr of Wei Ying in his ear and really! He needed! To stop that! To stop thinking suggestive things! Wei Ying said he was doing this because he wanted a reference for a piece! So!
“Can you do it again for me?” Wei Ying is still so, so close, and Wen Ning thinks he might feel a little dizzy for some reason, not that he exactly knows why, his head spinning faintly. He shakes his head and tries to focus.
“Yes,” he mumbles, pulling another arrow out and going rather mechanically through the motions. Wei Ying pulls back completely, this time, and the places where he had touched him felt miserably cold without the warmth of his touch. Without a source of distraction, it comes easier this draw - he can fire the arrow without a hand or touch distracting him, and his instincts get him fairly close to the center of the target.
There is a brief flare of pride, tempered by the instinctive well, at least you didn’t fuck it up this time thought, and he turns his head to seek Wei Ying out, as if wanting external praise. And… well, maybe he does. That isn’t so awful, is it?
Except, when he makes eye contact with Wei Ying, he finds himself wishing he hadn’t. The warmth in his gaze, the - under that comfortable, known warmth that he always, for some reason, has when looking at Wen Ning and definitely when he looks at Lan Zhan - fire… it surprises him. He flushes, his ears growing hot and cheeks burning. Wei Ying isn’t touching him, this time, standing well clear, with only a clever smile on his lips and a look in his eyes that ordinarily promises something good in the bedroom… But somehow, somehow, it is just as impactful as if he was pressed to him, hands exploring his body, clever and crafty and everywhere all at once, as if he had far more than just two hands.
“Good work,” is all he says, but his voice is more meaningful than that - Wen Ning blushes deeper and nods.
“Again?” He asks softly, and it’s Wei Ying’s turn to nod.
He forces thoughts from his head. He forces the heat simmering in his veins aside, the way he wants Wei Ying to smile at him again, the way he wants so very, very much but doesn’t know how to ask for it or get it, or how to do anything but do exactly what Wei Ying has asked of him, as he does every time Wei Ying asks him for something. He breathes in a steady rhythm, counting the lengths of his inhales and exhales, lets his mind become that rather than anything else.
Finally, after a few more arrows, Wen Ning finds himself with a bullseye, the arrow as dead center as he could ever hope to shoot it, too far in the zone of shooting to notice until Wei Ying is pressed against him instead, physically against his back, chin tucked against his shoulder. The hands, as devious as they are, already pick at the edge of his shirt, the soft skin of his palm pressing against the bare skin of his stomach.
“Wei - Wei Ying!” His voice comes out almost broken, shocked and mildly horrified - they are, after all, still very much in public. “People - people are - they could..?!”
“You looked so good for me, Wen Ning. Really obedient and good. I can’t wait. So you’ll have to be quiet,” he hums, and Wen Ning’s face burns a little hotter when Wei Ying’s other hand creeps downward but he never tells him no.
After all, though it may not be for Wei Ying’s art, a reference for a pose or seeing something in motion to convey it in a static way, but this, too, is something Wei Ying very much enjoys - it isn’t as if Wen Ning doesn’t appreciate Wei Ying’s attention, either, isn’t as if he gains nothing from it, so though he is so incredibly worried that someone will find them, see what they are doing, and that Lan Zhan will have to probably come get them from a jail cell for public indecency -- though all of that, it is equally undeniable that Wei Ying is so horribly skilled with his hands that soon these concerns don’t seem to matter at all, the heat and the familiarity of his skin drawing him into it, into the little world that he so often enters whenever Wei Ying puts his hands on him, in which there is no one but the pair of them, the three of them. He succumbs to the feeling that there is no one but him and the people in the world that he loves most; despite the fact that it is clearly not true, Wen Ning never turns down that feeling.
Already, Wen Ning can hear telling Lan Zhan about this, making him live it as if he were there, making sure he knows that Wen Ning and Wei Ying alike had wished that he were there, touching both of them - already, Wen Ning can hear Lan Zhan’s hushed yet awed “shameless” at the fact that Wen Ning had indulged Wei Ying’s taste for semi-public intimacy. Already, he wants it, wants to hear it, the way Lan Zhan slots in with them, the way he feels whole when he is with this pair of people - he wants to remember exactly how fortunate he is that Wei Ying and Lan Zhan both have chosen to love him.
Lan Zhan’s hands had to have been crafted by higher powers. Both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan had beautiful hands, of course, but Wen Ning was never truly confident that those hands belonged to a human rather than some mythical figure. Whenever he could, he watched them - he watched them when Lan Zhan played the piano in the room dedicated to art, both drawn and played, when he plucked the strings of the guqin he took immaculate care of (always from the doorway; that space wasn’t for him, after all. He didn’t want to disturb it and the piano and guqin both were easy to see from there anyway.), he watched them when Lan Zhan did mundane things like text Lan Huan or wrote a note. There was nothing that Lan Zhan’s hands could do that didn’t fascinate him, even when they touched him, or touched Wei Ying. He preferred that one - when Lan Zhan touched Wei Ying - so that he could watch them, watch the hands and the reactions, and everything - but he never asked.
When Wei Ying is gone, their home is often quiet. There is the sound of music but not of speech and Wen Ning doesn’t mind - silence with Lan Zhan is comfortable, being that he is a man of few words anyway. The first year or so had been marked by Wen Ning trying very hard to come up with conversational topics to keep words flowing as Wei Ying did effortlessly but it was obvious that it was as difficult for Lan Zhan as it was for him. At first, there had been the fear that Lan Zhan simply didn’t want to speak to him, but… if it wasn’t too presumptuous of him, Lan Zhan’s eyes lingered on him when they were alone, his short words and phrases laced with a gentleness and softness that they aren’t when he speaks to others - he seeks often to involve Wen Ning, even when Wen Ning has not involved himself, drawing him in with gestures and rearranging what he does to allow Wen Ning access (he had, after all, had the piano elsewhere, but moved it to make it easier for him to watch from his position in the doorway). Wen Ning has, somehow, become confident that Lan Zhan truly does care for him. If the why escapes him - if the why of either of them loving him escapes him, it matters to him far less than it once did.
It is silent, that day - Wei Ying has gone out to sketch in nature, as he says it inspires him - other than the quiet notes of the piano. Wen Ning listens, leaning against the doorframe, watching Lan Zhan’s hands dance over the pure white keys of the piano. The song he plays is quick, yet gentle - not melancholic in the least. It wraps him in its notes, keeps him warm and safe - it is a song that reminds him of the way Lan Zhan looks at Wei Ying, affection and love inherent and powerful but somehow still understated.
He rests his head against the frame of the door, his eyes closed, and simply listens; at some point or other, his fingers tapping against the door frame in time with the music. When it stops, it stops suddenly and Wen Ning realizes himself. He flushes bright red, eyes coming open quickly, prepared for Lan Zhan to be angry with him for interrupting his playing when he knows how important it is to him.
Instead, Lan Zhan watches him with those beautiful yellow-gold eyes, curiosity bright in them but without the barest hint of the cold anger he knows Lan Zhan possesses.
“You don’t play?” He asks, after a moment, sitting prim and proper at the piano’s bench, head tilted very slightly. If it weren’t Lan Zhan, he would think it was a joke - him? Play an instrument? He wasn’t nearly so talented as that.
He doesn’t speak - doesn’t trust his voice to, in all honesty, work - but he shakes his head. Lan Zhan lets the silence sit between them, not judgmental or cruel.
“Come here,” is what he finally says, his voice remarkably gentle despite Wen Ning admitting that he was a talentless hack who had somehow fooled two incredibly, distressingly talented men into loving him. He stands from the bench, turning his back - it’s clear that he sees absolutely no reason why Wen Ning wouldn’t enter this room, the place that Lan Zhan and Wei Ying could be safe from him - and walking to a small table in the room.
Only with extreme reluctance does Wen Ning come into the room, looking around uncertainly, as if he expects to be struck dead for the overly forward way he’s entered this room. Nothing happens, though, so Wen Ning creeps to the table where Lan Zhan has sat. That overly elegant hand gestures towards the other chair, expecting him to sit; it is the more beautiful of the two, if one of those works of art could be said to be more beautiful than the other, with the nails clipped but kept long enough to pluck the strings of his guqin. Wen Ning watches it move, almost reaches out to touch it, to hold it in his hands, to run his fingers over them - he resists, instead just letting himself sit.
He feels a little bit like a child who’s been caught somewhere they shouldn’t be - but Lan Zhan just puts a small clear bottle on the table and then his hand, resting atop a towel. Wen Ning stares blankly, uncertain what it is, what Lan Zhan wants him to do. It takes Lan Zhan a moment to realize, too, that Wen Ning needs slightly more help than he’s been offered.
“It is clear polish. Wei Ying ordinarily applies it. Keeps the nails from breaking. Would like you to.”
He wasn’t even aware that Lan Zhan wore clear polish, not that he particularly cared or thought that it changed anything about him, but he was still surprise that he didn’t know. Then, of course, it sinks in that Lan Zhan has just given Wen Ning the opportunity to touch his hands. An immediate anxiety fills him. He’ll never be able to do it properly! But Lan Zhan looks at him with those cool, almost innocent eyes, waiting for him to take the small bottle of clear liquid. Wen Ning’s fingers close around it, aware of how badly they shake; he wants to do this right. Overly cautiously, he twists the lid off and watches the clear liquid drip from the brush in his hands. The free hand carefully slides the towel forward, Lan Zhan’s beautiful hand coming with. He exhales, trying to keep himself calm, as he reaches out to place the free hand under Lan Zhan’s. He squeezes it carefully, enjoying the warmth of it, how delicate it is.
“I’ve never done this before,” Wen Ning mumbles, pressing the brush to the nail of his thumb and moving it in the most fluid stroke he can manage. It still shakes, an amount that is honestly kind of embarrassing.
“That is alright. Do your best. It will be enough.” Everything in his voice sounds painfully genuine and he doesn’t recoil from the touch of polish on the skin of his fingers. He simply sits still, hand gladly going wherever Wen Ning moves it and remaining there. Beautiful as it is, still it is, it hardly seems like a real person’s hand rather than a work of art carved of marble. Wen Ning enjoys the warmth it radiates, how delicate the skin is, the fact that the fingers near his wrist can feel the gentle thrum of his pulse.
