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a sword for a tongue

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"No."

"Lan Zhaaaaaan. I am the most practical experience you're gonna get!"

He shakes his head. Normally refusing Wei Ying has more to do with how he enjoys it, the way he likes to talk his way into things and blushes cherry red when Lan Zhan gives in too easily, stating it's far too romantic and he needs to give a written notice at least a few days ahead of time. 

They have been married for 3 years. Lan Zhan considers that plenty of warning.

Unfortunately, now that they've hit a real case of him saying no, Wei Ying has no understanding of the word, nor does he consider it a barrier. An obstacle, maybe, but one that he can vault as needed.

"Lan er-gege," he says quietly, "are you ashamed of me?" 

His head snaps toward Wei Ying, who is smirking with a slight edge. Lan Zhan knows immediately that he's being played, but the flash behind that look suggests that's not entirely the case. It might be at the forefront of Wei Ying's thoughts, but. Wei Ying likes to say things that are true and play them off like joking, in the same way that he likes to say the opposite of what he wants and complain when it's given. 

"Not ashamed," he says without hesitation. He isn't. When Wei Ying blinks hazily at him all of the sudden, he knows he's going to cave.

Lan Zhan reaches out to brush a thumb over Wei Ying's cheek. His husband shudders even at the light touch, combined as it is with the sense of Lan Zhan's constant, desperate need for him. Every brush of their skin must be electric for Wei Ying, who needs to be wanted to survive and always seems surprised, anyway, by how much Lan Zhan wants. 

He waits until Wei Ying is leaning into his palm to speak. "I like being enough for you." Verbalizing is difficult, but extremely rewarding with the way Wei Ying's eyes get wide, blush rising to his skin like some technicolor dream. He wants to kiss him; he wants to drag him beneath the desk and keep his cock warm in that red mouth for the rest of the evening. Wei Ying can feel his desire flare, which only ramps up his response, eyes fond and a little bit glassy.

"Who said you're not?" Wei Ying has officially started sulking, leaning between Lan Zhan and his laptop with big, wet eyes. He's never been able to figure out if this is something Wei Ying can do on command, like the way he can make himself wet but he still needs fingers to stretch him, or how he can get close but never quite so overstimulated that he needs to stop for the night. He's an experienced cultivator, but none of the manuals go into that much explicit detail, focused as they typically are on not letting yourself get seduced by demons. 

They were mostly written in the fifties, anyway. They're out of date.

Lan Zhan lets himself be wooed, curling his hand in Wei Ying's hair. "I am not, or you would not lust after my disciples." 

"Lan — Zhan," he gasps as the pressure on his hair goes from holding to tight. "It's not them I'm lusting after."

Somehow, he knew where this was headed, but he won't stop it now. Being with Wei Ying is an unstoppable tide of sensation and bad seduction attempts.

"Are you not sated at home?"

"Look at you," he fires back, "how could anyone — I want more." He blinks long lashes. It's awkward, and very cute, and Lan Zhan has never once admitted he finds it entirely non-sexual. "I want to see Lan-laoshi in his natural habitat." 

"We night hunt frequently." 

"That's cultivating, though. Do you know how many cultivators I've seen?" Lan Zhan slides his hand around to squeeze the back of Wei Ying's neck, whose pupils dilate as he struggles to correct himself. "Not in your league, Lan Zhan, keep up, I just meant I've never seen you in class! I haven't even been night hunting with your little disciples." 

Lan Zhan realizes that perhaps Wei Ying does think he's ashamed. For real, not just a joke with half truth. He hadn't considered how it would look from the other side. He has his reasons, most of them being he does not want to see his disciples lusting after his husband, but he spends more time with the taste of vinegar on his tongue than without, these days. He can live with it.

If it will make Wei Ying feel valued, it could be worse.

"What is in it for me," he asks, toneless, knowing Wei Ying will prefer to feel he's been properly won over by the end.

Wei Ying's expression brightens, his eyes warm half-crescents as Lan Zhan's abandoned laptop finally shuts off. "We can make it a game." 

Lan Zhan hums. He likes games when the other participant is Wei Ying.

