Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Hold the door!”

Lan Zhan’s hand grips the elevator door automatically in response to that plea. The building has several elevators, he is the only occupant of this one, and no one else is waiting to board. He has never understood why people react so urgently to closing elevator doors when another car will be along in seconds. Too many movies, perhaps.

Yet he holds the door for the man running towards him. Ridiculous how he plays along with other people’s histrionics. But then, holding the door for other riders is one of the unwritten rules of modern society. He may find some of those rules annoying, but as his brother has often told him, he can be “bitchy.”

The man hurls himself into the elevator, juggling a cellphone, a pastry bag, and a tray of drinks. “Thanks,” he pants, and shoots Lan Zhan a huge grateful smile. It’s an attractive smile, made even more so by the man’s breathlessness. Lan Zhan enjoys looking at it for a moment, then turns back to the front.

“Floor?” he asks.

“Oh, um, 25. Thanks.”

The man moves to the far side of the car, as elevator etiquette dictates he should. Lan Zhan watches him from the corner of his eye. Leather jacket, tight jeans, sunglasses pushed into his hair—which is long and pulled into a high ponytail—shabby messenger bag dangling from his shoulder. An intern, perhaps. He looks young enough.

“Going all the way to the top, huh?” the man asks.

The question puzzles him for a moment. Then he realizes the man is referring to the 40^th floor button illuminated on the panel. The top floor.

“Yes,” he replies, not turning toward the other man. Small talk during the ride is not part of elevator etiquette as far as he is concerned. Yet another asinine ritual in which he is forced to participate. He detests chatting with strangers, even attractive strangers.

The man’s phone chirps. He curses and shifts his belongings to check the screen. Watching this in the reflective elevator door makes Lan Zhan grow anxious. The tray of drinks teeters as the man fumbles around. Ignore the phone or set down the tray, he wants to say. But the man tucks the pastry bag under his chin, balances the tray, and operates the phone with his thumb.

Whatever is on the screen occupies him until they arrive at the 25^th floor. The man looks up when the doors ding open. “Thanks again,” he says, grinning as he bustles out of the elevator. Lan Zhan nods. By the time he reaches the top floor, he has erased the experience from his mind.

*

“Hey, it’s you.”

Lan Zhan turns his head.

A man smiles at him, and it takes Lan Zhan a moment to recall why he seems familiar.

“You’re top floor, right? You were my hero the other day.”

Lan Zhan inclines his head. That experience must have been at least a week ago, but as he looks at the man, he remembers the air of chaos. And the bright smile.

Today, the man is wearing a dark button-down and slacks. The leather jacket is slung over his messenger bag.

The elevator arrives in the lobby, and they walk in together. There are other people in the car today. Everyone spreads out except for the man, who stays at Lan Zhan’s side. Lan Zhan takes his usual place at the elevator controls and pushes the button for his floor.

“25, please,” the man says.

Lan Zhan presses the button. Then there’s the usual frenzy of people calling for their floors or moving to the other panel to press their own buttons.

The ride up begins, and the man shifts closer, his shirtsleeve brushing Lan Zhan’s jacket. His cologne is light and crisp. Pleasing. But that does not excuse his violation of Lan Zhan’s personal space.

“So, where do you work?” the man asks.

Lan Zhan sighs internally. “GLC.”

The man nods. “And what do you do there?”

My job, he wants to say. The worst part of elevator conversations is that everyone else in the car is forced to overhear them. The captive audience makes what is already an awkward practice invasive as well. “I am the chief diversity officer.”

The man makes an impressed noise and raises his eyebrows. “Nice. I work at LPI. Just transferred in from the Shanghai office a few weeks ago.”

The elevator doors open. “Excuse me,” a woman mumbles behind them. The man lays a hand on Lan Zhan’s shoulder and presses against his side to let her squeeze past. He leaves his hand there as the doors close behind the woman. He squeezes once, then moves away, lingering even closer than before.

Lan Zhan watches the man’s reflection in the door. He’s trying to hide a smirk, rather unsuccessfully. A tease, Lan Zhan thinks. He is not displeased.

“Are you enjoying it?” Lan Zhan asks.

The man’s head whips toward him, eyes widening. “Huh?”

Lan Zhan turns his head toward him, blinks slowly. “Are you enjoying the new position?”

“Oh. Yeah.” The man grins sheepishly and tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “The transfer came with a big promotion, so I’ve been pretty busy trying to get my bearings.”

Lan Zhan nods. The man is older than he’d first assumed. It is the smile that makes him seem more youthful. He enjoys that smile.

The elevator stops again. “Your floor,” Lan Zhan says.

The man stares back at him for a moment, a little lost. Then he grins, chuckling at himself. “Right. See you around.” He waves as he goes through the doors.

Lan Zhan considers that shy smile as the elevator creeps to the top floor, expelling passengers along the way. He considers the little teasing touch he can still feel on his shoulder. It is an interesting contradiction: the impertinence and the bashfulness. Something he wouldn’t mind exploring, perhaps.

*

The elevator hums on its slow slide down to the lobby. Lan Zhan’s day has been long, grueling, capped by an unnecessary meeting run by the company’s least competent junior executive. Irritation skitters under his skin, and he’s eager to go home and shower the day away.

But when the car stops on the 25^th floor, he revives a bit and watches the doors slide open. As he’d hoped, the man with the charming smile is standing on the other side. But he isn’t alone.

The man is chatting with another man, and he doesn’t notice Lan Zhan until they have entered the elevator and turned back to the front.

“Mr. Top Floor!” the man chirps.

