Guardian Fic: restraint (release)
Mar. 22nd, 2020 01:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat_lair***
Title: restraint (release)
Author:kat_lair / Mistress Kat
Fandom: Guardian
Pairing: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan
Tags: Oral Fixation, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sexual Fantasy, Anal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Roleplay, Hand Feeding, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Cock Warming, Zhao Yunlan has a lot of fantasies okay?, absolute filth
Rating: NC-17, Very Explicit
Word count: 6,364
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing
Summary: It’s an illusion of control, he knows it; nothing but a flimsy delusion of choice. But it’s also the only thing Zhao Yunlan has left to grasp, so he takes it.
Author notes: I’ve wanted to write this exact id fic since watching the show, because essentially I have A LOT of feelings about Zhao Yunlan’s oral fixation. Thank you to![[archiveofourown.org profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/b164c54b26e4/-/archiveofourown.org/favicon.ico)
HanHathma and pushkin666 for encouragement and for the increasing concern they expressed for Zhao Yunlan’s wellbeing after I left him, erm, hanging for months (please be reassured that this fic takes place during one single night). Special, special thank you to my two wonderful betas athenejen and umadoshi for catching many missing commas and confusing phrases. The fic is much more readable because of their efforts. All remaining mistakes are mine.
restraint (release) on AO3
Zhao Yunlan has a problem. No, scratch that. He has several problems. They are all just sort of… grouped around a single theme. Person.
Problem 1. Professor Shen Wei, with his unshakeable calm and polite little smiles that hide all sorts of things and then the genuine ones that take Zhao Yunlan's fucking breath away. The way he cares about things like his students and knowledge and also, inexplicably, Zhao Yunlan and everyone at SID. The way his tailored suits frame his body, the way those expensive shirts stretch over the muscles of his back. The twice-cursed sleeve garters that reveal an absolutely indecent amount of white, soft skin that Zhao Yunlan bets would feel amazing against his mouth or maybe just pressed over his throat, keeping him still… Professor Shen Wei's fingers, curled around brushes and scrolls and books, adjusting his tie, adjusting Zhao Yunlan's lapels or – sweet mercy – grabbing them with a force he knows isn’t human that still takes him by surprise, and maybe pushing him a bit and...
Problem 2. Black-Cloaked Envoy, wielding all that power with ease and lethal competence, the sheer aura of it pushing backs to bow and knees to bend, and each time Zhao Yunlan has to lock his muscles to not just fold down like a bad hand of cards. The curve of his mouth – so familiar, now that Zhao Yunlan knows what to look for – under that mask, pressed thin in anger or – if Zhao Yunlan does well, if he gets it right – curling up, just a little. The way he moves when fighting, all sweeping strength, graceful and deadly and so hot it makes Zhao Yunlan want to pick fights with the bad guys just to watch Hei Pao Shi finish them. His hands. This time curved around his staff or a blade as sharp as Zhao Yunlan's thirst. The way his fingers cup all that swirling, diamond dark energy, pulling it in or pushing it out, ruthless and precise.
Problem 3. Shen Wei, the man at the nexus of the accomplished scholar and the legendary Lord of Dixing, and yet something much more than just the sum of his roles. It’s Shen Wei who lets a small child go because punishing her would not have been justice and who bends the rules to ensure his colleague gets a happy ending when none had seemed possible. It’s Shen Wei who tucks Zhao Yunlan into bed when he’s sick, who nags him about food and rest, who lets him fall asleep on his shoulder. It’s also undeniably Shen Wei who steps in just a bit too close when they speak, who drops his voice just so to a low, intimate rumble that curls hot and urgent in Zhao Yunlan’s stomach. It’s Shen Wei who follows him with his eyes, the look in them dark and wanting and unbearably tender at the same time.
Problem 4. Zhao Yunlan's brain and body, heart and mind, all of which want it all with the kind of relentless focus that is very fucking distracting. Also, special mention to his dick, which is currently pressing rather painfully against the zipper of his jeans just because Zhao Yunlan had been in the same room as Shen Wei for twenty minutes this afternoon. Granted, during those twenty minutes, Shen Wei had used a lot of long words to politely tear some Inspector from Dragon City regular police a new one for making sly implications about Zhao Yunlan's professional competence and how he's gotten his position only because of his father. It was neither new nor particularly innovative as insults went, but before he'd had a chance to laugh it off, Professor Shen Wei had straightened his shoulders and flat out laid into the man. Then he'd calmly nodded goodbye to Zhao Yunlan and walked out like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, when every single cell and atom of Zhao Yunlan's essence had just fucking blossomed with renewed adoration.
