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The morning sun broke Meng Yao's slumber with softly golden rays like an icepick through his brain. His pained whimper sent a fresh burst of agony radiating through his sinuses. Ugh. He was going to kill Wen Chao. Unless he'd already done it in the blank space that was last night, in which case he wouldn't even fight the charges. It would be worth it.
At his noise of distress, the arm cinching him in to a broad, warm chest squeezed him closer. It was at that point Meng Yao realised he was one, not alone in the (unfamiliar) bed; and two, he was very, very naked.
His eyes snapped open, then slammed closed again, and he rolled away to bury his face in the pillows with another torturous groan.
The arm trailed after him, then withdrew abruptly as though snatched back. This was accompanied by an odd sort of gurgle; possibly Meng Yao wasn't the only one suffering.
With as much of his mind as was in operation around the edges of his blinding headache, he harboured brief hopes that whoever-it-was would be considerate enough to vanish before Meng Yao had to deal with him in any way. That would be nice. Meng Yao could concentrate all his energy on dying in peace, then.
"Oh, dear," an unfamiliar voice said, rather weakly, and Meng Yao had to lift his head and squint in the other person's direction to make sure they weren't ninety.
He froze like that, propped on one forearm, bleary, hungover, his mouth tasting like things no one should ever willingly put in their mouths. Blinded by the sun a second time, except this time the pangs stabbed down into his chest.
At least even blackout drunk, I still have good taste, Meng Yao thought semi-hysterically, too gobsmacked not to stare at the most beautiful man in the world.
The most beautiful man in the world was staring back, lips parted, hair all over the place and abso-fucking-lutely edible. Slowly, he reached out to coax Meng Yao upright. Meng Yao was too blinded by panic that he had the most beautiful man on the entire planet in his bed and he couldn't even remember his name, thus ensuring that he would be mortally offended and Meng Yao would never see him again, to resist.
For one dizzy, slightly nauseous moment, Meng Yao permitted this apparition to touch his arm as though this were in fact reality. He rubbed his face with his free hand.
It was at that point they saw the rings.
Lan Huan blinked as the lovely apparition he'd somehow found himself in bed with seized his hand, scowling at it in a way Lan Huan probably shouldn't have found so attractive. He inspected his own left hand, which was sporting what certainly looked like a matching heart-shaped ruby.
"Oh, dear." Lan Huan was vaguely aware that he was repeating himself, but stronger words seemed inadequate. Also, his head was throbbing like he was sitting under a car with the bass turned up too loud. "This is terribly awkward, but—I'm afraid you have the advantage of me."
The man whom surely Lan Huan had not gotten drunk and married at a Wen event in Las Vegas hid his face in his hands and laughed hysterically.
Attempting not to squirm outright, Lan Huan rubbed at a bit of glitter on his arm. They had both somehow ended up covered in the stuff, which did perhaps contribute to the way the other man seemed to glow in the morning light. When he peeked over his fingers, Lan Huan had to admit that he really was just that devastatingly handsome, though. Asian features, delicately masculine bone structure, huge dark eyes that gave the impression of assessing Lan Huan, unreadable from behind their screen of improbably long lashes.
It took a moment for Lan Huan to track back up to his face from his hands when he let them fall. A little smile crooked the corner of that sweet bow of a mouth, revealing the brief hint of a dimple.
Much became clear when, instead of being angry or insulted, he said, "Not at all. Last night is a bit of a blur for me as well."
An answering laugh escaped Lan Huan before he could stop himself. "Ah. I'm sorry."
"Please, don't be," the stranger said with a wry smile that made Lan Huan's heart flip over in his chest. "It's nice to know we're both in the same boat, anyway."
Belatedly remembering his manners, Lan Huan said, "I'm Huan. Lan. Lan Huan." He clamped his jaw shut before he could make an even bigger idiot of himself.
A bigger smile, this time with dimples. "Meng Yao," (apparently) Meng Yao said, evidently having clocked Lan Huan's pronunciation of the tones because he responded in kind.
"Is that in the traditional order?" Lan Huan asked, just to be sure.
Meng Yao tipped his head in a nod. "Nǐ shuō zhōng wén ma?"
"Shuō," Lan Huan said.
A narrowing of the eyes into a sharper expression. "Gwóngdūng wá maa?"
"Màh màh die," he replied modestly, because he knew his accent in Cantonese was terrible. "Nihongo wa dōdesu ka?"
"Jissai ni wa," Meng Yao said. "Y español tambien?"
"Sì, claro. Ah—kyā āp hindī bolte haiṅ?"
Meng Yao shook his head. "I know some Tamil, though. BitHki Aarabi?"
"Atakallam qaliilan—bits and pieces of different dialects, mostly," Lan Huan clarified.
"Hm." Meng Yao eyed him with interest for a riveting moment, then shook himself. "Well. It's nice to meet you. Again, I suppose."
"I promise not to forget this time," Lan Xichen said, astounded that he ever could have in the first place.
"Unfortunately, that takes care of only one of our problems." Meng Yao rubbed his temples. If he didn't remember either, he must have a headache to match Lan Huan's.
He looked around. "Ah, perhaps some aspirin and a glass of water are in order? I always bring some to these events, but I'm afraid my bag is back in my hotel room. If you didn't pack any, I'm sure the hotel will be happy to send some up, though."
Meng Yao froze. "This isn't your room?"
"No?" Lan Huan met his eyes in growing confusion. "Isn't it yours?"
Slowly, Meng Yao shook his head. Lan Huan looked around: clearly a hotel bedroom, but a very nice one, much larger than what Lan Huan had booked, with a panoramic view he would have appreciated much more if the sun weren't currently doing its best to burn out his retinas and an absence of the ubiquitous accoutrements common to North American hotel rooms that suggested it was a part of a larger suite.
"Well. That's unsettling."
Meng Yao grimaced agreement. "All right; let's start at the beginning. Why are you in Vegas?"
"Wencorp is sponsoring a symposium of sorts for innovators in energy and engineering. It's a little outside my usual field of interest, but my brother invited me. He's a science correspondent."
"Well, then we're at least still in the same hotel."
"How do you know?"
Meng Yao stretched, still naked except for the sheets rucked around his hips, his lean and elegantly angular body covered in glitter and bruises—one peeking over his hip bone looked tantalisingly like a fingermark—that Lan Huan was increasingly aware he himself must have been responsible for, to pluck up a room service menu from the nightstand. He flipped it around to show the hotel logo. "That tracks, anyway. I'm here for the same thing; business consultant. I was drinking with Huaisang and his horrible friend, so I suppose we're lucky we didn't wake up in a pile of ashes this morning."
"Nie Mingjue's brother?" Huaisang wasn't noted for his involvement with the family business, but it was also a well-known fact that Mingjue hated this sort of event, and Wencorp categorically.
"You know him?" Meng Yao said. "Oh, good. I'm always happy when I can blame Huaisang for something," he added with a vindictive sort of cheer. Gathering the bedsheets, he scanned the room, then disappeared over the edge to fish something off the floor. The line of his back reduced Lan Huan to speechlessness once more.
"Dead," Meng Yao said flatly once he was upright again, and it took Lan Huan a moment to realise he meant the phone in his hand and not Huaisang.
Lan Huan cast around for his own phone, but most of his clothing did not seem to be in the bedroom. "Do you think we really...?"