Lan Zhan twists around and inclines his head. “Good evening.”

The man smiles, his eyes crinkling merrily.

They watch each other for a moment, but then the man’s associate drags him back into conversation. Lan Zhan listens idly as the elevator moves on. They’re discussing work, speaking quickly in the jargon of their field, which seems to be something involving engineering. It is difficult to follow. Mostly, he just listens to the man speak and watches his reflection in the polished doors. The man is animated, hands waving, full of energy even at the end of the work day. Watching him is the most pleasurable thing Lan Zhan has done all day.

When the elevator reaches the lobby, Lan Zhan walks out without looking back.

“Have a good night, Top Floor!” the man calls.

Lan Zhan pauses and turns back. “You too.”

The man waves as he and his associate head toward the coffee shop across the lobby.

That night, Lan Zhan falls asleep thinking about that man, and how if he had been alone tonight, Lan Zhan might have brought him here, might have laid him out on this bed to see how that smile looked against Lan Zhan’s sheets.

*

Lan Zhan resists tapping his pen against his portfolio, but only because he considers such behavior discourteous. The meeting he has been asked to attend was due to begin five minutes ago, but there is yet no sign of the presenter. To make matters worse, there is no reason, as far as Lan Zhan is concerned, for him to be here since product development is outside his purview. However, his brother, the CEO, did not agree with Lan Zhan’s assessment, so here he sits. Annoyed. Wasting time.

Then the door opens, and the man from the elevator walks in. He’s smiling as usual, but this smile is professional—not strained but also not the eager, eye-crinkling grin from their earlier encounters. Then the man spots Lan Zhan sitting across the table, and his smile widens, his face brightening. He waves at Lan Zhan as he sets his materials down on the table.

Lan Huan shakes the man’s hand and turns to the audience. “Everyone, this is Wei Ying from LPI. We’ve invited him here today to explain how his company will revolutionize production of GLC’s WJ-10 line.”

Lan Huan ushers the man—Wei Ying—into a chair and then introduces him to the attendees. “And this is my brother, Lan Zhan, our chief diversity officer.”

Lan Zhan inclines his head, and Wei Ying grins, dropping him a quick wink.

After the introductions conclude, the presentation begins. Wei Ying is wearing a suit today, black with a striking red tie, his hair drawn back in a tight bun. Already, locks have escaped to frame his face. Otherwise, he appears competent, charming. His jokes actually elicit laughter. Lan Zhan has no idea what Wei Ying talks about, but he is enjoying this side of Wei Ying. Not as much as he would like to take him apart, however. He imagines stripping the suit from his lean body, releasing his hair from the bun.

Wei Ying’s eyes drift over to Lan Zhan, and he flushes, stumbling a bit over his words. He bites his lip, shakes his head, makes a joke, then recovers quickly, his long forefinger once again trailing over a chart on the presentation screen.

Lan Zhan enjoys that flush, wonders how far down it goes. He thinks about what else might make Wei Ying flush. Thinks about fucking him on this conference table. How he’d do it. How Wei Ying would look stretched out below him, tight around his cock. How that red tie would look wrapped around Wei Ying’s wrists. It’s the best meeting he’s ever attended.

When the presentation ends, Lan Zhan dawdles, pretending to poke at his phone, until Wei Ying is alone at the front of the room, gathering his materials. Lan Huan sees Lan Zhan lingering and quirks an eyebrow, but he gets drawn into a conversation with someone from marketing before he can ask why Lan Zhan is still in his chair when he is usually the first to leave.

Lan Zhan goes to Wei Ying and holds out his hand. “Interesting presentation.”

Wei Ying chuckles as he accepts the handshake. Lan Zhan holds on a bit longer than is typical and swipes his middle finger over the back of Wei Ying’s hand.

Wei Ying clears his throat. “Thanks. To be honest, I didn’t think you were really paying attention.”

“I was paying attention.” Lan Zhan lets his eyes move down to Wei Ying’s mouth, then sends them slowly up to meet his eyes.

Grinning, Wei Ying sways toward him and lays a hand on his arm. He squeezes, then pulls away, his fingers trailing over the suit’s sleeve. “Well, I appreciate your attentiveness. Lan Zhan.”

“You are quite welcome. Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying’s lips part, his tongue swipes his bottom lip. It seems unconscious rather than flirtatious. He is charming when he flirts, but he is irresistible when he reacts sincerely. Lan Zhan wants to bite the long line of his throat.

“Lan Zhan, thank you for coming today.” Lan Huan claps his hand on Lan Zhan’s shoulder and smiles at Wei Ying. “Do you two know each other?”

“We have spoken,” Lan Zhan says, not taking his eyes from Wei Ying. “On the elevator.”

“Yeah, small building,” Wei Ying says, a little breathless.

Lan Huan moves his hand to Wei Ying’s shoulder. “Wei Ying, I wanted to speak with you about the process you described earlier. You mentioned an issue with materials—”

“Excuse me,” Lan Zhan says, nodding at both of them. “A pleasure to see you again, Wei Ying.”

“Uh, yeah, you too.”

Lan Zhan smiles as he leaves the conference room.

*

Lan Zhan is returning from a lunch meeting when someone sidles beside him and bumps his arm. He turns and isn’t surprised to see Wei Ying grinning at him. “I guess GLC doesn’t do casual days,” Wei Ying says.

Wei Ying is holding what appears to be an iced coffee, and he’s wearing jeans and a sweater that hangs off one shoulder. His hair is down except for a knot binding the top layer behind his head. A red ribbon winds through his hair.