“O.. w-well… I will.” He wants it to be perfect - he knows, it won’t be perfect - he’s never done it before, after all, so it hardly could be… but it can be as close as possible. He keeps his movements slow and cautious and Lan Zhan doesn’t rush him.
The way the brush drags yet glides at the same time is an interesting feeling - there’s something soothing in it, even in the faint scent of the nail polish, and it warms him to know he’s been trusted with this, as simple as it might be.
Every time Wen Ning looks up, Lan Zhan is studying him, eyes curious and gentle and full of warmth that, truly, Wen Ning had assumed was only for Wei Ying. As he keeps painting, he finds it almost soothing, a rhythm, though by the time he’s done, he’s almost certain there’s more nail polish on his skin than on his nails, but Lan Zhan looks at the result with pride.
“Thank you.” He murmurs. Lan Zhan doesn’t pull his hand from Wen Ning’s, leaving it where it rests on the other’s hand, now more like holding it than doing anything for each other. Wen Ning’s face slowly heats but he has no desire to pull his hand away, no desire to stop holding Lan Zhan’s hand for as long as Lan Zhan will let him hold it.
There is a long, long pause where neither of them speaks and where Wen Ning thinks he might be dreaming - which is honestly rather odd, considering the fact that there is no doubt that Wen Ning and Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are all dating, so there’s absolutely no reason that they shouldn’t be holding hands. Eventually, Lan Zhan carefully removes his hand and tests the coat - it seems dry. He idly picks at the polish on his skin, seemingly completely unbothered by having to do so when Wei Ying was likely much more precise with it.
“Do you want to?” Lan Zhan asks out of nowhere, with no clarification.
Wen Ning blinks, confused, trying to think of what Lan Zhan means, but not daring to ask in case that would be rude or if it was obvious and he was just being an idiot.
“Y...Yes?” He ventures, as if he’s done something wrong.
… Which?? Lan Zhan… which what?
Wen Ning is really, really confused and growing more confused all the time. The pause must be long enough or the look on his face so utterly bewildered that Lan Zhan had no choice but to realize that they were not on the same page in the least.
“You want to learn to play.” At once, it is a question and a statement, and Wen Ning feels his blood ice.
Lan Zhan was asking him if he wanted to learn an instrument? Oh, oh no. No, he’d just - fail, and it would be terrible. He’d embarrass himself. He had to - no, he…
“No, oh - I didn’t - um, Lan Zhan, I’m sorry, I don’t think I - I would be good, it would - um - no, it’s… okay!”
Lan Zhan is the on who looks confused now, though his confusion is much more mild or perhaps just appears to be given the slight and often easily overlooked ways that he emotes. “Would be fine. Not too late to learn.”
But it is. Wen Ning doesn’t blame Lan Zhan at all, but it must be impossible to imagine what it would be like to be talentless, like Wen Ning, what it would be like to just have absolutely no talents and have no potential to improve or learn one. He doesn’t want Lan Zhan to feel like he’s the failure for not being able to teach Wen Ning, so isn’t it just for the best..?
Lan Zhan, after a moment of studying the look on his face, the dejection and the way that he has clearly already defeated himself even if no one else has said anything to him, cannot help but scowl. He stands quickly - Wen Ning, for a moment, is fairly certain that he’s done something wrong that he’ll never be able to take back, that Lan Zhan has finally, somehow, realized what a bad choice he’s made.
Instead, he moves to obtain his guqin. It is larger, this close, than Wen Ning would have thought, though he should have realized from how it looked when it was in front of Lan Zhan, when his hands rested upon it, and its size honestly almost intimidates him.
But Lan Zhan continues to say nothing; he simply lays the instrument in front of him, making sure that it was still in top shape, even as he readies to play it.
Still in silence, his fingernails pluck notes, making them ring out in the otherwise silent room, the clear sounds broken only by the soft sound of their breathing. The sound that Lan Zhan brings forth from the strings of the guqin isn’t terribly different from the song he played on the piano - it isn’t the same, even Wen Ning can hear that, but it still feels as if the songs were related, somehow, something in the way he strings them together.
It is a lovely song, one Wen Ning cannot recall ever hearing before. If the other song had felt like it was wrapping him up, then this song was the same feeling as holding a warm mug of coffee on a cold day, something warming from the inside out, something dependable - it was slower, its notes more hesitant yet seemingly intentionally so, yet growing quicker and more confident as the song progressed - and Wen Ning could see the concentration on Lan Zhan’s face that was not normally there, as if this were not a song that was familiar to him.
Only once it is done does Lan Zhan look up, eyes intense as they seek out Wen Ning’s. He offers no explanation, watching for a long moment. He says, simply, “Wrote that. Understand?”
“Yes,” Wen Ning mumbles, clearly very aware of the difference between them, shamed by it - but then Lan Zhan stands up, placing the guqin back. Once it’s replaced and safely back where it belongs, he comes back - but instead of sitting down, he moves beside Wen Ning, leans down to brush his lips over the crown of his head.
“For you.” Lan Zhan says. Then, after a moment, words that the meaning of which are very familiar, though the words themselves often seem to get stuck in his throat - not that Wei Ying or Wen Ning have ever minded much - “Love you.”
The ground feels like it’s been torn out from under him - but in a good way. His chest is tight as he throws his arms around Lan Zhan, holds him tight, tearing up as he buries his face in his neck.
“Love you too,” Wen Ning mumbles into his skin, feeling his eyes heat at how much Lan Zhan stretched himself all for his sake, how much he means it. Lan Zhan, ever uncertain what to do with this, gently runs one of those perfect hands through his hair, hoping to calm him down.
Wen Ning was so fortunate… Lan Zhan always looked out for him - they both did. He didn’t deserve them but he wasn’t going to let them go.
The thing about loving an artist was that, on occasion, Wei Ying had requests for poses and positions, hoping to use his lovers to help him make sense of poses and anatomy. Wen Ning really didn’t mind, ordinarily - it was normally simple and often involved his hands holding something or trying to do a position to see if it was physically possible.
Wei Ying hadn’t surprised them with this. From the beginning, he had warned them that this would end sexually, and they had still both agreed. Both of them had blushed, in their way, but that was to be expected - both of them, as easily embarrassed as they could both be, would gladly do anything to encourage his passion for art, even if it involved being naked or touching each other. His skill was too moving for them to deny him, whether that be his skill in shamelessly begging for their assistance or his skill in art that somehow rendered lifelike drawings in what seemed like no time at all.
Either way, it had started rather chaste. Domestic, even - Wei Ying had told them to sit at the table as if they were eating a meal together as a couple. This was, ultimately, not incredibly difficult; most mornings, Lan Zhan rose before the sun, even - Wen Ning didn’t wake up quite so early, but he did wake up not terribly long after to get ready for work, and Wei Ying stayed in bed for several hours after Wen Ning had left, so most mornings were a meal solely between Lan Zhan and Wen Ning. It was easy and comfortable and familiar, enough that Wen Ning could forget about Wei Ying’s promise that this would get more personal and very quickly.
Wei Ying didn’t help either - despite the fact that he was drawing, he would talk to them both, gladly involve them in conversation casually, not minding them talking to him except when they would move too much (more Wen Ning’s crime than Lan Zhan, who gladly and easily somehow sat perfectly still even when giving his answers), at which point they’d be scolded to remain still so he could capture the essence of the moment.
Lan Zhan kept studying Wen Ning, too, as if he too was capturing the essence of the moment, whatever that meant for him, eyes intense and scrutinizing in a way that made Wen Ning want to shrink back. He remained still out of fear - not of Lan Zhan or of Wei Ying’s scolding, but out of fear of genuinely hurting the progress of Wei Ying’s art.
After breakfast came something far more intimate, yet really quite comfortably so; they sat on the couch, Lan Zhan sitting up, Wen Ning leaning against his shoulder, turned towards him. Wei Ying had posed their legs for them, placing one of Wen Ning’s legs over Lan Zhan’s lap, twining their legs - like this, all Wen Ning could smell was the clean scent of Lan Zhan, the sandalwood he always smelled like and everything else that mixed together in their house for three - he smelled most like himself, but undeniably there were hints of Wei Ying’s spicier scent and even something earthier from Wen Ning’s plants that he brought home and cared for, housed on nearly every open windowsill. The mix of the three scents was odd, but not unwelcome; it was a reminder of how connected they were. Wen Ning buried his face in his skin without Wei Ying’s say so, fingers clutching in the soft fabric of his sweater. At no point does Wei Ying scold him for moving - nor does he scold Lan Zhan for the gentle hand that comes to rest on the back of Wen Ning’s head, cradling him and keeping him close. He simply draws without comment.
It was the third drawing that made Wen Ning uncertain if he could manage this. It wasn’t full nudity, but somehow worse for it; Lan Zhan had been instructed to unbutton the shirt or at least to start unbuttoning the shirt, those gorgeous hands so near his chest - only a few were undone, only the beginnings of skin, flashes of it, and one hand slips under the open shirt to rest on bare skin; his skin is so, so very warm on his chest - Wen Ning ordinarily runs cool, if not cold, and the contrast makes him shiver just slightly. Lan Zhan is looming over him, eyes bright and intense, the gold of them seemingly darker. Wen Ning can feel the warmth of his breath against his skin, fanning out and making him shiver more, gooseflesh on his arms, eyes closing as he tries to remain in control and remain still. Lan Zhan’s thigh is pressed between his, knee on the bed, close enough that Wen Ning knows if he simply… grinds down, presses downward, he’ll get some contact, some friction. But he can’t.
Wei Ying is watching, after all, eyes intense and focused as he draws the shapes and lines of their bodies in quick and hurried gestures, trying to convey something, judging by the fervor in his eyes. He doesn’t speak, even when they move slightly, doesn’t admonish them again - he just watches them, just lets it happen. He makes no move to interfere or join in, either, which is something that rather surprises Wen Ning. Wei Ying’s self-control isn’t the best when it comes to the two of them, which Wen Ning and Lan Zhan both know about him and love all the same, not minding in the least that he has flaws, as all people do. And yet…
His hands never stray from the pencil and the pad of paper - they never seem even vaguely hungry to touch the two bodies in front of him, the way that Wen Ning’s thighs have drifted apart a little at a time, trying to make more room for Lan Zhan’s presence and weight. In fact, despite the fact that Wei Ying is drawing them, it seems as if he’s hardly noticing them, not paying them the slightest attention at all.