Meng Yao looked down at the ring on his hand for rather a long moment. "Do we both have the legal ability to get married in the U.S. on less than a day's notice?"
"I do," Lan Huan admitted.
"Me, too. Dual citizenship; only good thing dad ever did for me." Meng Yao pressed the heel of his hand to the bridge of his nose. "Fuck, I need coffee."
There was a story there, but now wasn't the time. "I—"
Lan Huan was interrupted by a knocking at the outer door. "Room service!"
Hurriedly snagging the luxuriant fluffy hotel robes from the bench at the foot of the bed, Lan Huan handed one to Meng Yao before shrugging into the other and clambering out of bed with less than his usual grace.
"Looks like one of us was thinking ahead," Meng Yao said, belting the robe with a decided jerk and striding off purposefully in the direction of caffeine.
Lan Huan let him go first, following at a slower rate to look for his discarded slacks with, hopefully, his cellphone in them. When had he last charged it? He'd learned to carry the necessities with him over the years, but this was Las Vegas, not the Hindu Kush, and he wouldn't have anticipated needing quite so many redundancies.
When he looked up, Meng Yao was staring at a garment bag hanging over an unfamiliar carry-on and briefcase. Lan Huan's satchel and much-travelled bag were piled beside them.
The hotel staff knocked again, and Lan Huan glanced to Meng Yao for permission before opening the door.
On the room service cart was not breakfast, or even coffee. It was a three-tiered, heart-shaped blood-red wedding cake sparkling with edible glitter and topped with two suited figures, one taller than the other (out of bed, Meng Yao proved to be half a head or so shorter than Lan Huan, who ran tall for a Chinese or Chinese-American man, and occasionally felt rather conspicuous when actually in Asia). The card that came with it read, Congratulations Newlyweds! and was signed by Nie Huaisang.
"For fuck's sake," Meng Yao sighed. "Only in Vegas."
Meng Yao gave himself five minutes to freak out in the shower before kicking his brain back into gear. Right. This was fine. He could absolutely handle this.
He'd been oddly reluctant to take the ring off, but he needed to wash badly enough to be more grateful than disturbed at having his own toiletries on hand. There had been glitter in his mouth when he brushed his teeth; he could only assume it had infected all his internal organs by now and he'd be shedding flakes for the rest of his natural life. Meng Yao spared a moment's sympathy for the very nice hotel bed, which had been thoroughly permeated with the stuff and would now no doubt need to be ritually burned before the infestation spread to the rest of the building.
The hotel staff had delivered a small pile of red envelopes along with the ridiculous cake, which Meng Yao wasn't even going to think about. Someone bringing his luggage here meant not having to choose between wandering the hotel corridors in a bathrobe or doing the walk of shame in yesterday's suit, which would need to be sacrificed on the same pyre as the bed to prevent the glitter from contaminating his entire wardrobe, in order to retrieve his phone charger. It was currently plugged into the wall, and Meng Yao savoured the prospect of the retribution he would inflict on Huaisang when he got his hands on the horrible little brat.
Married. This was Vegas, of course, and Meng Yao had apparently allowed Huaisang and Wuxian to get him blackout drunk on flaming cocktails last night. But...really? Meng Yao was hardly the marrying kind; he wasn't the kind of person people introduced to their families at all. He wasn't usually the kind of person who even stayed for breakfast.
They'd have to get it annulled, of course. That was just a time limit thing, right? A certain familiar but not unpleasant ache indicated that their putative marriage had been quite thoroughly consummated. Unhelpfully, Meng Yao's brain presented him with the image of Lan Huan lounging naked in bed. Maybe he'd be amenable to divorce sex.
Not a productive line of thought. Meng Yao shut off the water and briskly towelled himself dry. He pulled on slacks and a light sweater he knew clung to him in very distracting ways, then slid the ring back onto his finger so he could admire it properly with no one there to judge. The ruby was the size of his fingernail, its setting pleasingly ornate, with an elegant, vintage look and a waterfall of diamonds. He imagined Lan Huan slipping it onto his finger.
Ridiculous. Meng Yao zipped his toiletries back up and stuffed them into his suitcase on his way through to the sitting room.
There, he found Lan Huan still en deshabille and unloading an impressive spread of breakfast choices off a second room service cart (he'd asked after any dietary restrictions before Meng Yao got in the shower). It was all very healthy-looking, with fruit and things made from fruits or vegetables and eggs and whole-wheat toast, plus thankfully a whole carafe of coffee that did not smell as though it had come out of a Folgers tin. Not greasy enough to be proper hangover food, but after some of Lan Huan's promised aspirin and the steam shower, Meng Yao thought he could probably manage to keep something down.
"Shower's yours."
Lan Huan looked up and his whole face brightened in a completely uncalled-for manner. "Thank you. Hopefully the coffee's to your liking; I asked them to send up something good, but I forgot to ask how you take it," he finished apologetically.
The consideration drew another more-real-than-necessary smile from Meng Yao. "Black, in as concentrated a form as possible."
Lan Huan hummed an acknowledgement and paused to immediately decant a cup for him. The mug already occupying a coaster on the glass coffee table had the gentler vegetal fragrance of green tea, Meng Yao noticed.
He accepted the coffee graciously, with a more intentional deployment of his dimples; their hands brushed. It made Meng Yao's stupid stomach want to do ill-advised gymnastics. Instead, he closed his eyes to the look on Lan Huan's face and let the first sip of coffee scour the next layer of fuzz off his brain.
Ignoring the wide array of healthy breakfast options, Meng Yao picked up the provided cake knife and cut a wedge out of the bottom heart. His glance caught briefly on the pile of hongbao and greeting cards; how many people knew, anyway? What had happened last night?
"Would you like a piece?" he asked Lan Huan sweetly. "Looks like it's chocolate."
Lan Huan didn't laugh so much as his expression warmed and his eyes crinkled in transparent pleasure. "Why not? It would be a shame to let it go to waste."
Meng Yao curled up in the bend of the sectional with his feet tucked under him and ate his cake. Lan Huan settled a polite number of cushions away, just outside the reach of temptation. To keep his hands out of trouble, Meng Yao grabbed his phone instead. When he clicked the button, the screen flashed to life on the boot sequence, and he let it fall again. "How's yours?"
"Oh!" Lan Huan dug a phone in a waterproof impact case out of his robe pocket. "The room service came much quicker than I expected, and I got distracted. Thanks for reminding me."
Retrieving a sturdy canvas satchel from the pile of luggage Meng Yao hadn't recognised, he fished out a power bank and checked the charge before attaching it to his phone. Meng Yao couldn't quite get an angle on what else was in there without making it obvious he was snooping. He did notice the glittery humps of discarded clothing had been picked up from the floor and folded on the sideboard.
"You're not military," he judged on the basis of Lan Huan's long (silky, nice-smelling, still somewhat glittery) hair. "Engineer?"
"I was in the Peace Corps for a while," Lan Huan said, because of course he needed to be more perfect. If he turned out to be a doctor Meng Yao was flat-out giving up. "Now I'm mostly a freelance photographer. Photojournalist, if I'm feeling ambitious."
The world had some small scrap of mercy this morning, at least. "So you must travel a lot, too," Meng Yao surmised. That would explain the languages.
"It's true, you might be married to a vagabond," Lan Huan admitted, with a rueful smile crooking one corner of a mouth that should have been, frankly, illegal.
