Lan Zhan never thought he would grow to like the motorcycle.
He used to see them on the highway and wonder what sort of person would choose to drive one, “death traps,” as his uncle called them. Lan Zhan could only determine it had to be somebody reckless, somebody with no concern for their own safety or that of those around them. They were too fast, too wild.
Then Wei Ying showed up at his apartment building with one, sporting a beaming grin as he tucked his helmet underneath his arm, and Lan Zhan’s heart very nearly skipped a beat. Wei Ying stood up for a moment to put it in full view.
Everything about it was intimidating, the size of it, both too large and too small, the bone-shaking rumble as Wei Ying revved it up next to the curb, the smell of exhaust, sharp and nauseating.
A part of Lan Zhan almost backed out right then, told Wei Ying that he couldn’t do it, but Wei Ying looked so proud, and so good , tall and strong in his leather jacket, eyes lambent in the twilight, wisps of dark hair framing his cheeks, that he couldn’t dream of denying him. He couldn’t deny Wei Ying, not then, not ever.
He didn’t remember the first time in any sort of cohesive way. It was too disorienting, too terrifying. All he remembers is holding onto Wei Ying’s waist much tighter than was necessary, burying his face between Wei Ying’s shoulder blades, breathing in the spice and leather, and willing it to be over.
Wei Ying laughed when Lan Zhan forgot to let go.
“Good boy, Lan Zhan -- you were so brave!”
The first time, he couldn’t appreciate the rush that came from riding, the freedom. Nightlife flashed by them in a kaleidoscope of street signs and traffic lights, shops and restaurants too insignificant to notice. They left everything behind as Wei Ying took them beyond the city, where nothing or no one could catch them.
Lan Zhan realized his heart was fluttering. But after a while, he found he was no longer afraid.
The way people watch them is strangely gratifying. Lan Zhan’s coworkers were flabbergasted the first time Wei Ying picked him up outside of the office, when Lan Zhan took his usual spot behind him. They whispered to themselves, and the next day he swore they were all staring at him, amazed that he was still alive.
But what he likes the most is Wei Ying, how he rides into the night like a figure of somebody’s dreams, exuding cool confidence on the outside, his blood running hot and fierce on the inside, the way he can’t keep his hands to himself as they burst through the garage, barely giving himself enough time to shut off the engine before he gets them underneath Lan Zhan’s shirt.
They haven’t left the bike. Wei Ying is leaning back in his seat as Lan Zhan straddles his waist with his legs. Wei Ying gropes at him freely, his hands rough and warm. One hand caresses Lan Zhan from neck to navel, playing with his nipples, pressing into his abs, fingers curling around his hips while the other travels down to Lan Zhan’s ass, giving it a long, affectionate squeeze before resting at his spine to keep him from tipping over backwards.
“Ah… ah, Lan Zhan...” he pants.
Wei Ying begins kissing his neck, under his jaw, the corner of his lips, little nips across his skin. At the barest brush of contact, Lan Zhan quickly grows impatient and takes Wei Ying’s chin, kissing him deeply, parting his mouth with an equally impatient tongue. Wei Ying tastes like cinnamon gum. He keeps kissing Wei Ying as he runs his hands through his hair. He musses it, snatching Wei Ying’s hair tie and securing it around his own wrist..
Lan Zhan gives Wei Ying’s hair a firm tug, exposing his neck where he fastens his lips, feeling the artery throb beneath his sun-flecked skin. There’s one window in the garage, so high up it almost touches the ceiling, and dusk is fast approaching.
Wei Ying’s low chuckle vibrates in Lan Zhan’s chest. “Insatiable, hm, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Zhan can hardly help himself. Although he doesn’t fear the motorcycle anymore, his adrenaline still spikes every time they take a ride. The energy just won’t leave on its own. It has to be expended in some way. It itches all over his body until he can’t keep his hands off of Wei Ying either.