So. A problem. A big one. A multifaceted one even.
Still, because Zhao Yunlan is a god damn professional, he makes it through the rest of the strategy meeting without embarrassing himself in public. Just. With a jacket casually slung over his lap, and then over his arm as he walks out, trying not to limp too obviously.
He even makes it to his own apartment, rather than just pounding on Shen Wei's front door and begging to be let in to... Well, beg some more?
Because here's the thing. Zhao Yunlan refuses to be a slave to his own stupid libido. It's not that he doesn't think it won't happen eventually. He's not blind, not anymore. He sees the way Shen Wei looks at him, like he would tear worlds apart just to keep Zhao Yunlan safe, maybe just to keep him smiling, and that's fucking terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. But so far Shen Wei has not made any kind of move to do anything more than look, even though he must know Zhao Yunlan is a sure bet. There has to be a reason for that, more than just some over-inflated sense of duty. At least Zhao Yunlan hopes so. Because if he finds out that the only reason they're not doing what they both so clearly want to be doing is because of Shen Wei's self-sacrificing views on propriety or him somehow assuming this holding pattern is all he’s allowed, then… Well, Zhao Yunlan is going to be pissed.
So it's not that that keeps him from simply leaning against his closed apartment door and shoving a hand down his jeans, taking himself in hand, dry and rough and perfect. It would be good, and it would be quick; the heavy ache low in his stomach tells him as much. It's not even the concern about being interrupted. Da Qing is on a stakeout for the night, and likely to crash at the Headquarters rather than come home.
No, what stays his hand is simply his own resentment over feeling out of control. Zhao Yunlan has wanted people before. Not many, but some, enough to fantasise about them, enough to want to sleep with them for real, and enough even to do it too. But never before has he felt like this, like the want is almost external to him, something thrust upon him and something he has absolutely no control over. He can't put Shen Wei out of his mind when he needs to, can't turn off idle thoughts about what it would be like to mouth at the bones of Shen Wei’s wrist, to see how many fingers he could suck into his mouth at the same time (all of them, he wants to choke on Shen Wei’s long fingers, to gag and drool around them), if Shen Wei would let him try. He can't stop wanting Shen Wei, all the time.
What he can do, though, is not act on it. He is aware of the double standard; hoping Shen Wei's inaction is not about his self-denial and at the same time denying himself a physical relief his body craves. But though it looks the same, it feels different, and at the back of his mind Zhao Yunlan is hoping it means he's doing the right thing, that by not giving into the urge to touch himself every time he wants to, he's keeping his own wants in check, making sure they don't encroach on Shen Wei, don't push him into a decision he's clearly not ready to make.
Methodically, Zhao Yunlan strips out of his clothes, even going as far as tossing each item into the laundry hamper rather than just its general vicinity. He turns the shower to lukewarm, tolerable for a quick wash but nothing that feels so good as to make him want to linger. Even so, he hisses when the spray touches his chest, sluicing down to his groin. His cock hangs between his thighs, heavy and thick. Not fully hard but definitely not uninterested. Zhao Yunlan ignores it, cleaning himself as quickly as possible, his hips jerking forward only little when his soap-covered hand swipes between his buttocks.
He's shivering by the time he's done, not even bothering to dry himself properly before slipping into bed. There's a dull ache of denial at the bottom of his stomach, but Zhao Yunlan ignores it determinedly and closes his eyes.
It helps that he's also exhausted, and soon enough sleep brings a welcome relief.
***
It doesn't last. Zhao Yunlan wakes up hard and leaking, cock trapped between him and the mattress, hips stuttering. The pillow under his face is wet from where he's been biting-sucking-drooling on it. Fragments of dream still cling to his mind; hazy images of Shen Wei's hands, his shy smile turning wicked and just a little mean. The ghost sensation of being held down lingers, Zhao Yunlan's hips, thighs, arms all aching from the lack of bruises.