Meng Yao tipped his head. "I'm not much better."
"You said you were a consultant?"
Who even remembered that? "International business." Meng Yao shrugged. "Interesting to do, boring to talk about."
"Only when the people you're talking to don't ask the right questions," Lan Huan disagreed. "I can't imagine anything being truly dull if it can hold your attention. Will you tell me what it is you enjoy about your work?"
Meng Yao pulled the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands and buried his nose in his coffee mug to hide his reaction to that. "I like finding other people's problems and fixing them."
Lan Huan glowed at him again. Rude.
"I prefer being outside the structure," Meng Yao found himself saying. "In some ways it's riskier, but the independence is worth it. I can't make them follow my recommendations anyway, and this way their power over me is limited, too."
"I feel the same. My uncle was concerned when I went freelance, but it expands my options. Trying to find an audience for a story is often the most frustrating part of journalism, and being beholden to an editor can hinder as much as help. I lose some of the support, of course, but then there's no one to tell me where to go or when I have to move on, either."
"A free spirit." Meng Yao smiled.
Lan Huan ducked his head. "I suppose you could put it that way."
Meng Yao nodded and snuck him a sidelong look, like they were sharing a joke. "I promise not to tie you down."
This time Lan Huan laughed outright. Fuck, he was amazing. Was it socially acceptable to ask the husband you didn't remember marrying out on a date?
More seriously, Meng Yao said, "I get a lot more out of the travel now I'm making longer trips, months instead of days or weeks. I'm on more of a regular schedule, instead of sitting in airport hotel conference rooms eighteen hours a day."
"Where does your work take you?" Lan Huan was asking when Meng Yao's phone buzzed irately, finally back online.
Meng Yao experienced a flash of irritation at the world's breaking in on them uninvited. He could have stayed here all morning, basking in Lan Huan's gentle interest and fantasising about licking the graceful column of his throat, or maybe curling up in his lap until his lingering headache went away. Facing the sordid realities of having gotten so publicly soused that he'd presumably made a spectacle of himself by marrying a (gorgeous, considerate, intelligent, well-travelled) stranger was deeply unappealing. If Elvis had been involved in any way, Meng Yao was going to fling himself into the infamous volcano at the next show.
Pull yourself together, he admonished himself and picked up his phone before it could vibrate itself off the coffee table. Meng Yao thumbed past the avalanche of notifications on the lock screen, which demanded he enter his actual passcode in retribution for being so neglectful as to let his battery go dead. Every social media app he owned was red with notifications; his phone hadn't blown up like this since he dropped the boom on Jin Guangshan.
"Fuck. What did we do last night? And how do so many people know about it?" Scowling, he brought up his chat history with Huaisang, which according to his last recollection should have been a semi-professional dissection of Wen Chao and his motivations.
Meng Yao found himself confronted instead with an image of himself cradled in Lan Huan's arms in front of an ornate neon heart. It was evidently post-glitter explosion, and the pair of them were grinning drunkenly at one another.
"Is everything all right?" Lan Huan asked in a tone of gentle concern.
Lacking the capacity to answer that question with anything but another fit of hysterical laughter, Meng Yao tilted the phone to show him the screen.
"Oh." Lan Huan swallowed, glancing between the phone and Meng Yao, a soft, punched-out expression on his face.
Dropping his gaze before he could be caught staring, Meng Yao tilted the phone back. Briefly, he considered scrolling up, then decided to cut to the chase and hit the call button. Texting would have been more merciful, but Meng Yao's levels of empathy for his fellow man ran low on a good day, and he didn't feel like waiting around until whatever hour of the afternoon Huaisang would deign to wake up at.
Just before the call rang through to voicemail, there were a series of thumpings and rustlings on the other end of the line, followed by Huaisang's plaintive whine of, "Oh my god, why?"
"Huaisang," Meng Yao greeted him, clipped. "What the fuck happened last night?"
"...Yaoyao?" The sound of a body flopping into a stack of pillows. "Why are you calling me? It is before noon, Yaoyao, what have I ever done to you? If you two have run out of lube, call room service. I need at least two more hours' sleep and then the world's greasiest breakfast, and then you can text me like a normal person."
"I am calling you," Meng Yao said through gritted teeth, not daring to glance at Lan Huan, "because I woke up this morning in bed with a stranger, wearing a wedding ring. Explain."
Huaisang cackled. Meng Yao pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to evolve a plan for his murder that wouldn't result in Mingjue ripping Meng Yao's spine from his body with his bare hands. Huaisang was fully aware of how protective his brother was and took shameless advantage of the fact. "Oh my god, Yaoyao, I knew you were drunk, but I didn't realise you were that wasted. Just get your husband to explain it to you. Wait. You didn't, like, wake up and immediately kick him out, did you? Yaoyao!"
"No, I'm here, too, Huaisang," Lan Haun leaned in to say.
"Er-ge!" Huaisang cried happily. "Great! But I am brought back to the question of, why are we calling me at this ungodly hour of the morning?"
"Ah." Lan Huan cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I...don't remember what happened, either."
"Er-ge, you had like two glasses of champagne and a hard seltzer!" Lan Huan's expression grew pained. "Oh my god, obviously all you Lans are lightweights, but seriously."
Meng Yao slouched lower into the cushions while he waited for Huaisang to stop laughing again. "Huaisang..." he growled warningly.
Huaisang wheezed in an access of glee. If murder was off the table, that just meant Meng Yao was going to have to be more creative with his revenge.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Huaisang gasped through his titters. "I can't believe neither of you remembers. It's a good thing I recorded it for posterity."
"It what?" Meng Yao demanded. "Huaisang. Did we or did we not get actually, legally married last night?"
"Obviously. I was your best man! Wuxian stood in for Wangji, since it was past his bedtime," Huaisang added sunnily.
"How kind of him," Lan Huan said weakly.
"Did no one think to stop us?"
"You really didn't seem that drunk!" Huaisang defended himself.
"I was drive-through wedding drunk!" Meng Yao hissed. "And yet you still let me be talked into marrying some random stranger."
He snuck a worried glance at Lan Huan, who waved it away with his lopsided smile. Meng Yao wished the soft cushions of the artisan sectional would swallow him like that one shitty futon he'd had in university.
"I don't know, you didn't take a lot of persuading, Yaoyao. Here, see, I'll send you the video."
There was video; perfect. Meng Yao was going to change his name and move to Reykjavik.
His phone was buzzing near-constantly at this point, but Meng Yao thumbed back to his chat with Huaisang in time to see a video come through. Harbouring great misgivings, he sat up enough for Lan Huan to scoot in and watch over his shoulder.
Meng Yao vaguely recognised the setting as the hotel ballroom. The camera was aimed unsteadily at the bar, where Wuxian had a tumbler of clear liquid and a disassembled lamp and was rambling drunkenly about how, since vodka was made from potatoes, you ought to be able to use it to turn on a lightbulb. Meng Yao was partially visible at the edge of the frame, clutching a fire extinguisher.
As they watched, Wuxian expressed loud disappointment in his experiment's persistent failure and started making demands for another glass, some ice cubes, and the lighter he'd been using to ignite high-proof cocktails. Meng Yao pre-emptively emptied the fire extinguisher on him.
The camera panned over in time to catch him stumbling off-balance into someone coming up to the other end of the bar. They caught him, and Meng Yao watched himself stare wide-eyed up into Lan Huan's stunned, lip-parted expression.