“Okay. Now,” Wei Ying says, finally putting the pencil down and flipping to a new page in his sketchbook. “Now, I want you two to just keep going until I tell you to stop.”
“What?” Wen Ning starts to ask, but Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate at all. The tips of his ears begin to redden, but all the same he presses his knee and his thigh up into Wen Ning’s growing erection, eyes still intense but almost wild now that he’s been set free. Lan Zhan sometimes gets this way - normally because of Wei Ying, so that at least rather checks out - but Wen Ning has never experienced it firsthand, the almost clumsiness of Lan Zhan’s lips pressed hungrily to Wen Ning’s, the hand curling into the now warmer skin before drifting downward to brush over a nipple, making Wen Ning arch into his touch.
Still, Wei Ying sits there, eyes sharp as anything, gaze curious and insatiable as it roams over both of their forms, lingering on everywhere the pair of them are connected and twisted around each other - the attention makes Wen Ning’s face burn hotter, even as he feels that he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this. There’s no reason he shouldn’t; Wen Ning and Wei Ying have done things alone and he knows well that Lan Zhan and Wei Ying sleep with each other while he’s out - it isn’t even the first time that Wen Ning and Lan Zhan have ever touched each other without Wei Ying participating… but something feels so radically different about the fact that he is watching them, watching but not participating, gaze hot and unavoidable and unforgettable.
Lan Zhan’s face drops to the junction of Wen Ning’s shoulder and neck, mouth hot almost to the point of scalding on his skin. His hands trace the lines of his torso, run over his chest, down his waist and his hips. The soft part of his thigh is still pressed into Wen Ning’s crotch - and Wen Ning is and has been taking advantage of it, grinding and rolling his hips into the contact. He doesn’t feel like he’s breathing enough, feels dizzy and sort of heady in the way that oxygen deprivation makes him, but there is nothing making him feel that way other than Lan Zhan, whose head is lowering down his chest, lips pressing to his clavicle, down his sternum - Wen Ning gasps, loudly, when his mouth closes over his nipple; his back arches into it immediately, a whimper falling from his lips.
Lan Zhan slides a hand, instead, under his back, supporting that arch, keeping him from lowering back to the bed, limiting what he can do with his hips - he doesn’t understand how Lan Zhan manages to support his weight so effortlessly in one hand, the nails of it, so it must, therefore, be his right, pressed ever so slightly into his skin. Wen Ning remains like that, back curved by Lan Zhan’s desires, unable to relax fully, for awhile - Lan Zhan continues mouthing at the nipple he’d claimed in his mouth, teeth occasionally grazing it before easing the slight sting with the flat of his tongue. It isn’t fair; they know how sensitive he is and like this, Wen Ning can do precious little other than hold on, hands blindly trying to fumble under the sweater Lan Zhan wears, wanting to give him some - any - kind of pleasure, as Lan Zhan gives to him.
When Lan Zhan lets his back contact the bed again, Wen Ning uses one elbow to prop himself up as much as he can, trying to use the other hand to tug at cloth that stands between him and what he wants - for a moment, he can almost, almost, forget that Wei Ying’s eyes have never strayed from their bodies. Almost - but not quite.
Lan Zhan, at least, is rather agreeable about it, pulling his sweater up and over his head until his chest is bare and Wen Ning immediately lays back down so that he can use both hands to explore the skin. The rest of his skin is as flawless as his hands, soft and smooth, and Wen Ning could run his fingers over it forever. Lan Zhan, though, has different ideas - he pulls off and away from Wen Ning’s lips, back up over his sternum and neck, to claim his lips again. He shifts Wen Ning’s legs so that he is between them entirely and his hands are careful but quite competent as they immediately tug at the closures of his pants to pull them off. His own follow, and he pulls back and away from the kiss long enough to pull both of their pants off and free, but returns as soon as their legs are bare. Their underwear still acts as an incredibly frustrating layer between their erections that keeps Wen Ning from getting what he wants; he whimpers, canting his hips upward. Lan Zhan’s movements are always so terribly quick - he’s almost impossible to track with his eyes, though Wen Ning acknowledges that right now that may be because of the fact that he is desperate for something more that he doesn’t notice how Lan Zhan yanks the boxers down.
The cooler air of the room makes his erection bob, hips twitching. Lan Zhan’s underwear has been tossed aside and he kneels between his legs again.
The moment the incredibly hot skin of Lan Zhan’s cock comes in contact with Wen Ning’s, when his beautiful hand curls around both of their lengths to hold them together, Wei Ying’s voice comes clear and bright: “Right there! Hold that, would you?”
Lan Zhan is so close that his breath fans over Wen Ning’s face, close enough that they could kiss, and Wen Ning grows bold when he notices Wei Ying isn’t looking - but, even so, “Stay still, please..! I want to draw this properly, okay?”
It is the definition of difficult to remain still. Lan Zhan’s beautiful golden eyes peer into his, pupils blown wide, breath a little rough, his ears flushed red - even just looking at him makes Wen Ning’s cock jump against Lan Zhan’s, in his hand, and he whimpers as his hips involuntarily roll up, trying to seek something, anything, than this promise of something that he’s having to deny himself.
Every time Wen Ning dares to cast his eyes over to where Wei Ying sits and draws, he notes that his gestures are actually slower, this time, more careful - it seems as if he is being painfully exact. It doesn’t help that each second feels like an eternity; he can’t imagine what it must be for Lan Zhan, who is bent over him, remaining exactly the same distance away, body almost like a statue - it is only the bright fire flickering in his eyes that reminds Wen Ning that Lan Zhan is a man whose libido is almost impossible to deal with.
A sort of fear begins to curl in his gut, though not a particularly bad fear - perhaps apprehension is a better word, the knowledge that when Wei Ying cuts this chain that holds them both frozen in time that Wen Ning will feel every moment that Lan Zhan is straining his patience and his limits to manage this.
It’s honestly… rather exciting, the promise of it, the dark electricity of impending danger looming over his head and crackling up his spine, and Wen Ning anxiously licks his lower lip to try to calm his own thoughts, as if he and Lan Zhan weren’t seconds and Wei Ying’s permission away from frotting.
The longer that they have to remain still, though, the easier it gets - the desire that had been burning bright dims, though never quite goes out; Wen Ning can focus on his breathing and the feel of Lan Zhan’s warmth surrounding him, the slight weight pressing him into the bed. His eyes drift close and he can breathe, but he knows he has it lucky because his position was quite easy to deal with being stuck in for awhile - Wen Ning would have struggled to deal with Lan Zhan’s, but his own is easy, and perhaps Wei Ying had known that.
Eventually, though, Wei Ying tells them he’s finished, and it seems as if that relaxation that had filled Wen Ning wasn’t reciprocated - Lan Zhan sets upon him like a man starving who has seen food for the first time, mouth ravenous, biting and sucking and marking all over his neck, his shoulders, down his chest; his hips don’t hesitate to fuck against Wen Ning’s body, pace demanding and harsh, more like a beast rutting than human.
Afterwards, when Wen Ning wakes up, he notices Wei Ying’s sketchbook beside the bed, from where Wei Ying must have put it aside to curl around Wen Ning and take a nap. Curiously, he picks it up to flip through it, face burning at the thought of what he’ll see within its pages. The first page doesn’t embarrass him; it is, after all, just a scene of two people enjoying a peaceful breakfast together, though he does flush at the adoring looks on both of their faces. Lan Zhan did not look like that, he knows - he cannot imagine Lan Zhan ever looking at even Wei Ying like that - but he isn’t sure if he had looked like that and he wonders how embarrassing it would have been if he did. The faces, though, aren’t theirs; they’ve been changed and altered to whatever Wei Ying had needed the reference for, and so Wen Ning rests assured anyone who saw this wouldn’t know it had been him unless they had been there or if Wei Ying or Lan Zhan had spread that information.
Even the second page is tolerable. Again, the look of adoration is hard to deal with, the way that Wen Ning is nuzzled into Lan Zhan’s neck as if seeking somewhere to hide, as if knowing that there is nowhere safer in the world to be than in these arms (this is, after all, true; there is no safer place for Wen Ning to be than with Wei Ying and Lan Zhan), but still - the figures aren’t exactly his and Lan Zhan’s, the faces differing, so it’s tolerable.
The third page, though. The third page, the one on which Wei Ying had taken the most time, wasn’t obscured, the identities weren’t changed. It was very quite clearly Wen Ning and Lan Zhan, both rendered in an almost distressing level of detail. Wen Ning looked desperate and already somehow ravaged to Lan Zhan’s composure, needy and wanting and not getting it, and his face burns with shame, certain this time that he really did look like that and simply hadn’t been aware.
A voice made rough by sleep comes from behind him. “Do you like it?”
It is Wei Ying - and, honestly, he seems to sound a little nervous as he drags himself slightly upright.
“It looks good, but it - it’s me.. and Lan Zhan?” He sounds uncertain but not angry, glancing behind him at Wei Ying slowly stirring from his nap.
“Yeah…” He has the shame to sound a little embarrassed, at least, but then quickly grins brightly and shamelessly. “You and Lan Zhan looked so good. I didn’t ever want to forget it.”
Wen Ning feels Lan Zhan’s customary “shameless!” burn in his throat, but he doesn’t say it - he simply turns around to bury himself in Wei Ying’s neck. After all, Wei Ying’s love of erotica wasn’t news to him - in all honesty, the idea that Wei Ying had found him so appealing that he wanted to keep it…
Well, it wouldn’t hurt anything to indulge him in this hobby, would it?
Living together, Wen Ning had realized very quickly upon moving in with Lan Zhan and Wei Ying in their already shared home, meant that there were certain oddities and unique qualities that would have to be learned and dealt with. Wen Ning had never lived with anyone - other than his sister… and considering he’d known her since birth, he hadn’t had to adjust to much at all since he learned how to live with people by her needs anyway.