"What if," he whispers, one hand reaching up to trail through Lan Zhan's hair, "we play pretend." This is one of Wei Ying's treasured games, moreso around his birthday. "I could leave my ring at home." 

Lan Zhan freezes.

"You can say I'm just a demon hired by the school for a demonstration," he murmurs, fingers trailing down Lan Zhan's neck. "They'll think I was desperate for cash, or maybe that I wanted to find an afternoon snack in your class." Wei Ying grins again. "Show them how mean a real cultivator can be." 

He's hard when Wei Ying slips fully into his lap, almost bending the office chair backward. If they break this one, he'll admit defeat and buy one that doesn't recline, so he can perhaps dissuade Wei Ying from climbing all over him in the office. Not that he's dissuading him now. Lan Zhan's hands circle his waist as Wei Ying's arms curl around his shoulders, long hair falling over them until it blocks out the world. All Lan Zhan can sense is Wei Ying.

"Wanna bully me, er-gege? In front of your disciples?" The way he says it is delighted and scandalized all at once. "If you hold out until the bell rings, I'll give you a reward."

"What reward?" Lan Zhan asks. His tongue feels too big for his mouth. His cock is pressed tightly against Wei Ying's ass. 

"Wait and see," he breathes into his mouth.

They break the office chair again.

 

 

 

 

It's easier than he thought to set up a demonstration at the university. Much is helped by the fact that Wei Ying is an accomplished cultivator in his own right, and therefore generally counted upon to not cause havoc or do genuine evil on school grounds. He's gone over what such demonstration may or may not entail and everyone has signed their waivers (consenting to coercive magic ahead of time is extremely important, legally and morally these days). 

Apparently their class has rocketed to the envy of all others; sex demons of the high-powered variety are very rare, and getting an actual demonstration on how to combat them is rarer. Lan Zhan finds himself annoyed that Wei Ying was right in stating it would be a much better educational opportunity than the lecture he wanted to give.

Still, in the privacy of his mind, it's nice having Wei Ying in this space. He belongs here the way he does-and-doesn't anywhere; the room is brighter with him in it, but he takes more of Lan Zhan's attention than anything, which may not be great for his concentration.

Now is a good example. Wei Ying is leaning over the chalk-drawn array on the ground. His hair, tied back in a high ponytail, falls over his shoulder in waves today. There is a mark on the side of his neck that begs for Lan Zhan's thumb, or perhaps a repeat performance from his mouth. He looks very invested in ensuring Lan Zhan's lesson goes off without a hitch. The lines of his body are ridiculous.

Class has not yet begun, and already he tests the bounds of Lan Zhan's control.

"I found it!" Wei Ying leans down, precariously balanced to avoid stepping into the array as he adds three stark pink lines to the white chalk lining the floor. "There, now I won't be able to get out at all once I'm inside." He pauses on an afterthought, almost knocking himself onto the floor as he tries to stand up straight and directs his attention back to Lan Zhan. "Oh, did you want to leave me a back door? It's just I thought the kids should probably see it clearly, so..."

"Mn." He did leave Wei Ying an out. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to teach it that way, if he'd thought about it for more than three seconds, but it was instinctual to ensure Wei Ying was only mostly trapped. Whether by safe word, by the pattern of his tapping against Lan Zhan's thigh, or even by array, he always leaves that small window to escape, should Wei Ying need it. 

That Wei Ying would destroy it without thinking, leaving himself no way out, is very in character.

He strays toward Lan Zhan where he stands near his desk, but doesn't actually touch him. They don't know when the first disciples will trickle in, after all. Lan Zhan's eyes are drawn to another revealed mark, this one more mottled beneath Wei Ying's jaw. He catches his husband's smile in time to switch his focus to that, though it's a near thing. There are many marks littering Wei Ying's skin. Every single person in the class will see them. Perhaps they will assume they are from many conquests, many mouths. 

Lan Zhan shuts down the thought; it's too early to let vinegar clog his mouth.

"I noticed that you made sure they couldn't get to me," Wei Ying teases, leaning flirtatiously across the desk like he really can't help himself. "That part of the array was airtight. Are you trying to tell me something about the integrity of your disciples?" His eyes are positively gleaming. He has been known to be very excited by Lan Zhan's jealousy, though he never intentionally causes it. 