After a long moment backgrounded by Huaisang shushing Wuxian's indignant howls and spluttering, they could just hear Lan Huan say, "Marry me?"
"Okay," Meng Yao replied breathlessly, his entire heart in his eyes.
Lan Huan beamed an incandescent smile back at him. He took the fire extinguisher from Meng Yao and set it down, and they walked off hand in hand.
"Oh my god, I think they mean right now," Wuxian hissed, and the screen tilted dizzily before going black.
Meng Yao covered his face with his free hand. If he could just quietly blink out of existence right now, that would be ideal. "Huaisang."
"I don't know what to tell you, Yaoyao! It's not like you can't get un-married again, they probably have the forms at the front desk. But look, give me an hour okay? I'll treat you to a celebratory brunch."
"Why not come over for a slice of wedding cake?" Meng Yao asked with syrupy, vicious pleasantness.
"Oooh, tell me, tell me, how did it turn out? You have to send me pictures, Yaoyao! Yaoyao—"
Meng Yao ended the call and dropped the phone, the better to raise his other hand and more completely block out the world.
"Well, I suppose that answers a few more questions," Lan Huan said, sounding lost himself.
Meng Yao choked back a black laugh.
"Meng Yao?" Concern now. A knee nudged his on the couch. "A-Yao?"
"Sorry." Meng Yao rested an arm over his eyes.
"No, no," Lan Huan said. "Would you like me to give you a minute? If we're meeting Huaisang, I need to wash up anyway. We have plenty of time to figure out what comes next."
What came next was undoubtedly a string of public humiliations, but it was nice of him to say.
Meng Yao lowered his arm to give Lan Huan a brief almost-smile when Lan Huan freshened his coffee before retreating from the room. He could use some time to process himself, and a shower did make him feel more human, even if it didn't lend clarity to his thinking. The video clip Huaisang had sent kept replaying itself before his mind's eye, the open, wondering look on Meng Yao's face gazing up at Lan Huan and how nearly it resembled his expression this morning when they'd woken up in bed together. This was not really the sort of thing Lan Huan did, but he had an increasing amount of sympathy for his last night's drunken self, because he already kind of wanted to ask Meng Yao to marry him in earnest, with everyone completely sober and no room for misinterpretation.
Considering Lan Huan's impulsiveness was seemingly what had got them into this situation in the first place, he would probably do better to restrain himself. The last thing he wanted was to make Meng Yao more uncomfortable, which he clearly was. Anything Lan Huan could do to earn another taste of that sharp mind and sly wit.
After a moment's internal debate, Lan Huan put the ring back on. For all Meng Yao's disgruntlement and snapping at Huaisang, he was still wearing his. Lan Huan didn't want to presume, but he also didn't want to give the wrong impression.
And what is that? he asked himself. That he'd fallen in love at first sight with Meng Yao twice in the space of twelve hours?
Pausing with the brush mid-stroke in his damp hair, Lan Huan closed his eyes and breathed out. Regardless. Marriage was a commitment, not a whim. It required so much more than love to make it work; hadn't his own parents proved that? Meng Yao was right: this was a mistake they needed to correct, and if Lan Huan was very, very lucky someday he might be permitted to try again, more temperately.
When Lan Huan went to take his turn in the bathroom, Meng Yao had had his phone in hand again and was sorting through his notifications; evidently they hadn't been particularly discreet last night. His dyspeptic expression might have been a lingering hangover or reflective of his opinion of whatever he was looking at, which was hopefully not quite so judgemental and disapproving a response to this development as Lan Huan expected when his own family learned of it.
With any luck, his uncle wouldn't hear until after everything had been resolved. Or at all, a wistful voice sighed in one of the less noble corners of Lan Huan's mind. Honesty was very important, of course; but there was a difference between honesty and imprudently frank disclosure. If Wuxian had been involved, though, Wangji would doubtless find out sooner rather than later. It wasn't that Lan Huan thought his brother would go tattling to their uncle, but for someone with such a good poker face, he had a terrible poker face.
Still brushing his hair, Lan Huan wandered back out into the sitting room to rifle his bag for a hair tie. Meng Yao hadn't moved from the corner of the sectional, snuggled there in a way that made Lan Huan irrationally jealous of the plush cushions. Instead of his phone, he was examining Lan Huan's camera. Well, he supposed he'd left the bag open.
His head jerked up when Lan Huan leaned on the back of the sectional, looking caught-out. "Sorry," he apologised, eyes huge with alarmed embarrassment. "I thought there might be more pictures from last night."
Meng Yao obviously expected him to get angry, but Lan Huan was much more interested in the rapt expression he'd glimpsed while Meng Yao was scrolling through the photos on the camera, so focussed he hadn't even noticed Lan Huan coming into the room. It would take a better man than Lan Huan not to find that flattering.
"Anything?" he asked, reaching down for the camera. Meng Yao held it loosely, ready to have it taken away; but Lan Huan only angled it so he could see what was on the LED screen.
"You're very good," Meng Yao told him.
"A-Yao is too kind."
It was only when Meng Yao's breath caught, eyes flying up to his face startled and a little wary, that Lan Huan realised he'd let the endearment slip out a second time.
He cleared his throat, unable to look away. "Ah. I apologise for the presumption."
"Well," Meng Yao said, a certain something in his expression, "we are married."
His face was still tipped up towards Lan Huan leaning in. Lan Huan might so easily rest his hand on the arch of his neck, cup his jaw, pull himself down into a kiss—
There was a sharp rapping at the door; this was becoming an unfortunate pattern. Discourtesy suddenly became very tempting, when faced with the sight of Meng Yao's gently parted lips. Except—
Another spate of rapping. "Xiongzhang?"
—that was not the knock of a luxury hotel concierge.
Lan Huan closed his eyes and sighed in resignation. "Just a moment, Wangji."
Meng Yao was studying him with raised brows when he opened his eyes again. "Xiongzhang?"
"My brother," Lan Huan explained. "He's very...proper."
The eyebrows crept higher. "Are you about to ask me to hide in the bedroom?"
Lan Huan frowned at the very idea. "Never. But I can speak to him in the hall, if you prefer."
Meng Yao's expression smoothed over, but his fingers were tracing the contours of Lan Huan's battered a7III. "I would never be so inhospitable. Do you think he'd like a slice of cake?"
Lan Huan swallowed a laugh. "At this hour of the morning?"
With great reluctance, he dragged himself away to answer the door. Wangji straightened his already perfect posture when he opened it, unsubtly inspecting Lan Huan for signs of damage before pinning him with a searching look like ground-penetrating radar.
Lan Huan felt his shoulders drop. "Oh, Wangi, I'm sorry I worried you. Please, come inside. Have you had breakfast yet? Can I offer you something to drink?"
Wangji stepped through, glancing around cautiously. His gaze lingered on the unmistakable tower of heart-shaped wedding cake, and on Meng Yao. "I do not wish to intrude."
"It's no trouble," Meng Yao said, gently placing the camera back in its case and rising.
"Ah, Wangji, this is Meng Yao. Meng Yao, Wangji is my younger brother."
"A pleasure to meet you," Meng Yao said with an extremely polite, extremely bland smile. "I think there's still some green tea in the pot, unless you'd prefer coffee?"