Lan Zhan and Wei Ying, though - he hadn’t known them as well as he knows Wen Qing, though he was changing that and getting closer every day. Really, none of their habits or hobbies had been dealbreakers - Wei Ying could be scatterbrained and unorganized, sometimes rather filthy, but Lan Zhan’s perfectionist and cleanly nature wouldn’t let messes stay for very long except in spaces that were specifically designated Wei Ying’s, that he could keep how he seemed to need in order to know where anything was, and Lan Zhan’s silence could be worrying or easily misunderstood as being in a bad mood but Wen Ning had learned, with Wei Ying’s help, how to read him. He learned to adjust to each of these quirks because he loved them and because, for them, he was willing to do almost anything.
There was one thing though.
There was just… one habit that Wen Ning struggled to get used to. Perhaps it wasn’t a habit . Perhaps it was… a… way of life? Either way, Wen Ning tried. Really he did. He absolutely, 100%, tried to get used to it because it wasn’t a deal breaker - or, at least, it wasn’t for him? And he couldn’t imagine anyone for whom it would be, but it was still… a little distressing.
Well, distressing really was a strong word! Alarming? … No, that wasn’t it either. Confusing? Not something Wen Ning would ever want to do? Maybe either or both of those could work… It was hard for Wen Ning to even think about.
The problem was that Wei Ying was rather allergic to clothes, it seemed - he wore them because he had to… and their home, the one that all three of them shared and that Wen Ning often walked around in, was not a place that he felt he had to. And that..! It was fine! But Wen Ning - he wasn’t used to naked! All the time!
It didn’t help, either, that Wei Ying wasted no time. Sometimes, Wen Ning would look back from closing and locking the door and Wei Ying already had his pants off and in hand! The curtains would be open, revealing his bare legs to anyone who might have been looking in!
Wen Ning had said that, once, as he ran as quick as he could to close the blinds, “Wei -- Wei Ying! Someone.. someone could see?”
And to that, Wei Ying had said, “Oh? Wen Ning, do you want them to? Do you think we should give them a real show?” with a grin that still caused Wen Ning a little bit of distress to think about, so he hadn’t asked that again.
He just really… really didn’t need to think about that again, especially given that even at that point, Wen Ning had known that Wei Ying had a proclivity for getting handsy in public, so it wasn’t as if it was even a joke. If Wen Ning had said yes, Wei Ying probably really would’ve let him do whatever he wanted! And he really… he really didn’t want to think about that too hard, because he was a little too interested in it, and he hated that.
So it was - difficult! But it wasn’t Wei Ying’s fault. It was his home, after all, and it had been his home long before either of them had ever let Wen Ning into their hearts and lives like this, and Wei Ying was very attractive, so Wen Ning really couldn’t imagine thinking it was a deal breaker! Just… just something he would have to get used to.
And he tried. Most times, he even succeeded, which was helped by the way that Lan Zhan was very much used to it. If Wei Ying was in too much of a hurry and stripped while windows or doors were open, Lan Zhan might sigh a completely patient and heatless “shameless,” but otherwise treated if it was normal.
Which, to him, it probably was, so it seemed a lot more normal thanks to that. Wen Ning didn’t want to make Wei Ying feel as if he was doing anything wrong, either, because he was pretty sure Wei Ying was sensitive to that, even if he’d hide that he was hurt by it, because it wasn’t wrong! It was just that… being nude wasn’t something Wen Ning had ever done outside of the baths and he did think that Wei Ying was very handsome, and it made him sort of want to touch all of the skin that he could see.
Even that, though, wasn’t the worst part of it - not really. The worst part was something that mostly happened to Lan Zhan at first, so he hadn’t experienced it, as if Wei Ying had been taking pity on his small, gay, and weak heart by not making him suffer everything all once.
He had gotten home from work one day, still covered in grime and dirt and some pollen still on his fingers, and closed and locked the door behind him. Wen Ning had heard faint slapping from a hallway, getting louder with every second, and by the time he’d turned around, there was a skin-colored blur of a cryptid coming running at him at an improbably and distressingly quick speed. At the last moment, the cryptid had jumped at him, attaching itself firmly to his side, and Wen Ning collapsed under the weight.
Now that the blur had stopped running, it was clear that it was Wei Ying, and Wei Ying was in his arms, and now they were on the ground.
Wei Ying was laughing, at least, and didn’t seem hurt. After a moment, he thought about it and asked, rushed, “Are you okay?” to which Wen Ning could simply nod, uncertain what he was supposed to do here but mildly overwhelmed all the same by the completely nude body that was now in his lap.
Wei Ying was cuddling up to him, arms around his neck; he’d had his face pressed into Wen Ning’s hair behind his ear, clinging as close as he could, as if he’d been afraid of something. Wen Ning had timidly wrapped his arms around Wei Ying’s bare waist, letting him stay in his lap and in his arms while they sat on the ground.
“Um - is.. is something wrong?”
“Nope!” Wei Ying had sounded perfectly cheery, too, which helped, as he kept nuzzling into his hair. “I missed you.”
Wen Ning had felt his face flush deeply at the admission, despite the fact that Wen Ning and Wei Ying and Lan Zhan all had done so many worse and more embarrassing things together than that, and he pulled back just enough to timidly press his lips to Wei Ying’s in an affectionate, if awkward, greeting. “I missed you too…”
So, really - the naked habit wasn’t that bad of a thing! Honestly, it wasn’t. There were a lot of worse things that Wei Ying could be doing, and every day Wen Ning got better at being able to keep from having improper thoughts when Wei Ying was simply existing , and every day he stopped reacting so intensely to everything that he did.
It was worth it - moments like that, Wei Ying in his arms, saying he missed him, clothed or unclothed, they made it worth getting used to Wei Ying’s distaste of clothing.
Wen Ning hadn’t exactly known what to expect that day that he’d seen Wei Ying bringing something huge and covered up in with Lan Zhan, or that it had gone into their bedroom. He’d been told to keep his nose out and he’d acquiesced, because it was an easy request, even if he didn’t quite understand why. He’d kept himself busy in the kitchen, cleaning up, while he waited - he’d heard them bang around in the bedroom for awhile, Wei Ying’s voice coming high and loud and amused at something or other, and other such crashing noises. It was all very loud - if he couldn’t hear their voices, Lan Zhan’s admittedly almost inaudible, especially since he wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on what they were saying.
Wei Ying comes out to get him first - he had stripped naked at some point in the bedroom, which didn’t surprise him anymore; he twines his arms about Wen Ning’s middle from behind, cheek pressed into his shoulder as he leans down to hold him.
And then his mouth set to his skin, instead, sucking and nipping at the flesh that is left exposed by his collar - it’s unmistakable, what Wei Ying has in mind, as his hands playfully slip under his clothes, tugging at them as if he can remove them all solely by willpower.
“Wen Ning~” Wei Ying hums, muffled by the skin and muscle his face is still pressed into. “Do you have time to play with me and Lan Zhan?”
He finds himself wondering if Wei Ying really expects there to be any way he could ever say “no” about such a thing - did Wei Ying anticipate he might’ve said no or was it such an obvious choice that everyone was already well aware that Wen Ning would never turn down time with both of his boyfriends?
So Wen Ning nods, face already starting to heat up as Wei Ying’s fingers have drifted higher to cup his chest and rub his thumbs over his nipples. He shivers, slightly, but Wei Ying doesn’t make any move to pull away or push him towards the bedroom; his arms are clasped tight, meaning him to stay here.
“Hmm..?” Wei Ying asks, tone playful but vocalization still sharp somehow. “What was that?”
Wei Ying does this, sometimes - plays this game. Wen Ning knows what he is supposed to do, and yet…
His face flushes darker, only partially because Wei Ying pinches and twists one nipple, and he inhales and forces in such a soft voice, “I d- I do and I want… I want to.”
Wei Ying hadn’t asked that question yet - but when he got into these moods, he’d make Wen Ning say everything, so he just wanted to get ahead of him a bit and save them both one question - a question they both certainly knew the answer to. Wei Ying is smiling against his neck - but he’s apparently gotten what he wanted, because he pulls back enough to push Wen Ning towards the bedroom without looking; Wen Ning keeps them both going without running into anything, though Wei Ying didn’t need that much help, even though he did go back to pressing kisses to his neck and shoulder.
Lan Zhan is already sitting on the bed, shirtless. It isn’t fair to surprise him like that - he startles at the sight of his muscular chest and abdomen, and his fingers curl and itch to touch it. Wei Ying finally lets go of him completely and Wen Ning moves towards the bed, crawling onto it and up towards the lover who hadn’t come to get him. He knows he doesn’t need to ask, but his gaze is hesitant anyway as he lays his palm flat on Lan Zhan’s abs and then slide it over the skin, trying to touch every inch he can. When Lan Zhan doesn’t stop him or look disapproving, Wen Ning lowers his head, as well, pressing kisses to the lines of his collarbone, breathing in the scent of Lan Zhan, of sandalwood, even as he drifts lower to press the flat of his tongue against one of his nipples - neither Lan Zhan nor Wei Ying seems to like this nearly as much as he does when they do it to him, but they don’t hate it, either, which is enough for Wen Ning - before he brings it into his mouth.
Wei Ying had been watching for a long moment but joined them, then; his hands found Wen Ning’s side, again, and this time did set to work pushing his shirt up. Wen Ning whined, faintly, when he had to pull back enough to let Wei Ying take the shirt over his head and arms, but he soothed it with gentle touches to the nearly bare skin, rubbing reassuringly.
It was enough for Wen Ning to settle in again, licking and nipping at Lan Zhan’s chest as he tried to pay attention to everything at once on him - he was so beautiful, he just wanted Lan Zhan to know it, to know how valued he was, how handsome, how perfect - but he remembers, too, that Wei Ying is behind him. He pulls away from Lan Zhan, suddenly, instead turning to try to get to his other lover to make sure he, too, knows how much Wen Ning loves him when he notices what it is that they had done while he had been exiled to the kitchen.
It’s… a mirror. A very large one, placed against the dresser across from the bed, which allows it to reflect what happens upon it very clearly. Wen Ning looks at his own shocked, wide-eyed reflection in its depths, heart pounding in his chests. He looks at the Lan Zhan and the Wei Ying reflected in it, Lan Zhan mostly covered by Wen Ning and Wei Ying looking at him, and Wen Ning snaps out of it enough to look at the real Wei Ying.