Generally, Wei Ying's capriciousness is unknowing. If he knew about it, he would either stop or be absolutely, viciously unstoppable. The world is lucky he doesn't seem interested in that level of self-awareness.

"Wei Ying promised me," he reminds, "I am ensuring he does not break it." 

Only you, Lan Zhan. All that need, that strong golden core, what would I want anyone else for? 

He receives a frown for his troubles. "I wouldn't!"

Lan Zhan feels the corner of his mouth twitch momentarily. "It is not Wei Ying's conduct I am concerned with." 

"Oh! Ooooh, Lan Zhan, you're saying I'm irresistible, stop it, you were romantic yesterday and I already said you can't do it two days in a row!" 

Wei Ying did say that, but part of being married to (or even being friends with) Wei Ying is paying attention to anything but what he says. It's the warmth in his cheeks that Lan Zhan listens to, the overwhelmed look he gets whenever he feels valued or important, in spite of his knee-jerk reaction to run away from those things.

"Honest," he points out, and Wei Ying covers his face in his hands. 

The sound of footsteps fills the halls as the previous classes are dismissed. Lan Zhan teaches evening classes this term, a new and strange development in his schedule, but it's been nice to be able to stay until Wei Ying wakes. To take care of him (one of Lan Zhan's most treasured activities) and to take his time. 

Wei Ying snaps to attention, his eyes crinkling at the corners before he goes to sit on the edge of the raised platform that creates a 'stage' at the lowest level of the lecture hall. The seats rise upward in front of them both. Lan Zhan leans against the desk, arms crossed, waiting for his disciples to trickle in.

He certainly knows his role, he thinks as Wei Ying sits down. If any of his disciples sprawled across their seats in such a rakish way, he would need only offer a single glare before they snapped to attention. He imagines one of them in Wei Ying's place as he forms the expression, just in time for the first of his disciples to trickle in at the back. It's only a class of twenty, the hall itself built to hold twice that and a little more. They get about halfway down before they stop in their tracks, footsteps halting, one even tripping over another and muffling a yelp.

"Baby cultivators!" Wei Ying greets with his most obnoxious smile. Lan Zhan can't see it from his position, but he can hear it in every syllable, knows exactly what expression this must be by the sound of his voice alone. "You get cuter every year, don't you?" 

It's meant to embarrass them. It's meant to be mean. Wei Ying is part demon, after all, and while some demons have largely integrated into society, he's very much still in the minority. He recognizes the boy in front as Ouyang Zizhen, who stutters but fails to speak. A flush has spread down his cheeks onto his neck. Wei Ying has not even gotten within ten feet of him.

"Quiet," Lan Zhan demands, infusing his words with impatience. His motivation will be read as controlling today's practice demon rather than feeling affronted that he was right. Already, the disciples are getting flustered.

Wei Ying might as well be deployed as a weapon.

He receives a grin for his efforts, every inch the callous little brat in his eyes. "Or what, Lan er-gege?" 

More disciples have filtered into the room, now, and he hears several gasps go through them at the impertinence of the address, spreading like wildfire. Lan Zhan wants to silence him with his fingers, shove them into Wei Ying's mouth like he's forgotten he is physically incapable of gagging on them. He manages to resist the urge. 

"Shameless." He says it with disappointment. He uses the same voice to tell Wei Ying when he has misbehaved at home.

There is satisfaction in watching Wei Ying's pupils dilate, even when he plays it off: "That's me! This er-gege is really illustrious and wise." He turns to one of the Nie disciples and winks. "If only he weren't so boring. He's so stuffy; I haven't had a single positive reaction!"

He employs his pout at the class, now. It is intentionally devastating. "I deserve to be admired," he says quietly, as though letting them in on a secret. They're still waiting on two more disciples, but no one seems to notice or care. The whole room leans a touch closer as Wei Ying does, mirroring him without even thinking. Lan Zhan moves around the back to the side wall, edging over so he can see Wei Ying's full expression. He's just in time to watch as he tugs at the scoop neck of his cropped shirt, his cheeks delicately blushing. "Don't you think so?"