Lan Zhan answers the question by kissing Wei Ying on the mouth again, harder and deeper this time, kissing him breathless like they’ll never be able to kiss again, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. Wei Ying moans and bucks his hips, and Lan Zhan feels the press of his erection against his ass. It’s then that Lan Zhan realizes he’s hard too, tight in the front of his jeans.
Wei Ying puts his hand on Lan Zhan’s chest and gently pushes him back. Their lips come apart like a suction breaking, a wet pop! as a string of saliva falls between them.
“Let me go for a moment, hm?” Wei Ying says against his ear. “I want my mouth on you, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan wants that too. He wants it desperately, wants Wei Ying placing sloppy, dripping kisses -- he is. He rucks up Lan Zhan’s shirt and starts at his chest, tracing his skin with open-mouthed kisses, his lips just as devout as his hands were. He runs his mouth over Lan Zhan’s nipple and bites. Lan Zhan draws in a shuddering breath. Wei Ying, as if apologizing for it, puts his lips there again, just lightly kissing.
Lan Zhan has his hands on either side of Wei Ying’s face, carding through his hair again as Wei Ying moves his lips cleverly, here and there and everywhere. For a moment, the brush of them almost tickles, but then Wei Ying is pressing them down with intention, down Lan Zhan’s stomach, past his navel, stopping at the waistband of his jeans.
“Lan Zhan,” he says, a hint of something sharp in his voice. “Take this off.”
Although the garage is rather chilly, Lan Zhan doesn’t mind parting with the thin turtleneck. Wei Ying’s hands and lips have already made him too warm, cheeks flushed and ears hot. While Wei Ying holds onto his waist, Lan Zhan twists around to drape the garment over the front of the motorcycle.
The moment he turns back around, Wei Ying’s hands are cupping his ass, pulling him in close. “It’s a good thing I keep a clean bike,” he purrs, kissing Lan Zhan’s neck. “We can’t have Lan Zhan’s clothes getting dirty, can we? Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying cocks an eyebrow and flicks his gaze to Lan Zhan’s lap. “Take these off too.”
There’s something in Wei Ying’s voice, something dark and firm, that tells Lan Zhan he shouldn’t argue, even if taking off his jeans will be significantly more difficult in this position. Wei Ying seems to wise up to this, taking Lan Zhan by the hips and shifting him around until he’s just sitting on Wei Ying’s lap, his legs sticking out like he’s riding a horse sidesaddle. Lan Zhan lifts up for a moment and manages to wriggle out of his jeans.
In such an awkward predicament, he can’t catch them before they fall to the floor. They flop against the concrete, a puff of dust in the air. Lan Zhan tries to reach after them, but Wei Ying grabs Lan Zhan’s thigh and forcefully spreads his legs wide, stretching his groin as he hooks them around his waist once again.
“Aw, that’s a shame!”
Now a little piqued, Lan Zhan realizes he’s been stripped to his underwear, straddling Wei Ying, who’s still fully clothed. This hardly seems fair. He tries to take Wei Ying’s jacket from his shoulders, only for Wei Ying to grab his wrists.
“Ah ah ah.”
He points with his chin to the obvious tent in the front of Lan Zhan’s underwear, to the damp spot of precum.
“Look at how hard you are!” Wei Ying marvels. He slips a thumb underneath the side of Lan Zhan’s waistband -- “I wonder what we’d find if I just…” -- then takes it back.
He bursts out laughing. Burying his face into Lan Zhan’s chest, he tries to regain his composure.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Wei Ying says, still giggling. “Look at you. Look at how badly I’ve bullied you. I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. Why don’t you be a good boy and take these off, and then I’ll do fun things with you.”
“Take them off yourself.”
“Lan Zhan!” he chides. “Don’t be like this. I’ve made you mad, is that it? Okay, if you want them off, off they go.”
Wei Ying moves quickly with excitement, manhandling Lan Zhan into the same position when he took off his jeans. Lan Zhan doesn’t move an inch, so Wei Ying just tugs on the fabric until the boxer briefs slip out from under his ass. Wei Ying reaches down and takes them from Lan Zhan’s ankles.