Concern is on his face - Wen Ning knows that much - and he tries to hurry to find words to soothe it away. He can’t, though; he’s too startled by it, though he really isn’t angry in the least.
“Is it bad?” Wei Ying finally murmurs, very uncertain sounding, and Lan Zhan is leaning in as well, as if ready to get up and break it - though he very well might.
“No - no, it - um… I d- I don’t dislike it, I just didn’t… um. Expect it…?” Wen Ning shakes his head emphatically, then tries to latch onto Wei Ying - who moves expertly out of the way, leaving Wen Ning confused and frowning.
“Do you mean it or are you saying it?” Wen Ning agrees to everything and Wei Ying doesn’t want that, he knows - Wen Ning can see on Wei Ying’s face, the fear that he miscalculated, the many conclusions he jumps to when he thinks he’s upset one of them, the way that he hates himself for the perceived slights he’s committed against them, and Wen Ning’s heart hurts just slightly.
“I mean - I mean it..!” His voice is as firm as he can make it, because he does. He just needs to get used to it and he’s needed to get used to a lot of things he now loves, so he knows it doesn’t mean anything, necessarily, that he was startled. He is trying very hard not to look at his reflection, though - he doesn’t want the reminder of… of everything. Instead, he moves again towards Wei Ying, who seems mollified enough that he lets himself be caught. Wen Ning pays the same attention to his neck and shoulders, down to his chest - when he toys with a nipple, he knows Wei Ying’s taste; he nips, then soothes it with his tongue. He slides backwards, knowing Wei Ying will follow, chase the stinging sensation and the warm rasp of his tongue, until he can easily reach Lan Zhan, instead. It is a curse, he thinks, that he only has one head, one mouth, and therefore can use it on only one of them at a time.
He wants to give them both everything, wants to be able to do anything they want, wants to please them to show them what they mean to him, what they’ve given to him, what they’ve taught him - but what he has is his hands, and he can use those, instead. His fingers, useless as they are compared to Wei Ying’s and Lan Zhan’s beautiful and talented ones, are good for this if nothing else. He runs his fingers over Lan Zhan’s side, down his hip; he palms over Lan Zhan’s still clothed cock, enjoying the warmth of it against his skin, enjoying the knowledge that he can offer some pleasure to them when Lan Zhan rocks his hips slowly into his hand.
At some point, Wei Ying’s fingers come up to stroke his jaw lightly as Wen Ning still bites and sucks marks into the skin of his chest, knowing he’s allowed to and that Wei Ying wants him to, and when he notices them he doesn’t hesitate to draw two fingers into his mouth, instead. He runs his tongue over them, between them; he hollows his cheeks to suck on them. He pays them no less attention and no less reverence than he would if it were Wei Ying’s cock in his mouth right now instead. He is careful, much as Wei Ying tends to like a bit of a rougher treatment, not to use his teeth - he doesn’t dare do anything that could cause them harm, despite the fact that he knows he would never nip that hard, never bite. His eyes close as he focuses on his work, making quiet noises in his throat. Too soon, though, Wei Ying pulls his fingers free - Lan Zhan gently removes his hand. Wen Ning feels lost, alone, and blinks his eyes open again, staring.
Perhaps Wei Ying takes pity on the look on his face, as if the ground were taken from under him, because he leans in to press their lips together, very gently and sweetly, as if he weren’t naked and clearly aroused, leaning in so far that Wen Ning obediently and instinctively leans back, until Wei Ying is looming over him in the kiss.
“Wen Ning,” his voice is just as soft as his kiss had been, playful but genuine, “You have to play by Lan Zhan’s and my rules, okay?”
Wen Ning nods, more instinct than really agreeing to what he’s heard, but his answer doesn’t change once he’s processed. He looks at him, uncertainly, then squeaks when Lan Zhan’s beautiful hands and strong arms pull him to the edge of the bed, until his legs hang off.
With an equal gentleness to Wei Ying, Lan Zhan sets to stripping him - though his chest is bare, his pants were still on - as Wei Ying begins again kissing him to soothe away any uncertainty as to what is happening. Only once he’s as naked as Wei Ying does Lan Zhan change what he’s doing. Just as reverently as Wen Ning had felt, touching Lan Zhan and Wei Ying, Lan Zhan kneels next to him, presses a gentle kiss to the side of his knee, then settles down to rest his weight on his calves and feet.
Wei Ying, too, pulls away from kissing him, though doesn’t lose contact - he keeps his fingers gently curled about Wen Ning’s wrist and elbow. “Wen Ning,” he says, voice low and almost dangerous, sending sparks up Wen Ning’s spine, “Do you trust Lan Zhan and me?”
Wen Ning nods, again, but the answer is completely genuine. He thinks, for some reason, both of them sigh, though he can’t fathom why.
Slim, long fingers curl around his ankle and lift his leg - Wei Ying uses the elbow and wrist he holds to lift the arm he had been staying in contact with. Both of them, very smoothly and as if they had, somehow, practiced, lower their faces to his limbs.
Something in his chest twists, uncertainly, as he watches them, then something akin to fear lances through him when he feels Lan Zhan’s lips brush against the top of his foot, feather light; Wei Ying kisses fingertips, making sure to catch each. Panic - it’s panic he feels, confusion, uncertainty. He tugs at his hand and his leg, but their grips are like iron and they show no desire to let go of him. He whimpers, especially when Wei Ying draws two fingers into his mouth exactly as Wen Ning had done to him.
“Wen Ning,” it is Lan Zhan that speaks, this time, golden eyes looking up from where his lips are pressed ever so delicately against the bone jutting in his ankle, as if he knows what must be going through his mind. His grip is still steel around Wen Ning’s twitching leg, knowing if he lets it go, it will pull away and he may not be able to get it back. “Why?”
Without asking, without even Wei Ying’s help, he knows Lan Zhan wants to know why he fights so. Why? Why wouldn’t he? Why would he - let them? What were they doing? His heartbeat is quick and his breaths are almost shallow as he tries to meet that gaze, fails, and looks away - then away again as he sees the mirror, the way he can see his own body and Wei Ying and Lan Zhan smothering it in attention. It is far, far too much.
“I haven’t - it - you don’t have to! I don’t - I don’t… You shouldn’t, um, it -” His words are jumbled, his thoughts no more clear, especially as Wei Ying gently presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist, where his pulse hammers beneath his skin, gently mouths at it. “It isn’t - I’m okay if - if it’s just - if!”
“We want to,” is Lan Zhan’s quiet answer, another kiss to his ankle, chaste and almost reverential. “We aren’t okay with just us.”
It isn’t that Wei Ying’s words don’t mean anything to him - of course they do. But, somehow, when it is Lan Zhan who says such a thing, it hits him harder, the man using his words to reassure and insist that his lips run over the top of his foot and his ankle because they want to, not out of some misguided believe that he should or must.
“If it were Lan Zhan there, would Wen Ning think he and I shouldn’t? That Lan Zhan shouldn’t let us?” Wei Ying’s voice is cool - not quite cold but matter of fact and demanding, even as his lips go back to kiss at his palm, both hands helping to keep his fingers spread to let him.
The answer is no, of course - the answer is that if Lan Zhan tried to stop him, he would be devastated, because they deserved such affection, deserved to understand what they meant to hm and what they’d given him, from him and from each other, but Wen Ning has never truly been the center of attention - at all, but especially like this, especially by both men that he has fallen in love with and that have somehow fallen in love with him in return. He shakes his head, still looking away.
“Then why isn’t it okay if it’s Wen Ning?” His voice gentles, nuzzling into the skin, his grey eyes closed in simple, almost catlike, pleasure.
He would never say his thoughts - but he doesn’t exactly need to. Lan Zhan and Wei Ying know him as well as he knows them, and Wei Ying sighs without any irritation.
“We don’t love you less than you love us.”
Wen Ning wants to argue that he doesn’t think that - he doesn’t! - just that it is somehow different, but Wei Ying doesn’t give him the chance to.
“We want to show you. Both of us. So…” And something in Wei Ying’s voice changes, something not quite but almost fragile, “can you let us?”
What can Wen Ning say to that? How can he tell him no? If they truly want to… he nods, timid.
Wei Ying continues, still almost fragile in sound, “If you really want us to stop, we will. Just say so.”
He does - but he doesn’t. If Wei Ying and Lan Zhan get anything out of this, as Wen Ning does when he shows every inch of their bodies that he loves them, then he doesn't want to take that from him, even if he can’t understand why it would be him and not each other. By force, he makes his leg and arm relax in their grip - Wei Ying’s eyes open, something intense sparking in their depths, and a smile blooms on his face.
He wastes no time in resuming his affections. He makes sure each finger is kissed, touches feather light; as he moves onto his wrist and arm, still peppering it in kisses, Wen Ning shifts his arm - not to pull it away, but to stroke his fingers through his hair. His free hand moves down to Lan Zhan’s head, who is nosing into the back of his calf, heedless of anything, even the hair that grows there. He doesn’t stop them or go any further, but he doesn’t want to not touch them; he knows both of them derive comfort from their hair being played with - even if nothing else, he can do that much for them, because he wants to.
Lan Zhan nuzzles into his hand, even as those careful, beautiful hands lift his leg so that he can reach his thigh. The contact of lips on skin that sensitive - that close to his own hardness that throbs with how much he wants them, how much he wants to be touched - makes him whimper involuntarily, the muscles of his thigh tensing for a moment. Lan Zhan keeps kissing through it, waiting a moment before sucking gently on the inside of his thigh, nipping carefully, making sure to leave a hickey before moving onto the next patch of skin, not terribly far away.