“Am I not casual?” Lan Zhan asks.

Wei Ying grins behind his straw and looks him up and down, head tilted thoughtfully. As always, Lan Zhan wears a suit—gray, sky blue tie. As always, the tie is tucked into a vest. GLC does do casual days. Lan Zhan does not.

“Casual?” Wei Ying says, cocking an eyebrow. He shakes his head. “No. But I have no complaints.” He winks and grins impishly.

The elevator arrives. The people around them file on. Lan Zhan ushers Wei Ying inside with a light touch to his lower back. Wei Ying leans back against the rail and sticks the straw in his mouth. Lan Zhan presses the buttons for their floors and turns to survey him. There is pink gloss on Wei Ying’s plush lips. Traces of gloss on the white straw. Wei Ying’s teeth bite into the straw as he grins at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan would like to press him against the wall and bite those pink lips, and the collarbone that shines above the sweater’s drooping neck.

As Lan Zhan looks him over, Wei Ying’s mouth softens around the straw. His eyelashes flutter. He lowers the cup and spreads his arms on the rail. Begging to be fucked.

“So, how was your night, Lan Zhan? Do anything fun?”

I did a man with long hair like yours. I wrapped it around my fist while he sucked my cock. I pretended he was you. “It was fine.”

“Just fine?” Wei Ying pouts his lips and gives him a pitying look.

“What about yours?”

Wei Ying shrugs, and the sweater falls a bit lower. “Pretty boring, really. I’m new in town. I don’t know where to go for a good time.” He smirks and looks up at Lan Zhan through his eyelashes.

“Perhaps I could show you.” Lan Zhan moves closer and takes the cup from Wei Ying’s hand. Wei Ying’s eyes widen as Lan Zhan raises the cup to his mouth and sips, tasting the gloss painted on the straw. He despises iced coffee, especially when it’s laced with caramel as this is, but he enjoys how Wei Ying’s eyes lock on his mouth.

Lan Zhan moves the cup to Wei Ying’s mouth, but holds it at a distance so that Wei Ying has to stretch his neck forward to reach it. Wei Ying parts his lips obligingly, and Lan Zhan slips the straw into his mouth, sliding it across his tongue. Wei Ying meets his stare as he sucks. Lan Zhan pulls the cup back and watches Wei Ying’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His pink tongue darts out to catch the coffee lingering on his lips.

“Yeah.” Wei Ying clears his throat. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

The elevator stops. Lan Zhan turns to the display. 25^th floor. Wei Ying follows his gaze and groans.

Lan Zhan holds out the cup. “Thank you for the drink.”

Wei Ying takes the cup, brushing his fingers very intentionally over Lan Zhan’s. His hand drifts over Lan Zhan’s arm as he moves past him. Lan Zhan watches his hips sway as he walks through the doors. The jeans cling to his ass, plump above slender thighs.

Wei Ying looks over his shoulder. Lan Zhan raises his eyes slowly, not pretending that he wasn’t looking. Wei Ying grins and winks.

*

The next morning, Wei Ying calls out to Lan Zhan as he’s entering the lobby. Lan Zhan turns and nearly trips over his own feet. Wei Ying is wearing a short black skirt that clings to his hips and displays his slim legs, encased in sheer stockings. His heels click on the tile as he walks over.

Lan Zhan stands still and watches Wei Ying come to him, his cheeks blushing red to match his slinky button-down. The shout caught other people’s attention as well, and eyes flicker over them as they stand in the middle of the lobby.

“Hi,” Wei Ying says, blushing harder. His lips are also red today, bright around his white smile. There’s a freckle under his bottom lip that Lan Zhan has never noticed before. He focuses on that freckle to keep his eyes from wandering down to the skirt.

“Good morning, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying’s hair is down today, sleek and brushing his shoulders. He tucks it behind his ear as Lan Zhan studies him.

“Are you ready?” Lan Zhan asks.

Wei Ying blinks at him, his pretty red mouth gaping. Lan Zhan nods toward the elevators.

“Oh. Yeah. I was waiting for you, actually. Got you this.” Wei Ying passes him a cup that he hadn’t noticed before, too distracted by the thighs bared by what is truly a tiny skirt.

“Thank you.” He takes the cup but doesn’t drink. He realizes that Wei Ying doesn’t have a cup of his own.

“It’s green tea,” Wei Ying says. “I thought you might be more of a tea guy.”

“I am. Thank you.”

Wei Ying beams, and they walk to the elevator banks, joining a small crowd already waiting. Wei Ying isn’t carrying his messenger bag today. Lan Zhan wonders if he’s already dropped it off upstairs, then came back down to wait for Lan Zhan. He likes that idea almost as much as he likes that Wei Ying thought about what he would like to drink. Almost as much as he likes the skirt.

He sips the tea.

“Good?”

“Very good.”

Wei Ying smiles, and his eyes dart back to the elevator doors. He seems tense. Lan Zhan wonders if Wei Ying has ever worn something like this to work before. He hopes not. He hopes the skirt is for him.

The elevator arrives. Lan Zhan splays his hand on Wei Ying’s lower back as they step inside, feels the heat of his skin through the silk. He pushes the button for the top floor and leads Wei Ying to the back of the elevator. Lan Zhan puts his back against the wall. Wei Ying’s breath catches as Lan Zhan grips his waist and turns him toward the elevator doors, pulling Wei Ying almost flush against him. If he wished to, Lan Zhan could simply lean forward and bite Wei Ying’s shoulder. Then he sets down the tea and his briefcase, resisting the urge to bite Wei Ying’s thigh as he stands up.