He's close, knows it wouldn't take a lot to push himself over. With a bitten-off sob, he makes himself stop moving instead, asserting the control that keeps slipping from his grasp.
For a few minutes Zhao Yunlan lies there, breathing harshly, the cool night air drying the sweat on his back where the covers have shifted. Fuck, this isn't working. He feels like he's at war with his own body and mind. It's a battle he's losing. Badly.
His preferred option – for Shen Wei to actually bed him and not just think about it loudly enough that Zhao Yunlan wants to start stripping every time the man looks his way – is still out of reach. He's tried waiting, being patient, being good, but he's not, not on his own, not without Shen Wei here telling him to wait, here to put Zhao Yunlan's body to use, to tell him when he's doing well and...
He could do it then, if Shen Wei asked him, if he ordered it. But now... Zhao Yunlan swallows, throat dry enough to be painful.
Scratching this particular itch with anyone else is right out of question. One, Zhao Yunlan doesn't just want to get fucked, he wants to get fucked by Shen Wei. And… much more than that, actually, but that’s a problem for another time. Two, even the idea makes his skin crawl, leaving a bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth. They're not even together yet, and maybe they'll never be, because despite what he knows they both want, the world they live in is not one for fairy-tale endings. And yet... It would feel like cheating.
Zhao Yunlan turns onto his back, pulling the covers on properly, and blinking at the ceiling. The room is almost pitch black, the only light coming from outside the window, the streetlamps casting a faint yellow glow. As predicted, he's still alone, Da Qing having followed his usual post-stakeout routine. The only sound in the flat is his own breathing. The entire apartment building seems to be quiet as well. And even if there were some noise from Shen Wei's flat, he wouldn't be able to hear it.
Idly, he wonders if the same is true in reverse, or whether superhuman hearing is a skill Shen Wei has picked up somewhere along the way as well. The possibilities are... intriguing.
Desire still thrums under his skin. Tentatively, Zhao Yunlan presses a hand to his lower stomach, just letting it rest there, warm and heavy. Even that feels unbearably good right now.
Denial isn't working, that much is obvious. It’s only been making things worse, until he is feeling high-strung and stretched thin, snappy with the team, illogically angry at Shen Wei, who – in a twisted way – is responsible. Until his body is taking what it needs without any conscious decision on his part.
So maybe, if it’s going to happen either way, it’s best that it happens on his terms. At a pace he sets himself.
It’s an illusion of control, he knows it; nothing but a flimsy delusion of choice. But it’s also the only thing he has left to grasp, so he takes it.
Experimentally, Zhao Yunlan inches his hand even lower, fingertips scratching at the edge of his pubic hair. His cock, which had subsided somewhat, twitches in response and his hips jerk up sharply.
Zhao Yunlan snatches his hand away, panting. Shit, he’s still close. Too close to even really enjoy himself. Now that he's given himself permission, he doesn't want it to be over in thirty seconds.
He forces himself to take a few deep breaths until his muscles relax a little, then folds his arms underneath himself, flat between the mattress and the small of his back, just to resist the temptation to touch too soon. It's warm under the covers; the familiar silence of his home and somehow, perversely, the relative closeness of Shen Wei just across the hall make him feel safe.
Zhao Yunlan closes his eyes and lets himself think about everything he's been trying not to.
Like Shen Wei’s mouth.
The images flood his mind, as if they’d crowded the gates and now, given permission, there’s no stopping them.
There’s Shen Wei smiling, small and real and almost secret, just for Zhao Yunlan, because of him. The flat, thin press of Shen Wei’s lips when he’s angry is all too easy to picture; the severe line of them under the Black Cloaked Envoy’s mask, the one that strikes fear into the hearts of strangers but does something quite different to Zhao Yunlan, now that he knows the cost Shen Wei bears for it.
Zhao Yunlan remembers the swipe of Shen Wei’s tongue, the way it darts out to lick remnants of tea or sauce off his bottom lip, or sometimes, after a fight, the sweat gathered on his top lip. Just the thought of that, the promise of salt and skin against his own tongue, is enough to make him whimper. Slowly, he brings one of his hands out from underneath him and lifts it to his mouth. He can feel the tremble of his fingertips, skimming over his own lips, and it’s both good and not nearly enough, self-inflicted torture. Zhao Yunlan rubs his index finger over his lips; a leisurely, circular motion that makes his mouth fall open hungrily of its own accord. He imagines it’s Shen Wei’s fingers teasing him, Shen Wei watching his greedy, needy mouth gape open and ready, Shen Wei saying “Shh, shh, not yet.”