Wei Ying feathers kisses up his arm - dips his tongue into the soft and sensitive skin inside his elbow, making Wen Ning whimper again, then up his shoulder - he presses his lips to the well developed muscles of his back from years of archery, then sinks his teeth in; Wen Ning cries out, softly and feels his cock twitch. Embarrassment fills him, because he knows that Lan Zhan, so close to it, can see it happen, but he seems to pay it no mind. When he is satisfied with the hickies decorating the inside of one thigh, he sets upon the other, ignoring too the way that Wen Ning’s muscles tremble slightly under hand and mouth. The hand that had been stroking Wei Ying’s hair is left in the air, hovering uncertainly - but after Wei Ying finishes kissing and biting his back, he moves in front to nip and suck at his chest, instead, and Wen Ning’s hand makes its way back into his hair, stroking through it and scratching idly at his scalp. Wei Ying makes a pleased noise in his throat, nuzzling into his hand as he lowers himself to suck a npple into his mouth.
Wen Ning immediately arches into it, a low moan tearing itself from his neck even as Lan Zhan shifts lower to press tender kisses to behind his knee, the tender skin there too, and he feels as if his entire body is trembling slightly.
“Wen Ning,” Wei Ying’s voice comes again, muffled by the muscle of his chest and where he has yet to pull his mouth away from his skin, the slight vibrations making Wen Ning shudder. “Wen Ning, you should look at yourself…”
A hand comes up to turn his head, towards the mirror, and Wen Ning only resists a little. He closes his eyes, though, sure he must look shameful - Wei Ying bites down on the nipple, not terribly hard, not enough to hurt, but hard enough to shock.
“Look,” he says again, more a demand this time. Reluctantly, Wen Ning does as he’s instructed. He meets his own eyes in the mirror, looks at the flush on his face, the sheen of sweat - he can see the red spots blooming on his skin where they’ve sucked hickies on his neck and shoulder and thighs. His cock curves against his stomach, leaking precum, and he looks like a wreck. The sight of Lan Zhan between his legs, running lips and teeth and tongue over his legs, makes him whimper.
“Keep watching,” Wei Ying hums, voice low as he resumes overwhelming Wen Ning with attention to his sensitive chest, well aware of what he’s doing. “It’s hard to keep showing to keep going, I just want to fuck you when you look this good.”
Another shudder tears through him, a whimper, his legs spreading wider as if it might entice either of them to touch his cock, to give him some relief, to finger him or take him, or something. Neither does. Wen Ning absently tugs on Lan Zhan’s hair, as if hoping he might direct him to where he wants his mouth, and Lan Zhan sighs softly, though not irritated. He does move up, though he neglects Wen Ning’s dripping erection entirely. He moves up to his stomach, instead, feathering gentle kisses that make the muscles twitch. His tongue, as Wei Ying’s had over his elbow and wrist, dips into his navel for just a second, then keeps going up. He takes his place alongside Wei Ying, nips at his chest, pressing the tip of his tongue hard into the nipple and flicking it.
“Wen Ning, you’re so beautiful and perfect, I wish we could show you how much we love you - I think about you all the time…”
Wen Ning can barely look at himself, at the sight of him with two faces pressed so close to his chest, smothering him in attention when he is already rather embarrassed by the sensitivity of his chest, especially with Wei Ying mumbling such words shamelessly and openly and genuinely. When he looks away, he looks down, instead - Wei Ying and Lan Zhan both look up at him, eyes full of the same warmth and adoration he knows are in his own eyes, and he whimpers again, the impact of Wei Ying’s words hitting him in the chest all at once.
He doesn’t understand it - he doesn’t deserve it. He brings nothing to the relationship; Lan Zhan supports them both, but Wei Ying makes art that brings joy to others, and Lan Zhan creates music that moves others to every emotion that exists and some Wen Ning genuinely had not been aware that he could feel. They are confident, utterly in love with each other. They were complete apart but unimaginably perfect together, but for some reason had invited him into their lives, for some reason decided to love him, for some reason cared so much that they kissed their devotion over every inch of skin that they could, made him feel it humming through his veins, the knowledge that he was loved as much as he loved.
“Wei - Wei Ying, Lan Zhan..!” His fingers tense in their hair, tugging just slightly, trying to get something though he doesn’t know what - it is, of course, also that he wants a hand on his cock, giving him some relief, but it is more than that too. As Wei Ying’s eyes smile and Lan Zhan’s eyes warm, he doesn’t know why but his own eyes, as they’d wanted to for awhile, tear up and overflow.
Immediately, both of them pull back. Lan Zhan captures the hand that is in his hair, the one that Wei Ying had not paid attention to, and presses gentle kisses to his fingers, his palm. He noses into it, reassuringly, trying to say with gestures when words are difficult for him - the light in his golden eyes is touching, full of love even if he has struggled to know how to say or show that at most times.
Wei Ying, instead, comes up to kiss at his face, his cheeks; he presses his lips to his cheek, kissing away the slow tears that roll down his face, smiling as he does so. “I love you, Lan Zhan loves you,” (Lan Zhan makes a soft mn of agreement) “we just wanted to show you how much, Wen Ning, that’s all.”
His fingers run through Wen Ning’s hair as he continues to kiss his face, as Lan Zhan continues to press small, chaste kisses to his palm and wrist.
Neither of them moves again until Wen Ning settles, until the tears stop and he tries to hold both of them in his arms.
“No, not yet, Wen Ning, unless you want to..” Wei Ying purrs against his skin, letting Wen Ning hold him. “If you’re up for it, can you take us?”
He thinks of Wei Ying and Lan Zhan inside of him, fucking him, and whimpers aloud. He nods - he is up for it, he wants it, he needs it.
“Can you?” Wei Ying asks again, eyes intent, still full of love but not backing down. “I want to make sure.”
“I want - I want it. Please…”
Wei Ying taps Lan Zhan’s shoulder, who moves to sit on the bed after he shucks his pants off finally. His cock is hard, red, and precum beads at the tip - it’s hard to understand how he is so hard when all he’s done is kiss Wen Ning’s legs, but he can’t help but feel some pride, again, quite a bit more than the embarrassment he felt at being subject to their affections and attention without being able to reciprocate in the least.
He moves to straddle Lan Zhan’s lap, knowing they want him to ride Lan Zhan, but he suddenly moves, instead; he changes how he lays, head at the foot of the bed, knees bent, and he shifts his weight. Wen Ning moves, then, instead, to straddle him. He isn’t sure how they want him, but he faces away at first - except Wei Ying makes a tsk! noise and immediately moves over to take hold of Wen Ning’s hands.
“If you face that way, how will you see yourself and what we’re doing to you?” His voice is playful, still, almost singsonging, as if he’d said something casual instead of something that filthy. He doesn’t want to - not really - but he wants them to be happy, even if it embarraasses himself to imagine himself looking at his own face while Lan Zhan thrusts up into him, makes him cum from how good it feels as he always does.
“Oh.. Okay.” He mumbles it more than says it but turns around - it isn’t the worst idea. It means he can see Lan Zhan’s face, too, all the very slight changes in expression that he makes when he fucks one of them, and that idea if rather intoxicating as it always is.
Wei Ying helps him straddle Lan Zhan’s waist, placing their cocks together and bracing them so that they can thrust together. He leaves them after a moment to get the vial of lube that they keep beside the bed; he slicks his index finger, pressing it inside Wen Ning. With how often they have sex, Wen Ning is already well used to the feeling of a cock inside of him, and it isn’t completely necessary - but this, at least, isn’t for Wen Ning’s pleasure. Wei Ying simply wants to.
His finger is slow in its pace, not enough to get him much satisfaction; it’s meant to tease, to enjoy the way that Wen Ning tries to get more, to get something bigger stretching and spreading him open, his body honest even if his words fail him, just as Lan Zhan. Wen Ning whines, hips grinding down, grinding against Lan Zhan as well, who reaches down to steady his hips in his hands.
“Do you think you’re ready, Wen Ning? For Lan Zhan’s dick inside of you?”
Wen Ning whines and nods, hips bucking and stuttering. He nods, harder and harder, as Wei Ying’s finger crooks, hinting what will come when he finally gets that thick, curved cock inside of him. Wei Ying doesn’t pull his finger out, though, although he does take the open bottle of lube and drizzle it onto Lan Zhan’s cock - he doesn’t warm it, doesn’t have the hand to do it, but Lan Zhan has always enjoyed the temperature difference; he hisses, lowly, hips jerking up against Wen Ning’s waist, sighing as that hand jerks him off to fully coat it.
“Please -” Wen Ning finally forces out, knowing that Wei Ying hasn’t given him what he wanted, because he’s been very clear that he is forcing Wen Ning to say what he wants. When he looks up, he sees his own face, eyes red, face flushed, cock hard and proud and dripping still, mouth hanging open and lips swollen and wet. “Please, I’m - Wei Ying, I’m ready, please… Ineedit.”
His voice drops down to a whisper, spitting the last bit all at once, face flushed bright.
“Good boy… Wen Ning, you’re so good, listening to me and saying what you want... I’m jealous of Lan Zhan getting to feel you first, being inside of you, I can’t wait to join him…”
Wen Ning startles at the words, muscles trembling as he lifts his hips, knowing Wei Ying will help line Lan Zhan up so he can slowly take him - it’s clear what Wei Ying means, that they want to fuck him at once. They’ve been working towards it, after Wei Ying had babbled how good it would be for both of them to be inside Wen Ning at once, and yet - they hadn’t, yet. There was no reason to not, Wen Ning was as ready as he could be, but… the mirror.
He glances at himself, watches his reflection look back at him; he swallows heavily, breath coming a little shallow, as he slowly lowers himself. The stretch is welcome, though he has to go slow, his eyes slipping closed as he focuses on taking Lan Zhan.
His breath shudders in his chest, on each exhale, as he takes each inch carefully. Wei Ying, he realizes, is still speaking softly, words lighting a fire in his chest. “You always look so good when Lan Zhan is inside of you, take it well..” he catches, a whimper spilling out alongside his stuttering breaths.
When he’s completely lowered onto Lan Zhan’s cock, he exhales smoothly, squirming and trying to adjust his hips - Lan Zhan breathes unevenly, the faintest hint of a moan in his exhale, which Wen Ning cannot help but already feel very proud about already obtaining. Slowly, he rolls his hips, not quite ready for more yet - he opens his eyes to look down at Lan Zhan, whose eyes practically seem to glow with desire, and it lights a deeper fire in him.