Wei Ying grips the rail and stands very still, his shoulders rising and falling with his breath, his hair puffing with Lan Zhan’s exhales.

A woman enters the elevator and calls a greeting to Wei Ying. “Hey, good morning,” Wei Ying calls back shakily. Thankfully, the woman doesn’t continue the conversation. Instead, she pulls out her phone and starts scrolling.

When the elevator thumps into motion, Wei Ying sways back, his ass bumping against Lan Zhan’s hips. “Sorry,” he mumbles, turning his face to the side and grinning. Lan Zhan grips his arm as if to steady him, sliding his thumb over the silk as he pulls away.

Wei Ying shivers. “You didn’t hit the button for my floor.”

“You can get off later.”

Wei Ying’s shoulders shake with restrained laughter. His hand squeezes the bar, and his thighs shift restlessly. The skirt will do nothing to hide his erection if he gets hard, Lan Zhan thinks, his mouth watering.

Lan Zhan pulls out his phone and holds it up so that his knuckles occasionally brush the back of Wei Ying’s shirt. He shifts to the side and leans his hip against the wall so that he can look past the phone to Wei Ying’s profile. His eyes are wide, his lips parted. His chest rises below the deep plunge of his shirt. His nipples strain against the thin silk.

The door opens on the 25^th floor, but Wei Ying makes no move to leave. The woman he’d spoken with looks back at him as she pauses in the doorway. “Wei Ying, are you coming?”

Not yet, Lan Zhan thinks.

Wei Ying chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ve gotta grab something upstairs. See you later.”

She nods and continues out of the elevator.

Lan Zhan leans down, pretending he needs to scratch his knee. “Good boy,” he murmurs against Wei Ying’s hip. Wei Ying shivers and pushes his round ass back, but Lan Zhan ignores it. He lays his hand on the rail and slides it just behind Wei Ying’s, touching his fingertips to Wei Ying’s hand.

Now there are only two other people on the elevator, a man and a woman, both of them engrossed in their phones. Lan Zhan moves his hand over Wei Ying’s and wraps his fingers around his wrist. His fingers enclose it completely. He squeezes to feel the fine bones shift under warm skin. Wei Ying gasps and covers it with a cough. The other passengers don’t look away from their screens.

The woman exits on the 28^th floor.

Lan Zhan strokes his knuckles down Wei Ying’s spine as he lowers his phone to his pocket and slides it inside. Wei Ying groans almost soundlessly.

Then Lan Zhan waits, breathing carefully, stroking the underside of Wei Ying’s wrist with his thumb, as the numbers tick by on the display. The only other button lit on the display is for floor 32.

Wei Ying’s eyes are also locked on the display. Lan Zhan watches his reflection chew its lip as the elevator rises.

The elevator stops at 32. The man riding with them doesn’t seem to notice at first. He frowns at his phone, thumb sliding rapidly. Lan Zhan wants to throw something at him.

“Sir,” Lan Zhan calls. “Your stop.”

The man looks up at the display above the doors. Without turning, he mutters his thanks and exits the elevator.

As soon as the doors shut, Lan Zhan grips Wei Ying’s hips and slams him against the wall, pressing his chest against Wei Ying’s back. Wei Ying cries out and splays his fingers on the paneling as Lan Zhan sinks his fingers deep into the soft flesh of his hips and strokes down his thighs.

“You wore this for me, didn’t you?” he asks, nearly growling, his fingers teasing the skin under the skirt’s hem.

Moaning, Wei Ying nods and rocks his hips. “Yeah. You like it, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan hums and tugs the skirt higher. The stockings end at the top of Wei Ying’s thighs, held up by a garter belt. He pushes the skirt as high as he can, holding it up with one hand while the other palms Wei Ying’s bare ass and runs his thumb along the strip of lace between his cheeks.

“Little tease,” he grunts, rubbing Wei Ying’s asshole through the lace. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying moans. “Yeah, Lan Zhan. Please.”

He likes that please.

Lan Zhan looks over his shoulder as the display flickers from 38 to 39. He smacks Wei Ying’s ass and squeezes the jiggling flesh. Wei Ying makes a high-pitched sound and bows his head, rolling his forehead against the wall.

“Come to my office at 5:30,” Lan Zhan murmurs against his neck.

He pulls the skirt down and smoothes out the creases.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whimpers.

Lan Zhan spins him around and bites his jaw. “5:30.”

He backs away, picks up the tea and the briefcase. The door opens. He hits 25 on the way out and does not look back.

*

At 5:28, there is a knock on his door. Eager, he thinks, smirking. But he’s relieved. He has been . . . unproductive today. Having his own private bathroom has been beneficial more than once.

“Come in.”

The door opens, and Wei Ying steps through, smiling as his eyes focus on Lan Zhan sitting behind the desk. “Hey.”

“Hello, Wei Ying.”

Lan Zhan pushes back from the desk and watches as Wei Ying makes his way to the desk, checking out the décor as he comes. “Nice office. Although I suppose you’d have to call something this fancy an executive suite, huh?”

“I generally just call it an office. Would you like something to drink?”

“Hmm, I’m good, thanks.” Wei Ying strokes his hand over the back of one of the guest chairs. Lan Zhan studies him: his lipstick is fresh, his hair brushed glossy. Wei Ying cocks his head and studies him in return. Lan Zhan’s suit jacket hangs from the rack behind him, and Wei Ying trails his eyes over his chest and arms, bites his red lip.