Everyone starts talking at once. Lan Zhan, who has received the only inoculation to Wei Ying's brand of magic — love — realizes this will be much harder than he anticipated. It's been so long since he saw Wei Ying in his proper element.

Lan Zhan wants to touch him. Want is not word enough for what he craves in that moment.

Class started two minutes ago.

"Wei Wuxian." After so long, the name feels foreign on his tongue, but the sound of it snaps Wei Ying's head in his direction.

"Lan Zhan," he says with wide eyes, impertinent and familiar, "aren't you a little affected?" 

He is very affected. He is so affected he is currently imagining what Wei Ying would look like fucked raw over his desk. 

"This," he lies, dragging his eyes across Wei Ying in a way he knows can be cutting, "is not enough to tempt me." 

With their attention drawn away from Wei Ying, his disciples are able to think a bit clearer. Most of them are red at the ears. Several mumble that they didn't think it would be this strong, this fast. Others seem to marvel at Lan Zhan's restraint. He's cheating, of course, but before he met Wei Ying he did not understand the fun inherent in the occasional white lie. Now he does. 

Now he almost wants to laugh at the blatant discomfort on Wen Sizhui's silent face.

"Mean." This word is said with breathless anticipation as Lan Zhan heads in his direction. He is far better at this play acting business than Wei Ying, who looks entranced.

Lan Zhan stops not far away from where he continues to lounge. Most of his legs are exposed by the shorts he's wearing. His ponytail, as always, is slightly crooked. "Pathetic," he says back, loud enough for everyone to hear before turning to the class. 

"You must never let a demon gain the upper hand." He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand, indicating that most of them had already done so. The class withers a bit. "If you begin on a demon's terms, you will finish on them, with poor results." Lan Zhan takes a good look around the room. "How many of you felt inclined to follow Wei Wuxian's instructions?"

Most of the disciples raise their hands, even Wen Sizhui. After a moment of cool glaring from Lan Zhan, the rest of the disciples also have their hands raised in spite of their thin faces. He nods, turning to Wei Wuxian.

"How long would it take you to kill them?" 

He thinks about it, tongue peeking out from between his lips. Someone makes a tiny, audible noise that is quickly muffled by their hand. Lan Zhan does not call attention to it. 

"All at once? A few days, but I'd probably pick my favorite seven or so and haul them home to take my time." 

There is a shudder pulsing through the room that is half fear, half arousal.

Lan Zhan turns to the class and gestures to Wei Ying. "Now that you have experienced the dangers for yourself, I trust you will approach such beings cautiously." 

Though he can't feel the effects of Wei Ying's abilities now, he knows when he dampens them by the way the spiritual hum is sucked from the room. Putting on his teaching hat for a moment, Wei Ying stands up fully, clasping his hands behind his back in a way he probably thinks looks innocent. The bones at his hips are visible above the hem of his shorts, and they are only accentuated by the pose. He probably doesn't realize the effect it will have, magic or not.

Wei Ying has an interesting view of himself.

"Now listen up. I'm only a half-demon, so even enhancing my abilities using my golden core, it's not as potent as the real thing. I could still have taken most of you just then. I know you feel safe here at school, but don't let your guard down!" He winks. "I'm very cute and blend in most places. I could sit behind you in class and you wouldn't notice until I was draining you dry at my place."

"I would hope," Lan Zhan interjects, stern gaze sweeping the room, "that none of my disciples would so easily walk to their deaths."

"Easily?" Wei Ying huffs in his direction. "You could give me a little credit. I didn't say I was weak."

"You may as well have." Collective gasps go through the room.

Wei Ying's mouth drops open. His eyes narrow, and only Lan Zhan, the person who knows him best, is able to see the thrum of aroused competitiveness behind them. Wei Ying has realized he's losing, and he hates going down without a fight.

Brat.

"The first tactic you should employ when dealing with such demons is Deflection. Ignore them or deny what they want, and they will become agitated immediately." He forces himself not to look in Wei Ying's direction. "It is also the hardest path. Should you fail, your next option is to Retreat and Return." 