Wangji looked between them for a long moment; only a lifetime of discipline kept Lan Huan from fidgeting. At last, he turned back to Meng Yao and said, "Thank you."
"Please, I can—" Lan Huan started, but Meng Yao stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"I insist. You two talk."
"Thank you," Lan Huan reiterated, and was momentarily distracted as Meng Yao dimples winked out for him.
Wangji would never be so crass as to clear his throat, but the palpable weight of his observation brought Lan Huan back to himself. He felt the absurd impulse to hide his left hand behind his back, like he was a child again and it was holding a treat he'd snuck without their uncle's permission.
"I have to admit, I wasn't expecting you here this morning," Lan Huan said, gesturing for his brother to take a seat.
"You were not answering your phone, or the door to your room when I knocked," Wangji explained.
Meng Yao passed him a mug with his right hand, but it was his left that Wangji fixated on.
"I'm afraid I neglected to charge it last night," Lan Huan apologised. "I didn't mean to cause alarm."
"When I asked at the front desk in case there had been some incident, they told me you had changed rooms, but they could not put through a call. Evidently, there was a hold placed on communications to the honeymoon suite."
Wangji fixed him with a reproachful look and let it sit there. Meng Yao made a small, pained noise. Lan Huan couldn't say he was surprised, the way everything else had been going this morning.
"...Ah. Yes. Do you think you can manage without me today? I have some things to sort out," Lan Huan said, making an effort to hit calm rather than I love you but you're currently interrupting my existential crisis.
Wangji watched him steadily, eyes flicking only briefly to Meng Yao. "If you are sure."
"We have everything well in hand, I promise," Lan Huan said, which was...not exactly a lie. They didn't not have things under control, and there really wasn't much Wangji could contribute beyond increased levels of awkwardness. "I'll check in later, and maybe we can meet for lunch tomorrow?"
"Mn," Wangji agreed after due deliberation. "Please let me know if I can be of any assistance, xiongzhang."
"Of course. Your support is always appreciated, Wangji."
Wangji's mn this time was more dubious. "Then I will go. I said I would spend the day with Wei Ying."
Lan Huan walked him to the door. When he turned around, he found Meng Yao staring after Wangji, an odd look on his face.
"Your brother wouldn't happen to be the Lan Zhan that Wuxian won't shut up about, would he?"
Lan Huan smiled. "It is an odd match, isn't it? But they've known each other since high school. Wangji is something of a nom de plume."
"Hm." Meng Yao shook it off. "How much longer do you need? Huaisang wants to go out someplace."
"Until dark?" Meng Yao's laugh was delightful; Lan Huan found himself grinning foolishly. "Let me just grab my phone."
Not very surprisingly, they beat Huaisang to the lobby. They had no trouble finding things to talk about while they waited, though.
"The hard part isn't counting cards," confided Meng Yao, who apparently had an eidetic memory and what Lan Huan suspected was an excellent head for figures. "It's not being caught at it."
"Is that...entirely fair?" Lan Xichen couldn't help asking.
There was a wicked little quirk to Meng Yao's smile that he found positively irresistible. "Oh, it's not unfairness the casinos object to. They just prefer for it to be weighted in their direction. Otherwise they wouldn't find it nearly so lucrative."
"I'm afraid I'm not much of a gambler," Lan Huan admitted. "We had a rather conservative upbringing."
Meng Yao gave a little murmur before pressing his lips closed.
Ducking his head, Lan Huan said, "I suppose you wouldn't think so in the circumstances."
Meng Yao brushed this away, colouring faintly. "No, it's not that. Well, maybe a little. I was just thinking—your reaction was to go out and see as much of the world as possible, now."
"The voice of experience?"
A dark irony flickered across Meng Yao's expression, his smile going tight. "Conservative isn't the word I'd choose."
Before Lan Huan could think how to respond to that—he hoped he hadn't given offence—Huaisang finally made his appearance. Even though they were inside, more than half his face was obscured behind a pair of enormous designer sunglasses. "Well, if it isn't the happy couple!"
"Good morning," Lan Xichen greeted him, which led to Huaisang sagging against him dramatically.
"Ugh, morning," he moaned, opening his fan to block the rest of his face. "I had every intention of skipping morning today, you know. This is injustice and brutality you are inflicting on me, I hope you know that."
Meng Yao smiled thinly. "Huaisang."
Huaisang fluttered his fan in reply. "Awfully possessive for someone who doesn't even remember meeting his husband, Yaoyao."
But he flounced upright again, leaving Lan Huan with his face heating self-consciously. Of course Meng Yao wasn't actually...
"I ordered a car; I assume you don't want to walk," Meng Yao said.
Huaisang gave a delicately performative shudder. "God, no."
The rideshare drove them a short distance up the strip to an extravagant Asian fusion restaurant. Entering, they passed under a bower of artificially pink cherry blossoms and between guardian neon tigers, to be led out to a shaded booth on the terrace. It was a very Huaisang place. Lan Huan looked around, appreciating the palms and other greenery overflowing from raised beds between the round tables. Without even seeing the menu, he predicted the food would be experimental and very artistically plated. He smiled in pleasure at all the strange corners the world had to offer.
"Vegetarian?" Meng Yao asked him once they'd put in their orders.
"When I can manage it," Lan Huan admitted, feeling absurdly shy about his having noticed. "It doesn't always do to be picky."
Lan Huan had ended up in the middle of the curved bench, maybe a little closer to Meng Yao than Nie Huaisang, whose sharp attention he could feel even through his sunglasses.
"Ugh, I see you two are still in the honeymoon phase," he said, sipping at some variation on a Bloody Mary that had just been deposited in front of him.
The narrow look Meng Yao shot him was nothing like the open interest he'd given Lan Huan. "About that."
"I don't know what you expect me to say!" Huaisang protested. Then his expression turned sly. "Tell me, do you really not remember any of it? Neither of you?"
Lan Huan wasn't sure whether the sensation gnawing at his stomach was more hangover, shame, or disappointment. He took a sip of the surprisingly sedate mint tea he'd found on the menu to settle it. "Ah, it would seem not."
"Don't look at me like that, Yaoyao, it's just such a shame! It was so romantic, is all." Huaisang pouted. "Well, at least it's well-documented. You basically live-blogged the whole thing."
Meng Yao whipped out his phone, expression growing pained. "We did."
"It was honestly super adorable. You looked so happy! What was I supposed to do?" Huaisang scooted over to lean across Lan Huan and prod at Meng Yao's phone. "No, start with—here, let me pull it up—"
Finding himself squeezed between them, Lan Huan was so distracted by Meng Yao's proximity it took him a moment to focus on the phone screen. A clip was playing of what appeared to be an Asian Dr Frank-N-Furter firing off a glitter canon with evident gusto. Closer examination showed what might have been Wuxian in the background manning a crossfire position. The video seemed to offend Meng Yao for some reason, or perhaps it was the caption that read, check it out bitches, the master has tied another knot 🪢 🍾🍆🍆❤️🔥
"Chengmei?"
"Well—"
"Chengmei, Huaisang?"
Huaisang gave a nervous titter and tried to swipe back out of the app. "I don't know, it was awfully short notice to find someone to officiate, and he's ordained as part of the Order of Sacred Bonds or something. Anyway, it was him or Elvis!" he added defensively.
"Maybe we should start at the beginning," Lan Huan suggested, intensely aware of the tension radiating off Meng Yao's body.