Wei Ying leaves the guest chair behind and clicks around the desk. Lan Zhan’s desk is always uncluttered, but he’s taken special care today to leave the surface clear. Wei Ying leans back against the desk and nudges his leg against Lan Zhan’s.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming.”

Wei Ying’s nose wrinkles. “Interesting choice of words.” He raises his leg and lets the shoe drop from his foot. His bare foot slides across the top of Lan Zhan’s shoe and nudges at his ankle. “Do you mind me leaning on your desk?”

“No. Make yourself at home.”

Wei Ying grins and toes off the other shoe. He hops onto the desk, his toes curling in the stockings.

Lan Zhan leans back in his chair and rests his hands on the arms. “How was your day?”

Wei Ying sucks his lower lip into his mouth and releases it with a pop. “Not great. I’ve been very distracted.” He brushes his foot up Lan Zhan’s leg and presses his toes into the leather between his thighs. “How was yours?”

“Much the same.” He wraps his fingers around Wei Ying’s ankle and lifts his foot onto his thigh, strokes his thumb over the hollow below the bone. Wei Ying gasps in a breath, his calf muscles tensing. So delightfully responsive. “Do you often dress this way for work?”

Wei Ying shakes his head. “Got quite a few weird looks today.” He stifles a moan as Lan Zhan’s thumb presses into his arch.

“Mn.” He presses against Wei Ying’s bent knee to spread his thighs. The garter belt peeks out from below the skirt’s bunched hem. “Beautiful.”

Wei Ying groans and grips the edge of the desk. “Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan pulls his foot forward to press against his cock, sliding it over the length already straining below his zipper. Wei Ying’s eyes lock on his foot, his breath coming quick, his toes curling.

“Would you still like for me to fuck you?” Lan Zhan asks, making his voice light, conversational.

“Fuck yes.”

Lan Zhan pushes his foot off the chair. Wei Ying squeaks and steadies himself on the desk. Lan Zhan unzips his pants and takes out his cock, giving it a light stroke.

“Then suck me off. If you do it well, I will fuck you.”

Wei Ying shoves off the desk and falls to his knees with flattering speed. Shuffling forward, he pushes between Lan Zhan’s legs and strokes his thighs. “Yes, please. I’ll make it good.” He grins, eyes sparkling. He enjoys this game, too.

“Go lock the door first.”

Wei Ying heaves a sigh and pushes up, bracing his hands on Lan Zhan’s thighs. His gait as he crosses to the door is odd, awkward, and his erection strains against the front of the skirt. Probably pulling the thong into his ass, Lan Zhan thinks, smirking. As Wei Ying turns the lock and minces back to him, Lan Zhan runs his thumb over his cock, toying with the foreskin.

Wei Ying kneels again and nudges his nose against Lan Zhan’s hand.

“Good boy.” Lan Zhan holds the base of his cock, grabs Wei Ying’s hair with his other hand, and pulls him forward. Eagerly, Wei Ying opens his mouth but waits as Lan Zhan rubs his cockhead over Wei Ying’s lips, smearing his lipstick.

Wei Ying’s fingers curl and relax, kneading his thighs as Lan Zhan slowly feeds him his cock, watching it disappear inch by inch into that hot mouth. Wei Ying can’t take it all—he chokes on the last few inches, but he doesn’t try to pull away. Tears slide down his cheeks. Lan Zhan catches one on his thumb and sucks it into his mouth. Wei Ying’s eyes flick up to watch him, and he sucks harder.

Lan Zhan pulls him off. Whining, Wei Ying looks up at him with wet red eyes. “I can take it.”

“Breathe for a moment,” Lan Zhan says. He wipes more tears, strokes Wei Ying’s hair. “You’re doing well.”

Wei Ying croons and pushes his head into Lan Zhan’s hand. “You’re so big, gege. Knew you would be.”

Lan Zhan swipes his thumb over Wei Ying’s wet lips, lets Wei Ying suck his thumb into his mouth, his eyes shutting as he flutters his tongue.

“Impatient,” Lan Zhan hisses. It isn’t the best blowjob he’s ever received—Wei Ying clearly isn’t that experienced—but it might be the most enthusiastic. And skill can be learned, after all. He may not mind teaching this one.

Wei Ying grins and nips his thumb. Lan Zhan slides his thumb free and grips Wei Ying’s jaw, his fingers pressing into skin. “Gege,” Wei Ying mumbles, his jaw nearly immobile in Lan Zhan’s grasp. “Thought you liked biting.” The gleeful sparkle in his eyes makes Lan Zhan’s cock throb.

“I thought you were going to be good for me.” He releases Wei Ying’s jaw and slides his hand down to wrap around Wei Ying’s throat.

Wei Ying’s eyes flutter closed. “I’ll be good,” he whispers.

“Then suck me.” Lan Zhan moves his hand to the back of Wei Ying’s neck and drags him onto his cock.

He lets Wei Ying set the pace, bobbing fast, sucking hard, clever tongue swirling. Better, he thinks, laying his head back against the chair. When he’s close, he clutches Wei Ying’s head with both hands and holds him still, thrusting up into his mouth.

Even jacking off twice in the bathroom hadn’t released the tension from this morning in the elevator, and now he comes with a heavy groan, emptying himself down Wei Ying’s pulsing throat.

When Wei Ying has choked him down, Lan Zhan lays his hands back on the arms of the chair and watches lazily as Wei Ying licks him clean and nuzzles his thighs.

“Was that good enough, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying croaks, peeking up through his eyelashes.

“Mn. Come here.”