Lan Jingyi raises his hand until Lan Zhan nods. "Option 2: Run Away?"

The class laughs, but Wei Ying interjects before Lan Zhan can quiet them. "Yes. If you feel your thoughts being affected like you did earlier, run. Even pure-bloods only have a range of 500 yards, give or take. Once you're out of range you can move on to this." Wei Ying motions over to the array. "The moment I step inside the boundary, I won't be able to get out, and you won't be able to get in as it slowly drains power, which is important, because it won't affect whether my abilities work on you." He smiles. "This is why Deflection is still the best option. There's a chance that a very crafty demon would figure out how to trick you into sabotaging your own array." 

"How?" asks a Qishan disciple.

"It is not hard," Lan Zhan explains. "When caught in their power, you are compelled to be pleasing. Spilling your blood over the edge, for example, would be considered pleasing. Think of how you felt. Could you say no?" 

The class murmurs uncertainly, but Lan Zhan only nods. "This is what you must practice." 

So they do. Normally Lan Zhan would leave a guest lecturer to their devices and get paperwork done, leaving himself less to do at home with Wei Ying. In this case, he wants to watch, observing and offering the occasional callous comment on Wei Ying's performance. 

In spite of his competitive nature, he is still losing. He's tossing out all sorts of insults about their rigid, unfeeling professor, all of which remind Lan Zhan of their earliest interactions in their own classes. Still, whenever Lan Zhan offers critique, he notes how Wei Ying instinctively leans toward him. Once, when he's explaining which meditation practices will be most helpful in converting to mental exercises for this task, Lan Zhan stops behind him and says "cute" in a low, patronizing tone. Wei Ying shudders visibly and stands there entirely mute as Lan Zhan proposes an alternative.

Not that Wei Ying's suggestion was not good, of course. It was. That's not the point of this little demonstration.

He does get him back with a loud note about Lan Zhan making mistakes in the array, cheerfully pointing out his own pink marks. The disciples are shocked. They have never seen Lan Zhan make a single mistake with his chalk. 

Wen Sizhui finds him in an observation period. "You are not subtle," he hisses, his expression more embarrassed than annoyed. 

Since they're not being watched, Lan Zhan lets his mouth twitch up at the corners, looking down to meet Wen Sizhui's panicked gaze. "I only have to make it to the bell."

Poor Wen Sizhui is scandalized. 

Lan Zhan pats him on the shoulder.

"Alright, alright, who wants to try their luck!" His head snaps around just in time to watch Wei Ying dramatically leap into the center of the array, eyelashes fluttering as he feels the effects. "Ooooh, so powerful, Lan Zhan, and is that repression I sense in your spiritual energy?" He waggles his brows as Lan Zhan approaches, making most of the kids giggle. 

"From where I stand, the one repressed is you." He walks around the array to make sure it's secure one last time, that the kids cannot truly break through, before nodding once. "If you are finished playing, begin." 

"Yes, sir!" Wei Ying does a charming little salute before he looks around the room. "Keep in mind I'll be focused on you instead of before, when I was working everyone at once. It's gonna feel a lot more intense." Done playing serious, Wei Ying grins. "Now that I'm done threatening you, who wants to start?" 

It is a little bit like watching a train wreck in slow motion. No, it is not so dangerous. It is like watching grown adults try and fail to hit a pinyata at a child's birthday party.

I cannot let the entire class do this, he thinks dazedly as he watches Ouyang Zizhen hop around the array on one foot. Wei Ying is cackling, it is demonic. 

Lan Zhan loves him so much. This is an act of revenge designed to break him and win Wei Ying the entire game. He would marry him again right this instant if he could.

He stops it when he's made his way through half the class. Their success rate is only about 20%, with one memorable Nie disciple biting through her tongue rather than singing Katy Perry's Dark Horse; Wei Ying congratulates her with delighted applause while Wen Sizhui conveniently gets out of line to transfer her some spiritual energy for a faster heal. Lan Zhan squints at him, but he studiously avoids his gaze.