Lan Zhan feels the cold of Wei Ying’s jeans against his skin as he straddles him again. His cock stands erect between his legs, dripping precum. Wei Ying looks down at it for a moment, just watching.
“Oh. Don’t need these anymore.”
Right in front of Lan Zhan’s face, Wei Ying balls up his underwear and throws them behind his shoulder. Lan Zhan doesn’t even see where they land.
“Wei Ying! ”
Enraged at the careless treatment, Lan Zhan begins to struggle, squirming in Wei Ying’s lap. Wei Ying doesn’t let him though, grabbing his cock with one hand and immediately pumping him mercilessly fast.
“Ah!” he cries out, gripping Wei Ying by the shoulders.
It’s too much, too fast. Made slick by his own fluid, Wei Ying only has to flick his wrist to have Lan Zhan writhing, whimpering, helplessly fucking himself into Wei Ying’s hand, waiting for release, for him to stop, for anything.
“You care about them now, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks, jerking him even faster.
Wei Ying doesn’t give it to him easy, edging him to near orgasm once, twice, three times, while speaking filthy nonsense.
“See? You don’t care about them at all, do you? And you don’t need them. Now that I’ve got you like this, I don’t think I should ever let you go. What do you think, Lan Zhan? You want to get up and go looking for your underwear, or do you want to stay right here on gege’s lap?”
“Sh-shameless!” Lan Zhan manages just before he comes, spilling into Wei Ying’s hand and onto his jeans. Boneless, he collapses against Wei Ying, dropping forward like a limp doll, cock still dribbling a few more drops of cum as the orgasm fades into the white space of his satiated mind.
“No no, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying has his hands on Lan Zhan’s face now, and he feels his own lukewarm seed being smeared across his cheek. “Don’t fall asleep, I have to fuck you now, remember?”
At the sound of that word, Lan Zhan pushes himself up on shaking legs, steadying himself by gripping Wei Ying’s thighs. “Then fuck me,” he says, looking Wei Ying square in the face.
Wei Ying makes some spluttered noise. Then, he begins digging around in his jacket pocket. After half a minute of searching, he doesn’t find what he’s looking for and frowns.
“Wei Ying -- ”
“I know, Lan Zhan, I know. Sheesh! So impatient. Ah, there it is.”
Wei Ying produces a small bottle of lube. He slicks his fingers and wastes no time pushing one up inside of Lan Zhan, immediately prodding, searching. Tongue wetting his lips in concentration, he just as quickly adds another, and Lan Zhan wraps his arms around Wei Ying as if he’s hugging him.
“Mmm,” he whines. He pushes down to meet Wei Ying’s fingers, taking them past the knuckles then fully inside. Wei Ying makes a scissoring motion, stretching out the hole as best as he can with two fingers. When he’s satisfied with that, he adds a third, sliding it in alongside the first two.
“Shit,” Wei Ying mutters.
Lan Zhan looks down at Wei Ying’s fingers inside of him, wondering where the problem could possibly lie.
“I-I tossed the bottle,” Wei Ying says, sounding nervous. “I wasn’t thinking, I just -- ” Just like Lan Zhan’s underwear. “What’re you -- ”
Perhaps more impatient than he’s ever felt before, Lan Zhan pushes up with his hands, Wei Ying’s fingers all slipping out of him with a wet squelch. For the first time since they drove into the garage, Lan Zhan climbs off of the motorcycle.
Wei Ying seems to understand his intentions just in time, hastily bringing out his cock as Lan Zhan drops to his knees on the concrete. It’s a near thing. Lan Zhan almost begins sucking off his jeans. He takes Wei Ying fast and deep, in a way that would have made him choke just months ago, but now it’s Wei Ying choking above him.
“Ah, Lan Zhan!” he squeals. “So resourceful! You’re… so eager!”