Wei Ying pushes up and leans into him, bracing his hands on Lan Zhan’s shoulders. Lan Zhan pulls him onto his lap, kisses the salt from his lips, strokes his back through the damp silk. Wei Ying’s lips are swollen, his lipstick blurred across his mouth. His moans are throaty, his tongue hot and slick.

When his glasses bump Wei Ying’s cheek, Lan Zhan wraps an arm around Wei Ying’s waist and spins the chair around to deposit them on the desk. “Such pretty eyes,” Wei Ying croons.

Lan Zhan wraps a hand in his hair to pull his head back, licks a line up his throat, bites the underside of his jaw. Wei Ying shudders and shifts his hips, rocking his erection against Lan Zhan’s belly. Lan Zhan pinches his nipple through the shirt, and Wei Ying cries out, hips jerking.

“Take it off,” Lan Zhan orders. He loosens his tie while Wei Ying unbuttons his red shirt and drops it to the floor. Wei Ying’s chest is flushed, his nipples pebbled. He blushes and preens while Lan Zhan looks him over.

Lan Zhan slides his tie free of his collar. “Put your hands together.”

Wei Ying blinks, watching as Lan Zhan stretches the tie between his spread hands. “Oh.” Slowly, he raises his hands to his chest and presses his wrists together. He isn’t smiling.

Lan Zhan pulls the tie back. “You do not have to.”

“No, it’s okay. I just haven’t, uh, done that before.”

“It is not obligatory. If you would prefer not to, we will continue without the tie.”

Wei Ying snorts. “I feel like we’re discussing a business arrangement.”

Lan Zhan hums. It is rather like that, though he doesn’t see the problem with the similarity. “I will rephrase: Wei Ying, would you prefer to be fucked with your hands bound or unbound?”

Laughing, Wei Ying wiggles in his lap. “Let’s go with hands bound. I assume that I’m free to change my mind if I hate it?”

“Of course. If you want, I will sign an affidavit to that effect.”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes and presses his wrists together. “Where would we even find a notary at this hour?”

Lan Zhan lays the tie over Wei Ying’s wrists, drags it over his skin and away again. Wei Ying shudders.

“Good?”

“Yeah, good.”

Lan Zhan takes one of Wei Ying’s hands, strokes the slim wrist, then winds the tie around it. Then he loops it over the other wrist and completes the binding. “Is it too tight?”

Wei Ying fidgets experimentally and shakes his head. “It’s good.” His voice is low, his eyes wide. It seems that he is discovering something about himself. Lan Zhan isn’t typically fond of being a teacher in the bedroom, but Wei Ying is an appealing student.

“Tell me if it starts to restrict your blood flow. Or if it becomes uncomfortable in any way.”

Wei Ying nods. His erection has not flagged, still jutting up against the skirt. Lan Zhan tries to remember if he’s ever fucked anyone wearing a skirt, and thinks he has not. He certainly hasn’t fucked anyone wearing stockings. Given that it was a common fantasy when he was a teenager, he would not have forgotten it.

Lan Zhan kisses him gently, then lifts Wei Ying’s bound arms, settling them on the back of the chair so that Wei Ying has to balance on his spread knees. He kisses him until Wei Ying moans and tightens his thighs, rocking in Lan Zhan’s lap.

Then Lan Zhan slides the skirt up to Wei Ying’s hips, strokes his thighs, scratches his fingers over the bare skin above the stockings. He moves his hands behind Wei Ying to cup his ass, squeezing as it flexes.

“Fuck, Lan Zhan, please.” Wei Ying mouths at his jaw, shimmies against him pitifully.

“Stand up.”

He helps Wei Ying stand up and turns him around. He unzips the skirt and shoves it down Wei Ying’s thighs. Wei Ying squirms to send it down the rest of the way, then kicks it aside.

Lan Zhan leans forward and sinks his teeth in Wei Ying’s bare ass. Wei Ying yelps and jolts, sending his ass jiggling. Lan Zhan bites the other side, then leans back to admire the red dents in the pale skin.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines, laughing, and squeals when Lan Zhan pulls him back into his lap.

“Put your feet on the desk.”

Wei Ying lifts his feet onto the desk one by one. That sends his weight back against Lan Zhan, his bound hands helpless to brace him. Lan Zhan wraps an arm around him and rolls the chair forward until Wei Ying’s knees are bent, his thighs spread wide.

The dark computer monitor mirrors them, reflecting Wei Ying bound and spread open. When Wei Ying notices his reflection, he keens and turns his face aside, hiding against Lan Zhan’s neck.

Lan Zhan lets him hide as he draws Wei Ying’s arms over his head to rest on the back of the chair. He strokes Wei Ying’s chest and teases his nipples, pinching and stroking as Wei Ying gasps and grinds his ass against Lan Zhan’s cock, already hard again.

The lacy underwear can’t constrain Wei Ying’s erection. The head of his cock juts from the top, and the fabric twists and bunches, probably cutting into him painfully. But Wei Ying still rocks and thrusts into the air.

“Please. Please, Lan Zhan. Please touch me.”

“I am touching you.” He tweaks a nipple in demonstration.

“Lan Zhan!”

“Where would you like to be touched?”

“My dick,” he whispers, his cheek burning against Lan Zhan’s neck. “Please.”

Lan Zhan slides his hand down to curl around Wei Ying’s cock. The black lace is soaked. It rasps over Wei Ying’s cock as Lan Zhan drags it over his shaft. Moaning, Wei Ying squirms, his thigh muscles bunching as he thrusts up into Lan Zhan’s hand. Lan Zhan has to brace his feet to keep the chair from sliding back.