Before he can take advantage of it, before he can start riding Lan Zhan as he now wants to, he feels Wei Ying’s hands on his hips; he assumes Wei Ying will make him take Lan Zhan, which they have done before - not as if Wen Ning minds in the least - but is quite surprised by what happens, instead. After a moment, it is Lan Zhan’s hands on his hips that lift him up just the slightest bit, off of his cock, making Wen Ning whine just faintly as he balances his weight a bit more on his knees.
Wei Ying leans down, moving his body to slot between Lan Zhan’s legs, and he startles when he can tell that Wei Ying has chosen to - he whines again, though the noise may better be called a keen.
It is his tongue, pressed carefully to where Lan Zhan and Wen Ning are joined; it is an odd angle, Wen Ning is certain, and unlikely to be comfortable, except that Wen Ning doubts Wei Ying necessarily did it for comfort and more because he wanted to be close to the action. It becomes something that he is more certain of when the tongue presses at his hole, instead, as if wanting to fuck him with that, though he never presses it in completely. Just a tease - just enough to make him want more, to make him want Wei Ying to give him what he had promised.
And yet, all that keeps happening is the tongue prodding at him; Lan Zhan’s hands hold him still, refusing to let him take more or pull off, and each soft noise from behind him makes his face burn brighter but his cock ache more.
He whimpers, hips trembling in the steel grasp they are in, trying to grind down in vain, but the motion is enough that Wei Ying understands what he wants. Instead of giving it, he shushes him, one hand reaching up to rub reassuringly up and down his spine.
“You still want to take me and Lan Zhan, right?” Wei Ying’s words are seeking permission - they are an opportunity to say no with no guilt and no shame. If Wen Ning said no, there would be no more said about it - Wen Ning knows this. He knows it more than anything. But he doesn’t want to say no; each word Wei Ying has murmured against his skin have made him more eager, more excited, more driven. He exhales, shakily, and nods, but even in doing so knows that it won’t be enough for him.
“If you don’t say yes, then I can’t be certain,” Wei Ying hums, teasing, from where his tongue has still been teasing Wen Ning with the promise of more before he lowers his head to lap at the underside of Lan Zhan’s cock, instead, depriving him of that sensation too - the only benefit is that it makes Lan Zhan roll his hips up into him, giving him something more.
“Yes! Wei Ying, please, please…” He can’t help the way he gasps again, as Wei Ying pulls back from the both of them and Lan Zhan releases his hips to let him shallowly rock, taking more and grinding down on him, “I - I can do it, Wei Ying, I can manage, I’ll - I’ll be good, I will..”
At “be good,” Wen Ning can hear Wei Ying exhale roughly, even as he adds more lube to his finger. He teases the fingertip against his already stretched muscle, not quite pushing it in. Instead, he presses kisses to his back, murmuring, “Our Wen Ning is always good. Always the best. Pretty and talented and perfect.”
Wen Ning shivers, again, making pathetic throaty noises as he tries to get Wei Ying to add his finger, to stretch him further, to make it so that he can take both of their cocks even though he knows he could if Wei Ying were slow - he knows the teasing is part of it.
“Please,” he whispers, without prompting, “Wei Ying, I want to… I want both, please…”
As if waiting for that, he slowly eases his finger inside of him, wriggling it alongside Lan Zhan’s cock, humming as he feels the warmth of his body and how Lan Zhan’s length twitches at the prospect.
“So good, taking Lan Zhan and my finger at once,” he practically purrs. “Lan Zhan wants it too, can you feel it?”
Wen Ning nods, still rolling his hips down into both of them, satisfied as always by the knowledge that he has both of them inside of him, even if it isn’t yet Wei Ying’s cock, that he will be able to help both of them find pleasure at once, and that they find that pleasure because of him. He moans, quietly, as the finger keeps moving inside of him, tries to press down onto it, tries to take more.
Perhaps even Wei Ying has had enough of the teasing - he doesn’t make Wen Ning beg for a second finger, just slowly presses it in alongside his first, sucking and nipping at his shoulders while he keeps working him open.
Lan Zhan is patient - more patient than Wen Ning thinks he or Wei Ying would be in his place, his hips twitching in small circles but otherwise still, his eyes closed as some of his muscles clench and unclench to keep him still; Wen Ning knows the last thing he wants is to hurt him and is controlling himself from fear of it.
“It’s so hard to wait,” Wei Ying whines, childishly, into his shoulder, before biting hard enough to leave marks in his skin. “I just want to take you now, but I want it to be good for you too…”
Wen Ning is practically still. His eyes are half-lidded, gaze directed down at the bed, glazed over, breath shallow.
“Please,” he mumbles. “Please… I can’t, I c-can’t wait.”
Wen Ning leans over, closer to Lan Zhan, feeling the way everything shifts inside of him, pulling a moan from his throat. He tries to spread his legs wider, brings a hand back to shamelessly spread his ass - his face flames as he kisses Lan Zhan, mouth hungry and kiss sloppy and wet. Lan Zhan devours more than kisses, distracting him completely up until the moment Wei Ying’s hands are on his waist, the blunt head of his cock pressing at his hole.
Lan Zhan nips his lips, demanding his attention, hand drifting from his hip to slowly stroke over his cock, precum making his hand glide easily.
“Wen Ning,” Wei Ying breathes, fingers digging into the skin of his waist, “Are you okay?”
“‘m ready,” he manages, pulling back only enough to breathe, though Lan Zhan chases him for a moment, seeking the contact, only to make a low noise of contentment when Wen Ning quickly returns to him.
Wei Ying is much more cautious than ordinary - he presses in almost excruciatingly slowly, and yet the stretch and burn of it makes his eyes tear up from how much it is, despite how they’ve fucked him with larger things.
Lan Zhan’s hips twitch so very slightly, seeking more, but he hisses at himself, especially when Wen Ning whimpers aloud at the sensation. He shushes him as gently, as tenderly, as he can, hand that had been stroking his cock coming up to tenderly run over his jaw. His eyes are concerned, expressing so much, especially when he notices the tears welling in Wen Ning’s eyes.
“Lan Zhan,” Wen Ning manages between shuddering breaths, “Want this, it’s okay… Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan…”
Wei Ying’s cock is smaller than Lan Zhan’s - but, like this, Wei Ying feels almost too big to deal with. He keeps still, eyes wet as he presses more kisses to Lan Zhan, who slowly reciprocates, golden eyes remaining open to watch him and his every reaction. Wei Ying’s hands drift up from his waist to his nipples, fingers paying particular attention to the slightly swollen one, the one that Wei Ying himself had made that sensitive with his teeth and tongue.
His back arches, noises turning to breathy gasps. He has to remind himself to breathe, though it feels rather impossible with how full he is, the stretch of it. Eventually, Wei Ying’s hips are flush with his ass all the same and Wen Ning practically sobs with relief that there isn’t anymore to take; he was still fine, but he doubted how much else he could manage.
Wei Ying runs his fingers over his skin in absent and abstract patterns and shapes and Lan Zhan runs his fingers through his sweat dampened hair.
“You did perfectly,” Wei Ying murmurs against his skin, voice strained with the effort of remaining still and patient for Wen Ning’s sake, “Took it so well, you’re so gorgeous, the best, I want to fuck you so badly…”
Wen Ning feels not completely there, feels a bit absent, somehow, a bit distracted, drifting between breaths, despite the two cocks stretching him wide; he can practically feel their heartbeats, he thinks, and he finds it relaxing, knowing that they are here, with him, in him, a part of him. His breathing evens with the strange calmness, a calmness he doesn’t quite understand. The former uncomfortably full feeling settles into something he can only describe as a hunger.
“I’m - I’m okay, I can handle it, I…”
Wei Ying is a good man - he had been so patient, so tolerant, so gentle with him, but being told he could go was all he needed. “Tell me.. if it’s too much.”
Wen Ning nods, mumbling something not too far off of Lan Zhan’s quiet noises of assent, but it’s enough for Wei Ying, who has been waiting so patiently. His pace is slow, even so, pulling out carefully before thrusting back in, making sure that Wen Ning won’t insist that they stop.
Wen Ning, though, is too out of it from the sheer overwhelming sensation of it, the drag of Wei Ying’s cock with Lan Zhan’s remaining still inside of him - he makes choked, strangled noises, whimpering louder when Wei Ying reaches down to take hold of his cock again, stroking it slowly and in time with his own thrusts.
The longer that Wen Ning never complains, never tenses too tight to make movement impossible, never resists or tries to pull away, the more Wei Ying feels confident in moving faster and pulling out further to thrust into him - at some point, Lan Zhan starts rocking his hips, too, managing to set an alternating rhythm, one of them pulling out as the other thrusts in. Wen Ning is still, permitting them to use him, because he can’t think well enough to do anything else. His thighs tremble, too weak to hold him up very well, some of his weight balanced on his elbow. Lan Zhan is near to his face and he leans over, trying to kiss him - but the kiss is filthy and wet, lips quickly shining with the saliva shared between them. Lan Zhan sucks and nibbles on his tongue, further distracting him, and Wei Ying keeps a hand on his cock. He has to be present, has to feel what they’re doing to him, what he’s let them.
Wei Ying is still talking, but he doesn’t listen - can’t, really, much as he want to, except that the sound of his voice is pleasant and reassuring, even strained, and that he wants him to keep talking, even if he knows, too, that it must be filthy, must be shameless, would embarrass him if he could make heads or tails of it.
At some point, he rocks his own hips, completely out of Lan Zhan and Wei Ying’s rhythm, chasing something, even as Wei Ying starts slowly fucking him harder and faster. He feels stretched to his limits, debauched, utterly wrecked - and then Wei Ying reaches down, hooking the arm that isn’t being used to jerk him off around his waist to pull him upright. His eyes are hazy and his attention nonexistent, but even so, he can tell easily what Wei Ying wants.
He sees himself in the mirror. Wei Ying keeps hold of him, keeping him upright, even though the change in angle of their thrusts drives him wild - he sees the sheen to his eyes, the glaze to them. His lips are swollen and shiny with his and Lan Zhan’s spit, his body flushed pink and brighter red where they bit marks into him that will be vibrant in the morning. He looks as destroyed as he feels.
Wei Ying’s hand doesn’t stop on his cock, but it does slow so that he doesn’t peak too soon, before he and Lan Zhan can enjoy this, and Wei Ying begins again kissing his neck and shoulder.