Lan Zhan focuses on the smooth glide of velvety flesh in and out of his mouth, too effortless to be lewd, on the hand wound in his hair, tugging in sync with Wei Ying’s increasingly breathy moans, on Wei Ying’s cock, quickly thickening to full hardness. Wei Ying’s praise is endless.
“Good boy, that’s it. Suck me off. Get it nice and wet, Lan Zhan. That’s it -- fuck. Good boy.”
Not long after, Wei Ying tugs at Lan Zhan’s hair again until his cock slips out of his mouth.
“Knock it off, or I’ll come all over your pretty face.”
Lan Zhan looks down at Wei Ying’s cock, erect and deep red, then in between his own thighs, where he can still feel the slick of lubricant. He climbs back onto the motorcycle and holds onto Wei Ying’s shoulder with one hand, using the other to spread his cheeks, poised over the head of Wei Ying’s cock.
He sinks down. Once the tip disappears inside of him, and Lan Zhan feels exactly what he’s been craving and more, the stretch, the heat, he lets the whole of his weight take the entirety of Wei Ying’s cock in a tight glide. Wei Ying groans in his ear. It hurts so good, so perfectly, like he’s been speared by a rod of hot iron, sending shockwaves throughout his insides.
“Lan Zhan… are you -- ?”
Rather than deter him, the pain just spurs him on. Lan Zhan secures both of his hands on Wei Ying’s shoulders and begins rolling his hips. Wei Ying grips the meat of his ass, thrusting up to meet his motions.
Their panting echoes in the cool damp of the garage. The bike creaks and shakes underneath them, still secure. Wei Ying now has his arm around Lan Zhan’s back, slick with sweat, nails digging into his skin. His other hand takes Lan Zhan by the chin and kisses him. They kiss, practically drooling into each other. They only stop to take that scant moment to breathe.
The feeling of Wei Ying inside of him is exquisite, but Lan Zhan wants more . Deeper. Instead of soft rolls of his hips, he uses the leverage of his body to bounce up and down on Wei Ying’s cock, the cock nearly slipping out entirely before being swallowed up by Lan Zhan’s tight passage again and again. This angle achieves what he was looking for, and Wei Ying keeps the same pace, slamming relentlessly into that spot, driving in with a full-bodied snap of his hips.
Desperately, Lan Zhan clutches the hand grips of the motorcycle behind him. Every thrust becomes an electrifying jolt, and the feeling growing in his groin is the most intense he’s ever experienced. Shutting his eyes, his mouth falls open around a soundless cry, but he never forgets Wei Ying. When he chants his name, it’s pure worship.
“Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying.”
Lan Zhan comes, chanting, moaning, crying Wei Ying’s name. Most of the cum falls back onto his own cock, rolling down his thighs. Following the orgasm, there’s a pool of soft warmth inside of him, and his core muscles are begging him to stop, but he doesn’t.
Lan Zhan keeps moving for Wei Ying, keeps riding, keeps taking his cock until Wei Ying is shooting cum deep inside of him, until Wei Ying crashes their bodies together into a crushing hug, until clots of cum are dripping out of Lan Zhan’s stretched hole.
They hold onto each other like this for a long time, learning how to breathe again. Wei Ying’s grip never falters. Lan Zhan begins running his hands through Wei Ying’s damp hair. On second thought, he takes Wei Ying’s hair tie from around his wrist and twists Wei Ying’s hair into a loose bun, the illusion of composure.
Wei Ying laughs softly. “So attentive, Lan Zhan.”
Wei Ying gingerly pulls them apart, their skin sticking to each other’s, so they can kiss once again. He lightly brushes Lan Zhan’s cheek with the back of his hand, just looking at him. His mouth curves into a gentle smile, only for Lan Zhan, and he says --
“I’m sorry about your underwear.”
Lan Zhan places a chaste kiss on his lips.
“You must make it up to me.”
Wei Ying grins. “I’ll buy you a whole pack, sweetheart. That is, if you’re ready for another ride.”