"You see, now, why the double shielding formation is necessary. You must wait until it has drained their abilities entirely before entering to incapacitate." This is him pointing out the obvious, but he almost laughs again at the fervent nods he receives. He considers the room for a moment. There's only two minutes until the bell. He'll probably have Wei Ying come in again after they've had a couple weeks to practice their mental fortitude. 

He knows Wei Ying has prepared a closer for this presentation. He shut himself in their guest room to practice and told Lan Zhan if he eavesdropped he would be 'cheating', to which all he could say was that eavesdropping was against the principles. The principles of Gusu Lan are not meant to be followed perfectly to the letter, more strictures that ensure you conduct yourself well in your daily life, but Wei Ying enjoys being reminded of the rules he does not follow. 

He likes to flout them with, as he says, 'pizazz'. Sometimes he likes to be punished for it.

Lan Zhan should let him give it. He worked hard to offer his students a memorable lesson. When he looks at Wei Ying, however, his expression is... smug. Powerful.

The look of a winner.

"There is," he says before thinking it through, "another option for subduing such demons."

The class focuses. Wei Ying makes an interested noise, his eyes bright as he cranes his neck, trying to watch Lan Zhan walk around behind him. Eventually he gives up and faces the class, hunching so he can put his elbow on his knee and rest his chin in his hand. 

Lan Zhan eyes the clock. Less than a minute.

"It will only work with time and patience," he explains. "There is no guarantee that it will work at all. Perhaps that is why it is not typically taught." He sizes up the array, considering, before digging his nail into the pad of his thumb behind his back. He waits for blood to well on his skin.

"It is also the most effective."

"Then why wouldn't everyone use it?" Lan Jingyi calls from the back, where he ran after Wei Ying made him backflip over the risers and he briefly smacked his head. 

Lan Zhan uses his non-bleeding hand to reach behind his head and undo the knot which keeps his forehead ribbon in place. He doesn't need to look at the clock; the bell sounds through the room, but none of the students except Wen Sizhui make to leave. His mentee darts silently out of the room. Lan Zhan will send him an edible arrangement.

The rest are too caught up in what his answer will be, having been taken under by this magic one too many times themselves.

"It requires early investment," Lan Zhan says as he holds out his hand and lets a few drops of blood break the chalk line at his feet. 

Wei Ying gasps, popping up from his hunched position. "Lan Zhan." 

He sucks the blood from his thumb absently as he steps forward into the now-useless array, taking his ribbon and looping it around Wei Ying's neck. "The most rewarding solution," he says as he ties it around the vulnerable skin at Wei Ying's throat, "is to tame them." 

Lan Zhan wrenches Wei Ying backward so he's leaning against his legs, forcing him to go up to his knees before he topples over. From here, he can see Wei Ying's eyes struggle to stay open, his hands clenched at his sides. "So smart, er-gege," he manages, his voice slow and sweet.

It takes a moment to remember there are still students in front of them. Lan Zhan looks up and has no clue what his face is doing. "You are dismissed," he tells them, and just like that the classroom empties.

Hm. They might gossip about this.

He finds it very hard to care when Wei Ying flicks a lazy hand in the direction of the door, which slams shut and locks itself at once.

 

 

 

 

Lan Zhan is sure he had plans. They involved leaving this classroom, enjoying the five minute sword ride home with Wei Ying squirming in his arms, and something about their bed. 

None of these plans have been furthered by pressing Wei Ying down atop the broken array and fucking his tongue into his husband's mouth.

He feels — something, very powerful, possibly deranged, distraught over the tiny noises Wei Ying makes as he struggles against Lan Zhan's grip. He's got both of his wrists in one hand and trapped above his head. He knows Wei Ying does not want to be freed, in spite of how he'd immediately take advantage should he get the drop on Lan Zhan and escape. When he cannot, he hitches his leg around Lan Zhan's hips instead, making a very compelling argument in the twist of his own.

Wei Ying was very smart today. Very together. Lan Zhan feels an ridiculous urge to fuck him stupid. As empty-headed as he feels, right now, laying him out on the floor of his own classroom without a single silencing talisman in place.

When even cultivators of their ability need to breathe, he presses his mouth to that same mottled spot under Wei Ying's jaw, producing a noise that in no way belongs within the halls of a prestigious university. "Lan Zhan," he gasps around a hitching breath, "you — ah — you won." 