When Zhao Yunlan breathes out “Please, please,” the desperation in his voice is audible, and he can feel himself flushing in the darkness of his own bed.
Finally, he pushes one of his fingers in, his mouth so wet, tongue curling around it in eager welcome. He goes as deep as he can, relishing the slight sting of his nail against the back of his throat. One finger is not enough to trigger his gag reflex, but it is enough to make his hips surge up, cock pressing almost painfully against the underside of the covers. When he pulls his finger out, sucking hard, the slow drag of it makes him keen.
There are so many fantasies he has about Shen Wei’s fingers in his mouth that for a moment Zhao Yunlan’s mind just blanks, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on his own digit. They go from tender to downright filthy.
There’s the one where they are at the station, late at night and all alone, finishing a meal that Shen Wei’s brought him. This one is based on reality, on the several nights that included just that: the two of them sitting side by side on the sofa or on either side of Zhao Yunlan’s desk, swapping takeaway containers. In his mind, Shen Wei smiles at him, small and indulgent, as he watches Zhao Yunlan eat.
“This is good,” Zhao Yunlan says, grinning with his mouth full. “Thank you.” He finishes his own portion of dumplings in record time, ravenous after skipping both breakfast and lunch, and can’t help but eye the still half-full box in front of Shen Wei with a certain amount of envy.
He’s clearly not subtle enough about it as Shen Wei’s smile turns knowing. He picks up one of the dumplings with his chopsticks, but instead of bringing it to his own mouth he holds it out to Zhao Yunlan.
“Here,” he says. “Have some more.”
Zhao Yunlan knows that he should just push his empty dish over for Shen Wei to drop the food into, but he allows his instincts to push him out of his seat instead, just enough to stretch over the desk and wrap his mouth around the piece of food at the end of Shen Wei’s chopsticks.
He holds eye contact until the moment his teeth grab hold of the dumpling, the sweet and spicy sauce coating his tongue with new intensity. It’s just long enough to see the way Shen Wei’s eyes widen, the way his mouth drops open in surprise, just a little.
Then the implications of what he’s just done hit him and Zhao Yunlan drops his gaze, feeling his cheeks flame. He pulls the food off, chews, swallows and sits down, eyes still on the table top.
His finger, resting against his lips, stills too as his body gets caught in the fantasy.
Zhao Yunlan is brazen with his flirting, he knows he is, and normally he enjoys pushing Shen Wei just to check that he still can, but something about the quiet of the evening feels like he’s violated some unspoken rule to keep such games out, except Zhao Yunlan isn’t playing, not really, and…
“Another?” Shen Wei’s voice is rough and Zhao Yunlan’s gaze flies up to find him holding out another dumpling at the end of his chopsticks.
“Yes please,” Zhao Yunlan says, giddy with relief, and leans back across the desk.
In the here and now, Zhao Yunlan’s finger pushes back into his mouth and he moans around it.
In the fantasy, Shen Wei feeds him more morsels, first with chopsticks, then with his fingers, and Zhao Yunlan gets braver and braver, his tongue flicking over fingertips, then knuckles, until he’s pushing into the crease between Shen Wei’s fingers, lewd and greedy, until Shen Wei forgoes food entirely and feeds Zhao Yunlan his fingers instead, one at a time.
There are two fingers in his mouth now and Zhao Yunlan doesn’t consciously remember making the decision to do that. He’s sweating under the covers, hips rocking up, just from this.
The fantasy shifts. This one is less… romantic, less tethered to reality. There is no context, just Zhao Yunlan on his knees, Shen Wei standing above him, fucking his fingers into Zhao Yunlan’s mouth, rough and mean.
“That’s it,” he says, eyes partly hidden behind his glasses. “You want it, don’t you, Xiao Yunlan?” The endearment is all the more effective like this, accompanied by the curl of Shen Wei’s fingers in his mouth, trapping his tongue.
Zhao Yunlan sobs and pushes four fingers into his mouth. Now he gags, saliva dripping freely down his jaw.