“Do you want to come now, or when I’m fucking you?”

Wei Ying groans. His cock twitches. “Lan Zhan.”

He moves his hand off Wei Ying’s cock. “Choose.”

Wei Ying’s ass slides over Lan Zhan’s cock, his cheeks spread by the thong. Lan Zhan wants to be inside him so badly that he can hardly breathe.

“Can’t we do both?” Wei Ying asks.

“Greedy.” But that had been the right answer, of course. Lan Zhan smiles and squeezes Wei Ying’s cock. He pulls it free of the lace as much as he can, spreads Wei Ying’s precome down the shaft, and pumps him fast. “Go on, then. Come for me.”

Wei Ying throws his head back on Lan Zhan’s shoulder and keens, his knees splayed, wanton and uninhibited. Lan Zhan watches his face in the monitor, watches Wei Ying’s mouth drop open on a tight scream as his cock spurts, painting his belly. Lan Zhan keeps stroking until Wei Ying begs him to stop.

While Wei Ying lolls in his lap, Lan Zhan walks the chair over to grab the tissue box. He wipes his hand clean as well as he can and grabs another for Wei Ying. Wei Ying grunts and wiggles as Lan Zhan wipes him down, which does wonderful things for Lan Zhan’s cock.

Lan Zhan lowers Wei Ying’s arms and rubs his shoulders.

“Knew you’d be a sweetheart,” Wei Ying says, smiling.

“Mn. Stand up. Bend over the desk.”

“M’kay.” Wei Ying works himself off Lan Zhan’s lap and stands, wavering. Lan Zhan grips his waist until he steadies. The bite marks still shine on his ass as he shuffles to the desk. He stretches over it, extending his arms off the far side, his glorious ass tilted up. He’s probably smearing come all over Lan Zhan’s desk, but that’s a problem for later.

Lan Zhan stands and straightens his pants, tucking his cock away for the moment. Unbuttoning his vest, he walks to the clothes rack and hangs up the vest. Then he unbuttons his shirt cuffs and rolls them up his forearms.

His briefcase is on the floor beside Wei Ying. Wei Ying turns his cheek against the desk to watch him open it, soft-eyed and smiling. Lan Zhan retrieves the condoms and lube from the briefcase and lets Wei Ying see them in his hands. He sets them on the desk beside Wei Ying. Then he unbuckles his belt and pulls it free, letting it sing through the loops. He doubles it over, snapping the leather. Wei Ying’s eyes widen, locked on the belt like a spooked animal.

Lan Zhan sets the belt aside. That is something they can work up to in the future, if Wei Ying is interested. Lan Zhan thinks he will be.

Lan Zhan pulls his cock out, strokes it slowly, gazing at Wei Ying. Wei Ying’s smile returns, and he shimmies his hips in invitation.

Moving slowly, Lan Zhan steps behind the desk. The garter belt frames Wei Ying’s ass beautifully, the black belt and thong a pleasing contrast against his skin. But the thong is a problem.

“You are going to feel cold metal,” Lan Zhan tells Wei Ying.

“What?” Wei Ying doesn’t lift himself from the desk, but he squirms, trying to look behind him.

“Scissors,” Lan Zhan explains, opening the desk drawer to retrieve them. He curls a finger under the thong’s strap and lets it pop back against Wei Ying’s skin.

“Oh. Okay.”

Wei Ying is very still as Lan Zhan lifts the strap and slides the scissor blades across his skin. One side snips. Lan Zhan moves above the other cheek and snips again. Slowly, he tugs the underwear free. Wei Ying lifts his hips and moans as the lace drags against his cock. The scraps go in the trash, the scissors back in the drawer.

“Do you fuck a lot of people on this desk?” Wei Ying asks as Lan Zhan slicks his fingers.

Lan Zhan thinks on the question as he moves behind Wei Ying and spreads his cheeks, watching his pink hole pucker. “No. I believe you are the first.”

“Shame. It’s pretty comfy.”

“Glad you like it.” Lan Zhan pets Wei Ying’s asshole with his thumb, pushing in slightly, and Wei Ying gasps, lifts onto his toes.

He starts with one finger, pushing past the resistance, to the point where Wei Ying’s ass starts to suck him in and clench around him. “Tight,” he grits out, twisting his finger. “Is this your first time being fucked on a desk?”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying gasps. His forehead presses against the desk’s surface. Lan Zhan pulls his finger back and presses back in. Wei Ying grunts.

“Wei Ying.” He removes his finger and rubs little circles over his hole. “Is this your first time being fucked?”

Moaning, Wei Ying thuds his forehead against the desk. “Yes,” he mutters. Then he turns his head, eyes closed. “Sorry. Is it really obvious?”

“No need to be sorry.” Lan Zhan strokes his ass and runs his hand up to his back, splaying his hand there and pressing Wei Ying down against the desk. Wei Ying’s lips part, a little cry escaping. Fucking virgins doesn’t interest Lan Zhan much. He’s 34 years old and tends to prefer his lovers to be experienced. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight,” Wei Ying sighs. “I know, don’t laugh.”

“I am not laughing.” Lan Zhan grabs more slick and spreads it over Wei Ying’s hole, teasing the rim. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Have you changed your mind?”

“No.” Lan Zhan slides his finger back in, and Wei Ying groans. “Unless you’d like to stop?”

“No!” Wei Ying shakes his head. “I don’t want to stop.”

Wei Ying relaxes as Lan Zhan keeps fucking him with one finger, moving slowly, taking his time. Wei Ying went to a lot of trouble to seduce him, and he does not mind returning the favor.