"Hm, now where did I see..."
Huaisang hummed and pulled up a shot of the two of them kissing outside under the streetlights, presumably immediately after they'd left the ballroom. Lan Huan was equal parts transfixed and horrified. On the one hand, he hadn't strayed quite so far from the principles of his upbringing not to be scandalised by their having posted something so intimate and personal for the world to see. On the other hand, he was extremely grateful to have photographic evidence of its actually happening. He very much wished he remembered what that felt like.
Firmly, he yanked his eyes away from Meng Yao's mouth to look at the rest of the post. The text only read engaged!!! ❣️🎊 💍. The responses were already approaching quadruple digits; never had Lan Huan been so grateful that his brother's idea of social media was JSTOR.
"So, this was outside the hotel," Huaisang glossed—unnecessarily, since the infamous volcano could be seen erupting in the background, "before the limo got there. And then there's the trip to the pawn shop, because Er-ge insisted he had to put a ring on it and the jewellers were already closed."
Lan Huan glanced down at the heart-shaped ruby on his left ring finger. That one was a selfie of Lan Huan and Meng Yao with their cheeks smushed together, taken in the back of a limo lit like a night club. The next one showed them turning towards each other; thankfully, this time it stopped short of showing them actually kissing, although that was clearly what had happened next. Lan Huan took another sip of his tea to combat the heat rising up his neck.
"Aaand the next bit was mostly me and Wuxian having a two-man bachelor-slash-wedding-planning party while you guys, uh, got better acquainted." Huaisang held up his own phone, flicking through a series of posts from his and Wuxian's accounts showing them hanging off one another and plundering the on-board bar. He huffed indignantly at one very blurry shot of Wuxian directing the spray from a bottle of champagne at the camera (and by extension, presumably, Huaisang behind it). "Can you believe it? When I was doing all the work to find you guys a venue. He's getting my dry-cleaning bill, that outfit was designer."
Huaisang continued his slightly haphazard narration as he scrolled through post after post on their wedding tag: Lan Huan and Meng Yao with flutes of champagne, with Wuxian (still showing flecks of fire-extinguisher foam) and Huaisang (showing flecks of champagne foam); Meng Yao examining a tray of rings with an adorably fierce look of concentration; the soft little smile on Lan Huan's own face as Wuxian combed his hair out, a red silk wrap draped over his shoulders; Meng Yao fixing the camera with an absolutely scathing look, makeup only applied to one eye and Huaisang hovering with the eyeliner in the background; a video of Lan Huan handing Meng Yao out of the limo, then sweeping him up in his arms and spinning him about.
"Where was this?" Lan Huan asked, watching shot after shot of himself carrying Meng Yao down an alley of derelict signs lighting up the night.
"The Neon Museum, it's like the elephant graveyard of casino signs. Great, right? I knew you'd love it, it's exactly your kind of thing."
He spared Huaisang a smile. "It's perfect—that was very thoughtful of you."
"Better than Elvis, anyway," Meng Yao allowed.
Huaisang preened. "Here, Chengmei's partners took over for the actual ceremony."
Lan Huan had not put Meng Yao down for the ceremony; he couldn't look away from the complicated expression on Meng Yao's face as he stared at the screen where they had eyes only for each other and not the smirking officiant in black fishnets and corset. Meng Yao looped his arm around Lan Huan's neck so he could free his left hand for the exchange of rings. They barely waited for the pronouncement before falling on each other again—ah, so that was where the glitter had come from, Lan Huan thought through a mortifying daze of arousal as a stream of it rained down on them from either side. Nie Huaisang was waving his phone in the air as a very unsubtle eighties power ballad blared from it. It didn't quite cover the stream of obscenity Meng Yao let out with, covering Lan Huan's ears as he craned his head to excoriate the canonneers over Lan Huan's shoulder, scowling and laughing all at once while Lan Huan kissed his neck.
In the present, Meng Yao pinched the bridge of his nose; Lan Huan bumped their shoulders together in subtle reassurance. He was in love, love, love.
There was more: interestingly framed shots of the two of them in the layered lights of signs designed to be competing beacons in the desert night; messy selfies as the alcohol continued to flow; Meng Yao tipping a glass of champagne to Lan Huan's lips, then his own, ring gleaming on the finger of his graceful hand; Wuxian holding up a cigarette lighter like he was at a concert; the officiant—Chengmei, Meng Yao had said? with, presumably, his somewhat less provocative partners. Wuxian had at some point taken it into his head to start climbing the signs. Lan Huan couldn't quite say whether that reflected a more compromised judgement than seeing himself with Meng Yao's legs around his waist, unbuttoning one another right there on camera (although it was a long-distance shot with rather nuanced composition). The last one was of Meng Yao pulling Lan Huan after him into the limo; someone had scrawled JUST MARRIED onto the back windshield and tied a clatter of empty cans to the rear bumper.
They were up to rather scattershot coverage of the afterparty when their food arrived and Huaisang was distracted by a tower of violently purple pancakes. Meng Yao slammed back his second espresso like taking a shot and ignored his plate in favour of staring at his phone so intently Lan Huan was a little worried the screen would crack.
"Ahaha, ignore him, Er-ge; Yaoyao just doesn't like surprises. It's nothing personal," Huaisang assured breezily. "Look, the front desk says they can send the paperwork right up, it's really simple. I don't know if you can get it all wrapped up before you leave for Europe, but that's what lawyers are for."
"You're leaving?" Lan Huan exclaimed, stricken. "When?"
"I'm starting a new contract," Meng Yao said in a distantly annoyed tone. "I was supposed to fly out tonight."
The bottom dropped out of Lan Huan's stomach. Tonight? But that was so soon. "Oh. I see. I suppose we'd best resolve things promptly, then."
Well, They'd have to exchange contact information, in case there were some complication. Surely it wouldn't be inappropriate to message in a day or two, to make sure Meng Yao had arrived safely and apologise again? This didn't have to be good-bye, Lan Huan told himself. He'd find a way to see Meng Yao again.
Lan Huan seemed subdued as they abandoned Huaisang to walk the short distance down the strip back to the hotel. Meng Yao supposed Huaisang's little show had made it all suddenly very real to him. It had been ridiculous of Meng Yao to think, even for a minute, that—ugh. It didn't matter. Huaisang was right: Meng Yao was leaving in just a few hours.
He sucked on an iced coffee as Lan Huan genially took photos for a group of tourists gawping at the sinking pirate ship. God, he really was just that nice, wasn't he? Meng Yao handed him back his absurd health smoothie, shaking his head. The brief graze of their fingers sent a stupid thrill through Meng Yao. He absolutely did not have to suppress the impulse to hold Lan Huan's hand like they were in high school.
"No job too small?"
"I love street photography, actually," Lan Huan confessed. "Candid shots, people just being...people."
Meng Yao snorted. "You must have a better opinion of people than I do."
"Ah, but I find that's what gives it depth. Human beings are so complex; staged photography tends to only capture one side. By its nature it's artificial."