In his mind, Shen Wei’s smile turns darker. “Look at you,” he says. “Making a mess.” He’s hard, the outline of his erection plain, ruining the tailored cut of his trousers. Zhao Yunlan can’t stop staring, his eyes flicking between Shen Wei’s crotch and his face in a silent plea.
He knows it’s a fantasy, knows Shen Wei would never be this rough – not to start with, not unless Zhao Yunlan begged for it, maybe not without a written treatise on just how much Zhao Yunlan wanted it. But this is about Zhao Yunlan indulging, about letting himself imagine the unimaginable, just this once. And so he imagines Shen Wei pulling his fingers out, telling him to keep his mouth open and ready, like a good boy, while Shen Wei unbuckles his belt, unzips his trousers and peels them back just enough to expose the sharp cut of pubic bone.
Zhao Yunlan gives his fingers one last hard suck before reluctantly letting go. He breathes harshly, lips parted, waiting.
Maybe it’s not Professor Shen about to fuck his mouth, maybe it’s the Black Cloaked Envoy, extracting payment for all those times Chief Zhao has shown him less respect than is his due. Maybe he’s pushed Zhao Yunlan to his knees in a back alley somewhere, after a case, the power still crackling in the air around them. Maybe there are tendrils of it around Zhao Yunlan’s legs and torso and wrist, keeping him down and helpless.
Zhao Yunlan forces his body to stillness. His eyes are wide open, staring at nothing, his breathing harsh and fast, a thin whining sound escaping at every exhale.
There’s a dildo in the bottom drawer of his bedside table. He could get it out, could push it into his mouth until he choked on it. But Shen Wei hasn’t given him permission.
He stretches the wait out as long as he can, hands pushing the covers down, while his wet fingers trace patterns over his chest, long teasing caresses from the hollow of his throat down to the dip of navel, goose bumps chasing after his touch.
God, he wants Shen Wei’s hands on him, slow and careful and worshipful. Or rough, possessive, demanding. Coaxing or taking, Zhao Yunlan wants it all. He skims over a nipple, almost by accident, and the sensation makes his whole body jerk, a pulse of precome dripping down the side of his cock. He does it again and again, bitten-off “ngh, ngh, ngh” sounds punctuating each swipe of his thumbs.
A harsh pinch and he’s back in the alley, Hei Pao Shi using dark energy to push right under Zhao Yunlan’s jacket and t-shirt, to flick over his nipples, cool and sharp and perfect.
He kicks off the blankets entirely, hands grabbing onto his thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, little sickle moons of pain that are meant to stave off the inevitable, yet only make the pleasure spark higher.
In a panic Zhao Yunlan rolls to his knees, sitting up in the bed with the covers pooling around him, sheets bunched up underneath. It’s stupid, he’s being stupid, there’s nothing stopping him from just taking himself in hand and bringing himself off right now.
Except. Except.
He doesn’t want to. Not yet.
He tells himself he’s in control and knows he’s lying.
Actually being on his knees is not helping and for a few perilous seconds his hips stutter forward, fucking thin air helplessly, until Zhao Yunlan wraps one hand around the base of his cock and squeezes tight enough to make himself hiss in discomfort. His other hand pinches a bruise into the tender inside of his thigh. It’s enough to tip the balance and he can feel the orgasm receding, for now.
He stays like that for several minutes, kneeling in the middle of his messy bed, hand around his hard-on and struggling not to move. A shiver racks its way through his body and it’s only partly caused by the coolness of the air. His mouth feels empty.
When he’s sure he’s got himself under some semblance of control, Zhao Yunlan lets go of his dick and brings his fingers back to his mouth. The smell of musk and the bitter taste of his own precome is enough to turn it into Shen Wei’s cock instead his own sticky fingers pushing past his lips.
Zhao Yunlan groans and inside his head Shen Wei does the same, his face flushed and dipped down to look as he fucks his way into Zhao Yunlan’s mouth in short, insistent thrusts, until the head of his erection nudges the back of Zhao Yunlan’s throat.
God, he’s wanted to blow the man since about five minutes after they met. It’s not even the physical act itself, not entirely. Zhao Yunlan wants to make Shen Wei feel good, wants him to let go, just for a moment, and take what is so obviously his to take that Zhao Yunlan doesn’t know how to make it any plainer without actually pushing for a conversation that he doesn’t think Shen Wei is ready to have.