He waits for more, moving to set his teeth around an unblemished section of Wei Ying's throat. Lan Zhan feels the silk of his own ribbon against his chin and it sets him ablaze; he wants to see the imprint of teeth above it, red and terrible and his. The tighter he holds him the more frantic Wei Ying is as he ruts upward, those tight shorts he decided to wear becoming a regrettable decision, he's sure. Lan Zhan does not offer to undo them, verbal or otherwise. He curls his hand around the bared skin of Wei Ying's thigh and grinds. 

"It was, it was," Wei Ying slurs, affected not only by his own arousal but by the way Lan Zhan's pools in him as well, "a technicality, though."

Lan Zhan is not pleased with his ability to remember the word technicality. He is not doing his job well enough, it seems.

"Was it?" he asks, sliding his hand up from Wei Ying's thigh and slowly bringing it under his shirt.

He waits. Wei Ying hangs on a thread of anticipation.

When it's clear Lan Zhan expects an answer, he relents. "You were planning on it, before — ah, ah, ah!" His hazy speech has been interrupted by Lan Zhan's ruthless twist at his nipple, which is extremely sensitive when Wei Ying is not already riding the high of their combined arousal. He makes a high, obscene noise that Lan Zhan cuts off with his hand on Wei Ying's mouth, straddling his hips to keep himself balanced. 

"Quiet," he hisses, wanting to watch him struggle and fail. He considers something, sliding back into his persona from earlier, testing the waters. "Don't embarrass me." 

It's only a guess, but there's something terribly satisfying about watching Wei Ying's eyes widen, feeling the way his hips strain upward in a desperate play for friction. He lets his hand slide until his fingers only partially cover Wei Ying's mouth, allowing him to speak but still able to feel the movement of his mouth against his own skin. "Color?"

"So very green," Wei Ying breathes before craning his neck to suck two of Lan Zhan's fingers into his mouth. 

The bow he tied earlier is crooked now, askew to the side of Wei Ying's neck. The array is smeared and hazy beneath him, and dark hair spills from his ponytail across it like ink. He chases Lan Zhan's fingers like he can figure out how to choke on them.

There is no deserving something like this. All he can do is take advantage.

Every time he sucks, Lan Zhan is sure his entire body throbs, but he's fairly certain the only showcase to this effect is the redness of his ears. "Am I to presume your forfeit?" 

Wei Ying moans, which is not an answer. He makes a hurt noise when Lan Zhan takes his fingers away, trailing the wet touch down his neck, over his shirt, stopping to press his hand down on Wei Ying's chest. 

"Well?"

Wei Ying manages to prop himself up on his elbows, though it's a bit of a scramble. "Yes, yeah, please, I — "

"Good." He cuts him off because he knows it will excite him; watching Wei Ying shudder is one of his favorite things to do. He levers himself up entirely, leaving Wei Ying behind on the ground; his tiny, bereft protestation makes Lan Zhan want to smile.

He turns to walk to his desk instead, leaning slightly against it with a raised brow. 

Wei Ying is panting and wide-eyed. Lan Zhan might call him debauched. 

"I'm waiting." 

He scrambles out of the array without further encouragement, taking about four steps on his own before crumpling right back down to his knees in front of Lan Zhan.

"Is this to be my reward?" 

Wei Ying nods rapidly, reaching to undo Lan Zhan's belt. He lets him do it, but his tone is withering even as his gaze stays rapt on Wei Ying's features. 

"Common. I can get this as easily at home." At home it would not be in the middle of his own classroom, nor would it haunt him every single time he teaches for the rest of term, but that's not the point.

The point is the forlorn sound in Wei Ying's throat as he works even faster.

Lan Zhan takes the red scrunchie from Wei Ying's hair and slides it onto his own wrist. He runs his fingers through Wei Ying's hair. "No? You will make it special?" 

"I will, Lan Zhan, you have to let me —" His voice is hoarse. Lan Zhan wants to fuck his throat. He pulls Wei Ying's hair to cut his begging, enjoying the hitching breath he gets in response.