“Are you seeing yourself? How pretty you look? You’re taking us so nicely, I wish you could know how perfect you feel,” and Wen Ning is whining, trying to stop listening, but Wei Ying won’t take that as a response. He keeps speaking, words filthy and yet affectionate and fond, so much that it makes his chest feel as if it will burst.
“Look, Wen Ning,” Wei Ying mumbles, eventually, tone insistent until Wen Ning snaps out of the fog he’s in, subject to pleasure he hadn’t imagined was possible - he keeps supporting his weight, so the hand on his cock lets go, reaches out to find one of Wen Ning’s, the hand of the arm that had been keeping him upright, pulling it to his stomach. He presses it down, there, on the sight of Lan Zhan’s cock inside of him. “Can you feel him inside of you? When he pulls out and fucks into you? You’re so full…”
Wen Ning can’t help the pathetic, broken whimper at the words, half a moan, half a plea for more and less all at once, hips twitching pathetically from where he’s pinned between them. Lan Zhan’s pace grows more erratic in what feels like a moment and an eternity, and Wei Ying’s speech takes on a more frantic tone.
“Wen Ning - what do you want? Lan Zhan and I - we’re going to cum, Wen Ning.”
Wen Ning makes an inarticulate noise, arching back into Wei Ying, demanding more, demanding something that he doesn’t even know.
“Do you want us to cum inside of you, Wen Ning? Do you want us to fill you with our cum?”
The noise Wen Ning makes is… embarrassing. Needy and demanding, pleading, head nodding like a bobblehead’s.
“What - do you want? Tell me.” He growls, not out of aggression, but because his teeth are grit, making it so that he keeps himself in control.
“Inside,” and it is practically a sob as he struggles to be coherent, but he desperately needs their cum inside of him. If he went through all of this only to not be filled by them, as he likes, he doesn’t know what he’d do, other than start crying out of what he missed the opportunity for. “Inside, pl- please, - cum inside of me, I w- I want - please..!”
That is all either of them needed - Lan Zhan comes first, hips thrusting to sheathe his cock in him fully, remaining there while he rides out his orgasm - Wei Ying continues fucking him for a few moments more, and the new noise from where Wei Ying continues thrusting in and out of him is filthy with how wet it is. Wen Ning keeps almost sobbing, body trembling, and it only gets worse when Wei Ying comes inside of him as well.
With both cocks and their cum inside of him, his stomach is so full that it feels as if it might burst. He can’t look at himself and the pronounced swell to his stomach, too mortified, but he can’t bring himself to look away, either. Wei Ying pulls out first, slow and careful, even as his hand finds his cock again, slowly jerking him off - Wen Ning almost doesn’t want it, but he doesn’t bat the hand away, either. He just breathes as Lan Zhan begins to soften and slide out of him as well. Almost immediately, he can feel the cum dripping from his hole, can feel himself twitching as he tries to find something to fill that void within him.
It only takes a matter of seconds before Wen Ning lets go - he feels like something within him breaks when he lets go and lets himself cum, splattering Lan Zhan’s stomach up to his chest with the force of it, and Wei Ying purrs behind him.
Carefully, Lan Zhan and Wei Ying both allow him to lay down, with Lan Zhan going to get a towel to help clean him up. While he’s gone, Wei Ying, ever a trouble maker, slides his finger through some of the cum now staining the inside of his thighs - Wen Ning fears Wei Ying will press it back up into his hole, uncertain if the touch will be pleasant or simply painful, but he simply sucks it off his own fingers, then kisses Wen Ning in what is at first tender - except, then, too suddenly, he passes the cum between them, leaving Wen Ning with no option but to swallow. He doesn’t mind, though; he shudders, slightly, exhausted body having nothing left in it to spark with arousal but echoing with it anyway. That seems to be all he wanted, at least, for afterwards he allows Wen Ning to lay undisturbed, with one of his hands carding through his hair to help soothe him. Wen Ning tries to stay awake - really, he does - but he’s so exhausted he only stays conscious up until Lan Zhan returns to bed and gentle touches help clean him up, Wei Ying petting his hair tenderly.
In the morning - he sleeps through the entirety of the night, which makes him feel a bit lazy, but he can’t blame himself, either, really - he lays still, aware of how sore he is even before he so much as twitches. Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are both still there, both curled around him, holding him carefully, and Wei Ying notices he’s awake.
“Good morning! How are you? Are you okay..? Do you need any food or water?” His voice is cheery - but Wen Ning can hear how worried he was, too. He laughs, tired but fond, nuzzling into him.
“I - I’m okay… I’m a little hungry, though..”
As Wei Ying practically flies out of bed to get something to feed him, Wen Ning thinks that maybe this wasn’t the worst idea - maybe he’d let them do it again. And, maybe, he’d fuck Wei Ying like this if he wanted.
Wen Ning did not often ask for things; it wasn’t that he was particularly generous, there just wasn’t much he wanted, when he was always so pleased to be with them. But there was… one thing.
Wei Ying wasn’t able to provide it, which Wen Ning didn’t mind; it was perfectly understandable that it would be hard for him to do, given that it involved sitting peaceful and still and not reacting. However, it did result in the fact that he asked for it less, because he didn’t want Wei Ying to feel guilty about not being able to help him with it.
Lan Zhan, on the other hand, was ideal - his patience and calmness made it completely in his ability to provide for him, so Wen Ning relied on him for it.
He didn’t need it, often, either! There was just… something about it, when he was stressed, that helped him recenter himself and stop worrying so much. Which was, in all honesty, rather a feat for someone as anxious as Wen Ning.
Work - and a decrease in customers - had left him constantly fretting that he might have to close the shop or lay someone off and it was Lan Zhan’s money he would be wasted had left him almost useless with stress, left him nearly sick with it. He was useless around the house, constantly on edge, jumping at everything. Even his temper was shorter than ordinary, except each time he’d snap he’d immediately nearly start crying in a rush to apologize before Lan Zhan or Wei Ying could even tell him he was out of line.
Honestly, Wen Ning hadn’t even had to ask for it - Lan Zhan had invited him into the room where he made music, at the table; the guqin and sheets to transcribe his composition were set in front of him. Lan Zhan patted his leg in a gesture they were familiar with, and Wen Ning had immediately sunk to his knees between his legs.
Lan Zhan immediately undoes his pants and pushes them down far enough to bare his completely soft cock - with one hand, he strokes his jaw and presses a thumb into his mouth, letting him suck on it for a moment. He pries his jaw open, gently, and feeds the soft cock into his mouth.
His face is flushed with embarrassment, as he always is at the beginning. Wen Ning settles in, weight on his calves and feet, cheek resting on his thigh - he closes his eyes, feeling the pleasant stretch of his jaw, the pressure something in his mouth, as he breathes slowly through his nose.
Lan Zhan is silent, too, completely still - Wei Ying gets too impatient, tries to grind into the warm heat of Wen Ning’s mouth, hardening up and fucking his throat, if he doesn’t immediately realize he is about to snap and pull out of his mouth with a hushed apology for the bewildered way that Wen Ning looks up at him, having only begun to settle into the nothingness that he can rest in while he does it… in all honesty, it isn’t as if Wen Ning minds when Wei Ying takes his mouth and fucks his face, but it isn’t the same, calming sensation of something filling his mouth, the way that he has to focus on his breathing and the occasional soft suck or flick of his tongue over the glans of Lan Zhan’s cock, not hard or frequent enough to arouse him but enough that he never forgets Wen Ning is down there.
Wen Ning rests down there for what could be minutes or could be hours; one of Lan Zhan’s hands drifts down often to stroke through his hair, gentle, calming touches. Neither one of them speaks or moves for most of it, though Lan Zhan does softly give him a heads up if he needs to move, so that Wen Ning isn’t surprised if he’s all but fallen asleep, which has happened.
He couldn’t say what about it is calming, except that he can’t do anything except breathe and drift, that he is so close to one of the men he loves, that he doesn’t have to worry about anything except being… good.
And then, when Lan Zhan’s work is done and Wen Ning is satisfied, Lan Zhan taps Wen Ning’s shoulders, and Wen Ning taps his thighs, proof that things are settled and ready - those days, when things align like that, Wen Ning turns the calming gesture of cockwarming into head.
That, too, is something to appreciate, the way he pulls off to lick under the head of his cock in the place that drives Lan Zhan wild, sucking and kissing on the side of it, saliva easing the slide of his hand until precum can take its place, until Lan Zhan is completely hard - and then he lets him take his mouth, still on his knees, still nestled safe between his legs.
Wen Ning sets the pace before that - but once he takes Lan Zhan into his mouth, fully hard, he relaxes again, knowing that he would never fuck him too hard or too roughly, never so harshly that he can’t breathe. Lan Zhan always comes down his throat, on those days, and Wen Ning never complains about it - wouldn’t, even if he wanted to, and he didn’t.
He knows for a fact that Wei Ying doesn’t understand the purpose of it, doesn’t understand what Wen Ning gets out of keeping a soft cock in his mouth for however long, and has no interest in doing it himself - but he knows this because he watches Wei Ying, not because Wei Ying has ever said. He wouldn’t belittle him for what he enjoys, not with how much Wen Ning does for them and does gladly, and it is for that reason that he has tried, in the past, to allow him to, even if he hasn’t ever managed to make it past ten to fifteen minutes before getting impatient and wanting Wen Ning to swallow him.
He thinks, though, that Lan Zhan doesn’t quite get it either. Lan Zhan is harder to read, quieter, more permissive, and has never once complained or ended it before Wen Ning was ready to give head or return to whatever he had abandoned to seek comfort - Lan Zhan lets him take what he needs because it is something he can give and perhaps something that he knows Wei Ying cannot give nearly so easily, knows that Wen Ning needs it at times like these, even if he doesn’t understand it.
Both of their responses, as different as they are, make him feel warmer than he knows what to do with. Even if Wei Ying can’t beat his own impulses to move and be doing something, can’t just sit still for long enough, the fact that both of them indulge him as best they can, that they accept him, that they love him -
And, honestly, that might be the most calming thing about it, existing while knowing with certainty just how loved he is.