He sucks on his fingers, swallowing around them greedily, his other hand rubbing over his thighs, stomach, chest, his palm sliding easily over sweat-slick skin. He keeps his movements slow, pretends his body isn’t trembling with suppressed need, that he’s not sobbing with it.
Zhao Yunlan knows Shen Wei would never, not even if he begged, but that doesn't stop his mind from summoning up yet another fantasy, this one taking place in Shen Wei’s office at the university. He’s been there often enough – first for cases, or at least with the pretence of cases, and then just to see him, to poke and needle and draw out reluctant smiles – that picturing it is not difficult. Maybe Zhao Yunlan is there with yet another request for assistance, maybe it’s a bullshit one and they both know it, but he pushes anyway, sprawling over the visitor’s chair and refusing to notice any hints about how busy Shen Wei is, how he doesn’t have time for Zhao Yunlan right now.
What would it take, to make him snap? Zhao Yunlan scratches nails over his lower stomach, angry raised lines from hipbone to hipbone, not sure he actually wants to know the answer to the question but unable to stop turning it over in his mind all the same.
“What’s the matter, Professor?” he asks, sliding even lower in the chair, letting his legs fall open. “Aren’t these your office hours?”
These absolutely aren’t Shen Wei’s office hours. It’s late and the campus is abandoned, which is why Zhao Yunlan is here in the first place, pushing his luck.
“I have so many questions about today’s lecture,” he adds, throwing in a wide-eyed look of borderline adoration, playing it up all he’s worth.
He fully expects the blush that stains Shen Wei’s cheeks, the way his words stutter when he gets up, indignant and flustered. “Chief Zhao… Zhao Yunlan,” he says. “This is not appropriate.”
And Zhao Yunlan agrees, he does, but he doesn’t think the flush on Shen Wei’s face is entirely outrage and so he flows to his feet, stepping around the desk until he’s standing close. “Won’t you help me learn, Professor?” he asks, and the breathlessness in his voice is only half playacting now.
Shen Wei’s gaze drops to his mouth. This is not a fantasy. This is an everyday occurrence, one that drives Zhao Yunlan insane, makes him reach for lollipops, tongue curling around candy as a poor substitute for something even sweeter.
He would never be this brave, this openly desperate in real life – or would he, could he? – but in the safety of his own mind Zhao Yunlan lets himself look back, eyes trained on Shen Wei’s mouth and then trailing lower, lower still. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises, his meaning clear.
Would this be it? Yes, he thinks. Yes. Zhao Yunlan pulls his fingers out of his mouth, lets them drop down to wrap loosely around his neck.
It’s Shen Wei’s hand that shoots out, palm cupping his throat, thumb seeking out his frantic pulse. “You are being very disruptive, Zhao Yunlan,” he says, squeezing just a little, for emphasis. “I won’t tolerate that.”
And god, even in his fantasy he’s shocked that Shen Wei is playing along. “Oh?” It comes out in a gasp, a drawn-out moan. “What… What are you going to do about it?”
What would Shen Wei do? Pull him in for a kiss? Bend him over the desk and…? But no. Those are rewards, and he hasn’t earned them yet.
This is a fantasy. Zhao Yunlan knows that no matter how much he feels like Shen Wei’s touch is something he might have to work for, the reason for its continued absence is probably the exact opposite of that. But the potential…
“Nothing,” Shen Wei says, letting go of Zhao Yunlan fast enough to make him stumble a bit, his balance shot. “Not yet.”
Shen Wei smiles, and it’s a little cold, a little mean as he pulls the chair back and points at the space under his desk. “In there,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “I have marking to do and don't have time to see to your... remedial lesson just now.”
Just the idea makes the bottom of Zhao Yunlan’s stomach drop away, desire punching into him like a fist. He imagines lowering himself down to his hands and knees right there in the middle of Professor Shen’s office and crawling into the cramped space under his desk. He imagines curling up, cross-legged or with knees tight to his chest as Shen Wei sits down on the chair and rolls himself close, his long legs bracketing Zhao Yunlan, boxing him in even further.
It would be dark, but not like the almost black of his bedroom, just dim enough that it would take Zhao Yunlan’s eyes a minute or two to adjust, to make out the outline of Shen Wei’s hard cock pressing against the seam of his trousers. This close, Zhao Yunlan thinks, he would be able to smell him.