“Are you ready for another?”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying breathes.

He opens more quickly to the second finger, his hips shifting to follow the thrusts, groaning as Lan Zhan’s fingers curl inside him.

“Feel good?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Mmhmm.”

The third finger makes him grunt and pant, but Lan Zhan holds him flat with one hand and fucks him with the other, insistent now, shoving him past the pain and into soft submission. When Lan Zhan finds his prostate and strokes, Wei Ying’s hips buck, his bound hands scrabbling in the air.

Lan Zhan pulls his fingers free. Wei Ying whines and looks back at him, face flushed and cheeks wet. “Lan Zhan.”

“Shh. I’ve got you.” He grabs Wei Ying’s thighs and lifts him, pushing him across the desk. He bend Wei Ying’s knee and lay his leg on the desk, spreading him wide. Now, Wei Ying’s foot dangles in the air, his bound hands falling off the other side. Splayed. Helpless. He watches Wei Ying’s wet hole clench on nothing, shining and eager.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” Wei Ying grunts. His head also hangs off the other side of the desk. The edge presses against the base of his throat.

Lan Zhan rolls on a condom and slicks his cock, baring his teeth as the light strokes threaten his control. He positions the head against Wei Ying’s hole and spreads his precome around it before pressing inside. Wei Ying makes a strangled sound as the head pops in.

Lan Zhan can’t help swatting his thigh, but he then strokes his hand over the smooth stocking. “Tight little ass,” he mutters. “Try to relax.”

Nodding, Wei Ying relaxes a bit, sinking against the desk. Lan Zhan clamps a hand on the back of his neck, the other grips Wei Ying’s thigh, and he pushes in, working himself inside slowly, in short thrusts, watching his cock split Wei Ying open.

“You’re doing well,” he praises, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Wei Ying is so fucking tight. “You feel so good.” Wei Ying sighs back at him, rocking with his thrusts. He is gorgeous, spread out over the desk, his back muscles flexing, ass jiggling. The stocking and garter belt make him look more indecent than if he were naked, highlighting the bare skin against the dark fabric. “Beautiful,” Lan Zhan murmurs, thrusting deep.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whimpers, hiding his face against the desk. So shy. Lan Zhan wants to see his face, wants to see the blushing cheeks and big, pretty eyes.

He pulls out, grasping the base of his cock to keep Wei Ying’s ass from pulling the condom off. He maneuvers Wei Ying onto his back and pulls his hips to the edge of the desk.

Wei Ying blinks up at him, his face flushed scarlet and his eyes wide and wet. His arms stretch over his head, wrists bound with Lan Zhan’s blue tie. Lan Zhan lifts Wei Ying’s legs over his shoulders and strokes his thighs, presses a kiss to the inside of his knee. Wei Ying’s eyes drift close, his mouth falls open as Lan Zhan presses back inside him.

“Do you like this?” Lan Zhan asks, rolling his hips.

Wei Ying nods. His cock bobs, dark and angry, curving toward his stomach. When Lan Zhan’s cock strokes his prostate, he cries out, his stomach muscles rippling.

“Look at me,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying opens his eyes, blinking rapidly as Lan Zhan fucks him slowly. “Did you get yourself off after I left you in the elevator this morning?”

Laughing softly, Wei Ying nods. “Not in the elevator. Later. Ah, in the bathroom.” He croons as Lan Zhan’s cock strokes inside him. “What about you?”

“Yes.” He drives deep, rocking Wei Ying’s hips up and receding slowly. “Twice. Thought about going downstairs to find you, dragging you back up here. Thought about it all day.”

Giggling, Wei Ying arches up, letting his hands fall farther back. His cock dribbles on his belly. “You should have. Been going crazy thinking about this.”

Lan Zhan’s hips move faster, slapping against Wei Ying’s ass, the friction delicious but almost too much. Wei Ying grunts, gnaws at his lip, digs his calves into Lan Zhan’s shoulders. Lan Zhan squeezes his thighs, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh.

Eyelids fluttering, Wei Ying gazes up at him, his breath coming out in little hitched gasps. “Can you come like this?” Lan Zhan asks, snapping his hips. Wei Ying nods, his thighs trembling. “Then do it. Let me see you.”

Wei Ying closes his eyes and tilts his head back, baring his long neck. Lan Zhan leans forward, pressing his thighs down, and fucks him hard, fast, until Wei Ying quivers and sobs, his orgasm rolling through him, come splashing them both.

With a snarl, Lan Zhan drops Wei Ying’s legs and grips his hips. He falls over him, plunging deep into that clenching heat, and comes, his teeth locked on Wei Ying’s shoulder.

As he comes down, he rocks his hips and licks the red imprints on Wei Ying’s shoulder, kisses his throat. Wei Ying mumbles something that sounds like “executive vampire” and curls a leg around Lan Zhan’s waist. Smiling, Lan Zhan kisses him, sloppy and satisfied, and slides his hand up Wei Ying’s arms to loosen the tie. Wei Ying groans as Lan Zhan draws his arms onto the desk and soothes the creases left by the tie.

Lan Zhan tosses the condom in the trash and pulls a limp Wei Ying down into the chair with him, holding him on his lap and petting him, kissing his red cheeks. “Would you like to come home with me?” he asks, tucking Wei Ying’s hair behind his ear.

Wei Ying grins and nuzzles his neck. “Depends. Will you make me breakfast in the morning?”

Lan Zhan, who rarely sees a man more than once and usually prefers for his lovers to leave after they’ve fucked, nods and kisses his forehead. “Anything you want.”