That got the conversation going again. Lan Huan pulled out his phone to share some examples, and they were both caught a little off-guard when the most recent items on his camera roll were of the pawn shop their rings had come from. There was the photo they'd seen before, of Meng Yao scrutinising the shop's wares, that Lan Huan must have sent Huaisang. But there was also the drunken duo of Huaisang and Wuxian cavorting amongst the detritus of life and larceny, chatting with the various sorts of people who frequented Las Vegas pawn shops late at night. There were a couple (somewhat wobbly) long exposure shots taken through the shopfront window, cut through with streaks of light from passing cars. One, possibly a mistake with the flash setting, had the translucent reflexion of the inside of the shop showing over the street, like a ghostly double-exposure.
Further back, Meng Yao could see that he'd been amusing himself taking pictures at the symposium. He seized the phone to send himself one of Wen Chao making a spectacularly hilarious face.
"You can send me more like that anytime." Meng Yao smirked, and if their fingers brushed again when he handed the phone back, well, Lan Huan didn't voice an objection.
Meng Yao was still trying to make a full damage assessment. A quick review of his social media had confirmed he'd somehow found the time to plaster every account he owned with the news. Mercifully, there didn't seem to have been anything actually indecent, beyond what was inevitable with Chengmei.
Back in the honeymoon suite (well, at least it meant there was someplace to sit other than the bed), Meng Yao went back for a closer look through Huaisang and Wuxian's rather haphazard record of the night. Huaisang in particular had tagged both of them, resulting in comments from what he assumed were Lan Huan's friends and colleagues, as well as his own.
Meng Yao frowned at one such and sidetracked into Lan Huan's user profile—he'd meant to start following him anyway, as a precursor to further casual social interaction—then stared over at the man himself, who was looking far too unassuming as he swipe-typed something on his own phone.
Sensing Meng Yao's eyes on him, he looked up, expression softening. "Is something wrong?"
"You're Xichen Lan," Meng Yao told him; it came out almost accusing. But really. Freelance photographer indeed. Xichen Lan regularly had photos in National Geographic and corresponded for NPR and the BBC. He'd won a Pulitzer, for fuck's sake.
Lan Huan looked slightly abashed. "Well. A two-syllable name is easier all around."
Meng Yao huffed in exasperation. "Not the point, gege."
"I suppose it always feels too much like bragging," Lan Huan said, very pink in the ears. He cleared his throat and, in a transparent bid to change the topic, said, "You mentioned earlier you were planning to leave tonight?"
"Yes," Meng Yao said, biting his tongue on the but why don't you come with me? that threatened to spill out. "In just a few hours, actually."
"Ah. I must apologise for causing such an ill-timed inconvenience for you, then." Oh, oh no, he looked sad, Meng Yao could not be responsible for making Lan Huan look like a kicked puppy. He was going to have to plan a detour to throw himself into the volcano before he went to the airport into his itinerary after all. "In that case, we probably shouldn't waste time starting the process. I'm here because my schedule was free anyway, so I can stay to make sure everything's properly submitted and filed, take care of any fees and so forth. It's the least I can do."
Meng Yao looked away. "Of course; you're quite right. I'll call down and ask the concierge to print everything out for us. I need to see if they were able to salvage my suit at all anyhow."
Retreating to the side table holding the hotel phone, Meng Yao had a very polite exchange with the concierge who picked up, both in their best customer service voices. The porter who delivered the forms wore a very knowing smirk. Meng Yao tipped her passive-aggressively and considered maybe throwing the discreet manila envelope into the volcano instead.
"This all looks fairly straightforward," Lan Huan said after he'd finished going over the forms in a very responsible manner (why? why did he have to be so perfect? Meng Yao felt unnecessarily called out).
Meng Yao finished zipping his theoretically rescued suit into the garment bag and took a couple steps back towards the coffee table with the paperwork spread out across it; he'd already filled out his half. There was no point in lingering. He hugged himself around the middle and waited, silently reciting all the reasons why this was the way it had to be.
"Maybe if we ever find ourselves in the same place again we can meet up," Lan Huan blurted, still staring at the papers like they would leap up and bite him if he looked away. "For dinner. Coffee? Whatever you like."
"I'm sure we'll look back at all this and laugh," Meng Yao said in a light, false voice, fingernails digging into his palms.
Lan Huan kept fidgeting with the pen until he couldn't stand it. At last, when he finally bent to start writing, Meng Yao lunged forwards and snatched it out of his hand, pitching it blindly it across the room. He stared at Meng Yao in shock as he pushed him back into the cushions and climbed onto his lap. Taking his face between his hands, Meng Yao put everything he had into kissing that lip-parted expression of surprise off Lan Huan's face.
He squeezed his eyes shut, world narrowing to a single point. If he was walking away anyhow, at least he'd know what it was like.
Then a pair of strong arms came up to wrap themselves around him in a desperate embrace. Lan Huan's head tilted, his mouth opening wider—inviting Meng Yao in. He returned Meng Yao's kiss with a depth of passion that left him shaken. When his hands stroked over Lan Huan's cheeks, they found them wet.
"Huan-ge," Meng Yao gasped, breathless.
"Is this what you want?" Lan Huan murmured against his lips. "Does A-Yao want me too?"
"Don't sign," Meng Yao begged him, dizzy with the exhilaration of Lan Huan's hands on him. "Don't do it. Marry me. Be my husband."
Lan Huan kissed the words out of his mouth before he'd even finished speaking. "Yes. Of course, yes. Anything."
"We really are both idiots," Meng Yao panted, although he might have undercut himself just a bit by melting further into Lan Huan's lap and rocking their hips together.
"I love you."
Meng Yao groaned. "How did you do this to me, gege? Don't you know I'm too jaded to fall in love?"
"I missed that, somehow." Lan Huan was giving him that soppy, elated grin he'd been wearing in all those photographs. It was about a thousand times more lethal in person. Obviously, the only solution was to keep kissing him until his face went numb. Although, there was a vast catalogue of things Meng Yao had imagined Lan Huan doing to him with that mouth already.
"Can I touch you?" Meng Yao asked. "I want to feel you inside me."
Lan Huan moaned, hands sliding up under his sweater, electric on his bare skin. "A-Yao."
"I can still feel it. What we did last night." Meng Yao spoke directly into his ear. "Even if I can't remember. We must have had quite a time of it. Are you really that big?"
"A-Yao knows I don't like to brag. Would a demonstration do?"
Lan Huan's hands had migrated down from his torso, sneaking beneath both jeans and underwear to more or less magnetise themselves to his ass. Meng Yao nibbled on the shell of his ear where it was flushed warm against his lips.
"Go on, then. Impress me," he murmured in a husky, hungry voice.
Suddenly, Meng Yao found himself on his back, his clothes disappearing like a magic trick. He arched and squirmed, reaching for the travel bag he'd left on the end of the sectional and the lube and condoms he habitually kept in it. It did pay to be prepared, after all.
His hand had just closed on the prize when wet heat engulfed his cock. "Fuck, gege," he gasped.
Lan Huan took him deeper, tongue working. Fuck, he'd known that mouth was made for sin, oh, god. Meng Yao clutched the lube in his fist and drew his legs up, trying not to thrust.
Big hands squeezing his hips, his thighs; Meng Yao's breath stuttered as Lan Huan took him into his throat, bobbing on and off in a blatant attack on Meng Yao's higher brain function. Oh, good. Otherwise these sounds he was making would be rather embarrassing.
"Gege," he choked out in warning and Lan Huan pulled off just before he could come. Those powerful, long-fingered hands pushed Meng Yao's legs open further, and then he was mouthing along the crease of Meng Yao's thigh to his entrance.