Would he dare to press his face into the open vee of Shen Wei’s legs, to rub his cheek against the hot ridge of his erection, to mouth at it through the expensive fabric? Yes, he decides, he wouldn’t be able to help himself.
Zhao Yunlan brings his fingers back into his mouth, imagines opening Shen Wei’s trousers, slowly, slowly, waiting to be told to stop, to be told no, ready to beg. What would his cock look like? Long and slender like Shen Wei himself? Thick enough to make Zhao Yunlan work for it? Curved or straight, rosy pink or more purple when he’s hard, hot and silky in the palm of Zhao Yunlan’s hand, pushing into his mouth finally, finally…
He groans, fucking his own mouth in earnest now, slow at first but increasingly frantic, caught by the image. Would Shen Wei moan? Would his hand come down to grab Zhao Yunlan’s hair, to move him at the pace he liked, or would he remain silent and in control, working – or pretending to – while Zhao Yunlan sucked him off?
His knees spread further, balls drawing up while his cock jerks, smearing precome over his own stomach.
Would Shen Wei come inside his mouth? Over his face? Would he let Zhao Yunlan finish him off at all or would he pull him off before it got that far, drag him from under the desk and into his lap?
Panting harshly, Zhao Yunlan tips forward, his hands coming out the last minute to hold himself up. He’s a mess. There’s drool all over his chin, his mouth feeling tender and used. His hair is sticking to his face, the sharp smell of his own sweat unable to hide the muskier evidence of his arousal. Zhao Yunlan lets his head drop down, chin resting against his chest. His erection hangs heavy between his legs, precome pearling at the end, long string of it stretching down toward the mattress. Fuck, what must he look like? Needy and desperate, just from a few fantasies. What would Shen Wei say if he saw him like this? What would he do?
The thought makes him shake, a complicated mixture of desire and humiliation and desperate, desperate want curling inside him, pushing his legs further apart. In a haze, Zhao Yunlan reaches for his bedside table, fumbles open a drawer and finds the lube. He unscrews the top blindly, squeezing some onto his hand, and then reaches behind himself, folding down until he’s leaning on one elbow, back arched and ass up.
The first touch makes him hiss and then it’s Shen Wei holding him down with a hand on the back of his neck, Shen Wei’s fingers pushing inside him, two at a time because Zhao Yunlan wanted to feel it, because he begged. Because Shen Wei won’t be able to deny him anything.
It’s why Zhao Yunlan hasn’t asked for this. Not yet.
Except in his mind.
They are in Shen Wei’s office, Zhao Yunlan bent over the desk, his ass still red and stinging from a spanking he more than deserved. They are in Zhao Yunlan’s office, high on adrenaline after a close call, tearing at each other’s clothes in a frantic need to get closer, to make sure no one is hurt. They are in this very bed, moving languidly against each other while the afternoon sun streams in, turning everything slow and golden, and when Shen Wei adds a third finger the stretch burns in a way that sets Zhao Yunlan’s whole body on fire.
He sobs; a low hitching moan, barely muffled by his own forearm.
“Shh, shh,” Shen Wei hushes him. His breath is damp against the back of Zhao Yunlan’s neck, his body draped across his, pinning him to the mattress. “You’re doing so well. Just relax for me.”
Zhao Yunlan does, his muscles going lax, legs opening even further. The angle is awkward, his shoulder already twinging from the strain, but the pain is distant, swamped by thick waves of pleasure. He reaches back, pushes in deeper, fingers curling to almost, almost graze over his prostate.
His hips jerk and he chokes on Shen Wei’s name. “You’re so good,” Shen Wei says. “I want you so much.” And Zhao Yunlan keens, because that’s all he wants, for Shen Wei to risk whatever he thinks he’s risking just to have him. Because Zhao Yunlan is worth it.
He’s fucking himself in earnest now, imagining Shen Wei’s cock pushing its way inside, filling him up until he’s spilling over. Just like this would be good: Zhao Yunlan on his hands and knees, Shen Wei’s fingers digging bruises to his hipbones. Or face to face, Zhao Yunlan on his back, legs bent toward his chest, Shen Wei dripping sweat above him. Zhao Yunlan wants to ride him, writhing naked in Shen Wei’s lap, making a mess of his tailored suit, moaning helplessly into his mouth. Or maybe Shen Wei would pull him onto his cock the other way around, make Zhao Yunlan do all the work, look at himself in the mirror while he fucked himself on Shen Wei’s cock.