"Have to?" 

The question is sharp. Wei Ying panics. "N-no, you, I need to, please, I'll make it good I will I will — "

He's frozen in the act of unzipping Lan Zhan's pants. He pretends like he's considering letting Wei Ying escape, then nods. 

"Show me." 

The sound Wei Ying makes is so relieved, like he's the one being given a gift. Maybe he is. He's tried to explain the feedback loop he feels when they have sex, many times, but Lan Zhan will never actually understand. He knows that Wei Ying doesn't feel the exact sensations he does, it isn't a mirror, but he feels the weight of it as it transfers, the pleasure a direct conduit between them. 

Lan Zhan feels good when he does this for Wei Ying, but it's nowhere close to how fast Wei Ying can come from it.

He doesn't waste time. The moment he can shove Lan Zhan's clothes down enough to get to him he's levering up on his knees, taking his cock into his mouth with a moan. Wei Ying needs no time to acclimate, his body opening up easily for anything he is offered.

It is special, because it's Wei Ying. It's always special.

"Was this your plan?" he asks, voice dark as he lets Wei Ying start on his own terms, working into a rhythm that makes his body sing. "Invade every part of my life until I think of nothing else?" 

Wei Ying makes a high noise around him and swirls his tongue. Lan Zhan tightens his grip until Wei Ying cannot move at all. He whines. Lan Zhan pulls him almost all the way off so he can hear that sound again.

"Greedy," he accuses, but it's a little too breathless. He, too, is affected.

Wei Ying nods and fights harder to take him back in. Lan Zhan wonders if you can die from loving someone too desperately.

"Too much for your own good, perhaps." His voice doesn't shake in spite of how hot he feels, from head to toe. He thinks his hands might be trembling. "No matter. I will show you." 

He knows the sound Wei Ying makes; it is one of the moans that usually signals he's trying not to come.

Lan Zhan twists Wei Ying's hair around his hand to secure him in place, tapping his cheek so Wei Ying will look at him. "You may come," he says, and then he thrusts his cock down his throat.

It's — he should not say perfect, nothing can be perfect, but that's what it is. Perfect. In these moments of delirium he can allow himself to think Wei Ying is perfect. His eyes glassy and starting to fill with tears, his mouth wet and warm around him, saliva coating his chin and dripping down onto his farce of a shirt. The way he moans every time, like he loves nothing more than Lan Zhan inside him, and the wet hck sounds coming from his throat uncontrollably. 

If he were not so close, he would pause and allow Wei Ying time to breathe, because he won't ask and the first time he did this he passed out rather than tapping Lan Zhan's thigh. He is close, though. 

Wei Ying will not have time to suffocate today, though he enjoys it as much as he enjoys anything else.

He can't help treating him a little rougher, his grip tightening as his thrusts become sloppy and deep. Wei Ying makes desperate little noises around his cock, rocking forward slightly and — fuck, coming, he's coming without a hand on himself at all, shaking around him and sucking desperately like he can make Lan Zhan come with him through sheer force of will.

He's not wrong. The sight and sound of Wei Ying coming because he loves Lan Zhan's cock in his mouth takes him over the edge, too, spilling down his throat with a punched-out moan. When he pulls out, Wei Ying slumps, forehead against Lan Zhan's thigh as he gasps for air. Lan Zhan eases his hold, taking a few steadying breaths himself and carding gentle fingers through the mess he's made of Wei Ying's hair. He nuzzles Lan Zhan's leg.

His heart feels too big for his chest.

Lan Zhan buttons his clothes once more before reaching into his pocket, the modern version of a qiankun sleeve. The transportation talisman is only in there for emergencies, but to Lan Zhan, the idea of anyone else seeing Wei Ying like this certainly constitutes an emergency. He uses a miniscule flare of spiritual energy to keep the talisman hovering in the air before reaching down to gather Wei Ying in his arms. 

"Home?" he asks muzzily, looking like he could fall asleep at any time, but also like he might like to go three or four more rounds. He'll investigate this when they get back.

"Home," Lan Zhan agrees, nodding in the direction of the talisman, which whirs to life in a flash of blue light.