The kiss Lan Huan pressed there was soft and open-mouthed, his tongue shockingly hot as it licked a broad stripe over the incredibly sensitive area. He didn't seem to be in any particular hurry, either. Meng Yao bit his wrist just for grounding, whimpering in gratitude when Lan Huan's grip tightened unpredictably on his thighs, digging in ten points of reality while the rest of him threatened to float away in a haze of pleasure.
By the time Lan Huan's tongue dipped inside him, there was no resistance, Meng Yao's whole lower body gone completely liquid. He had his hand fisted in Lan Huan's hair too tight, just for something to hang onto.
He was almost surprised he hadn't come already when the first of Lan Huan's fingers slipped into him beside his tongue. Meng Yao had just enough lingering self-awareness to shove the things from his bag Lan Huan-wards and hope vaguely that his brain was more operational, as Meng Yao was in no condition to be managing that kind of heavy equipment at the moment.
Lan Huan's mouth was replaced by slick fingers, interrupting the monumental swell that had been building inside him. Meng Yao found himself panting up unseeing into the middle distance, skin tingling all over even before Lan Xichen started touching him again.
He moved up over Meng Yao, who pushed his fingers through that long, lustrous hair and slid greedy palms over every part of Lan Huan he could reach. Lan Huan turned his face into Meng Yao's hand. At Meng Yao's urging, he leaned down and kissed him. Fingers still working in him, Lan Huan trailed his lips over the planes and angles of his body as though mapping the topography of his pleasure with his breath.
Meng Yao pulled him in when he stopped this time, limbs contracting with enough strength to lift himself off the cushions. "Soon, soon," Lan Huan consoled him in little soothing murmurs. "I have you, A-Yao."
Scratch everything he'd thought about Lan Huan's improbable list of virtues, the man was a demon. Meng Yao voiced a very articulate, "Ahrngaurghle," in formal censure of this type of spousal behaviour.
"Ready?" Lan Huan asked, as though anyone in their right mind would ever say no to the man.
"Yes, now, oh my god," Meng Yao demanded.
Lan Huan gave a strained laugh against his pulse and kissed him, heated and toe-curlingly dirty. Meng Yao clawed at his back as he finally pushed in. He'd have been smugger at the noise that drew from Lan Huan if his soul weren't currently leaving his body.
As demonstrations went, it was very thorough. Meng Yao rolled his hips with each thrust; Lan Huan was big, big, the burn was so good. He lost no time in fucking Meng Yao in earnest, hitting an angle that made him swear and writhe and beg by turns. He was riding the edge of something, his body uncertain whether to chase it or try and veer away.
Lan Huan gasped out fragments of his name between kisses. When Meng Yao blinked his eyes open, he was confronted by the sight of him messy and wrecked. His gaze looking back was earnest and so full of wonder. Meng Yao was cracking open even before Lan Huan's hand closed on him.
His vision whited out and for a minor eternity Meng Yao lost track of everything, even himself. His body must have arched off the cushions, because he fell back into them and reality at roughly the same time, Lan Huan still fucking him.
Meng Yao summoned enough coordination to curl his hands around Lan Huan's shoulders. His gaze burned into Meng Yao's for the last few thrusts until he slammed in deep and came. His mouth found Meng Yao's, stringing together reverent kisses when neither of them had the breath for more.
Under the shelter of Lan Huan's body, he let his eyes drift shut again, more in the aftershocks yet than afterglow. Lan Huan yielded to the loose clasp of his arms and didn't try to move away, seemingly content to settle in close for as long as Meng Yao desired. Most of his weight was taken by the sectional, but he pillowed his head on Meng Yao's shoulder.
"Do you really have to go?" Lan Huan asked quietly, his tone more wistful than complaining.
Meng Yao bit his lip thoughtlessly and laughed when Lan Huan stretched up to kiss it. "Gege. My contract doesn't actually start for a week or so; I was planning to fly over early to check things out and get over the jet lag. I...could stay a bit longer," he offered shyly.
"I could go with you, if you'd want that?" Lan Huan said.
"You don't even know where I'm going," Meng Yao felt compelled to point out.
"All I need to know is that A-Yao will be there."
Meng Yao groaned fondly and hid a foolish smile in Lan Huan's hair. "Huan-ge is a menace."
Lan Huan hummed an acknowledgement, apparently unbothered by this assessment of his character. "If it's not a terrible inconvenience, I'd very much like to introduce you properly to Wangji, and to my uncle should time allow. In any case, this is something I'd prefer to tell them in person; but I can always follow on after."
"Adjusting my schedule by a few days isn't a problem," Meng Yao told him. "Of course I must meet my husband's family."
The exuberant kiss Lan Huan gave him stole his breath again. Before he knew what was happening, Meng Yao had been swept up into his arms.
Seeing Lan Huan was capable of picking him up and carrying him around like a feather pillow was nothing to experiencing it first-hand. A sound that could not in any way be represented as a squeak escaped Meng Yao. He wrapped his legs around Lan Huan's waist and clung to his exceptionally nice shoulders, hitching himself up into kissing distance again. He kept feeling like laughing for no reason.
"I do want you, Lan Huan. I love you," Meng Yao said, looking him very seriously in the eye.
Lan Huan paused in the doorway to the bedroom and kissed him like it meant everything, all at once. "A-Yao."
He took another few steps, but when he made as if to lower Meng Yao to the bed, Meng Yao tightened his grip in warning. "Wait!"
Lan Huan paused, his face the picture of concern. "What is it?"
"Did they get all the glitter out?" Meng Yao asked, craning his neck to regard the bed mistrustfully.
The laughter, he felt, was not strictly necessary, even if Lan Huan did look enchanting doing it. "I'm willing to take the risk if you are."
Well, that was pretty much that, wasn't it?
Soft morning light spilled over the rumpled sheets, warming Lan Huan's face before he opened his eyes. He pulled the body in bed with him in closer to his chest, relishing the full-body contact. Meng Yao fit so neatly in his arms, Lan Huan never wanted to let him go.
Giving vent to an indistinct sound of disgruntlement, Meng Yao wedged his face in-between Lan Huan's shoulder and the pillows. His continued dormancy was cast into doubt, however, by the trail of lazy kisses he then began mouthing up Lan Huan's neck.
When he reached Lan Huan's jaw, Lan Huan turned his head to capture his mouth, uncaring of morning breath. Shifting onto his back, he pulled Meng Yao on top of him. Meng Yao laughed and wriggled, stretching to reach something (the ever-optimistic part of Lan Huan's brain hoped it was the lube).
No, only one of their phones, he saw. Meng Yao held it up to Lan Huan's face when his own didn't work and hummed a little hm of satisfaction.
"A-Yao?" Lan Huan asked in mild curiosity.
Meng Yao kissed his cheek and snuggled back in to his side—Lan Huan's arm came around him automatically—phone extended to capture them both in a selfie. Lan Huan reached up and pressed the button, gaze never leaving him.
The self-satisfied expression on Meng Yao's face was utterly enchanting as he did who-knew-what with the photo. Lan Huan was vaguely aware of the impact as Meng Yao tossed the phone aside, but he had a sturdy case for a reason. He was sure it would be fine.
"Now," Meng Yao said, moving to straddle Lan Huan; something fell on his chest: Meng Yao had grabbed the lube after all, "where were we?"