He’s drooling now, licking, gnawing, sucking desperately at his arm, mouth aching with emptiness. His cock is leaking steadily, and he wants to take himself in hand, but he wants something in his mouth even more.
Clumsily, Zhao Yunlan shuffles his elbow back until he can reach his fingers, shoving four back into his mouth, tucking his thumb in between them to get that too. The stretch hurts and tomorrow his mouth is going to look bruised. Used. Maybe Shen Wei will see it and know what Zhao Yunlan has done, how he’s fucked his own mouth raw because Shen Wei wouldn’t.
His knees give out and he collapses onto his front with a garbled groan, the rucked-up sheets dragging painfully against his hard-on.
It’s still achingly good. His mouth is full, his ass is full and his mind is full of hazy images of Shen Wei above him, behind him, underneath him. He’s gasping at the phantom feel of Shen Wei’s flushed face buried against his neck as he fucks him. Would he be silent, ruthlessly in control and taking Zhao Yunlan apart piece by piece with slow, long thrusts? Or would he get lost too, swept away by the raw intensity of the building desire, the desperate need for closer, now, more, everything, until any distance between them melted away into honey-thick pleasure?
Zhao Yunlan sucks on his fingers, almost tasting the bittersweet tang of desire coating overheated skin. He moans Shen Wei’s name and it comes out slurred, wet with need. He’s rutting the mattress now, fucking into the folds of his dirty sheets, up onto his own fingers, beyond caring what he looks like, what he must sound like, chasing the edge of release.
When he comes, there’s nothing controlled about it. The pleasure rushes through him in waves, pulling him deeper, as inexorable as the ocean. He spills into the scant space between the bed and his stomach, caught between his own fingers, legs splayed over and trembling from the strain. It’s filthy and graceless and almost violent, and it feels like it shatters something much more important than Zhao Yunlan’s control in its wake.
He lies there for a long time afterwards, tongue still moving lazily around his fingers, the fullness in his ass easing into a gentle ache, the sweat on his skin cooling, then drying.
It’s not until his body registers cold that he finally pulls his fingers out, groaning at both the emptiness left behind and the twinge in his shoulder, the soreness of his jaw. It takes a few tries but eventually Zhao Yunlan manages to stand up. Clumsily, he strips the bed, having to lean on the bedside table for balance more than once. He wants nothing more than to pass out right now, but the sheets reek and so does he, and if he can smell it, he’s not prepared to deal with Da Qing’s reaction when the cat slinks back in the morning.
Bundling the sheets into the washing machine, wetting a towel to wipe himself down, and washing spit and lube off his hands takes up all his focus and it’s easy to keep thoughts from taking shape. Zhao Yunlan splashes water over his face, ignores the wetness already there, streaks of it staining his cheeks. Right now, he can control this: scrubbing come and sweat off his stomach, taking long gulps of water straight from the tap, wrapping a clean sheet around himself, crawling back under the covers.
Everything else will take care of itself tomorrow.
And if not, maybe the time has come to ask Shen Wei to do it instead.
***
Title: restraint (release)
Author:
kat_lair / Mistress KatFandom: Guardian
Pairing: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan
Tags: Oral Fixation, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sexual Fantasy, Anal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Roleplay, Hand Feeding, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Cock Warming, Zhao Yunlan has a lot of fantasies okay?, absolute filth
Rating: NC-17, Very Explicit
Word count: 6,364
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing
Summary: It’s an illusion of control, he knows it; nothing but a flimsy delusion of choice. But it’s also the only thing Zhao Yunlan has left to grasp, so he takes it.
Author notes: I’ve wanted to write this exact id fic since watching the show, because essentially I have A LOT of feelings about Zhao Yunlan’s oral fixation. Thank you to
pushkin666 for encouragement and for the increasing concern they expressed for Zhao Yunlan’s wellbeing after I left him, erm, hanging for months (please be reassured that this fic takes place during one single night). Special, special thank you to my two wonderful betas athenejen and umadoshi for catching many missing commas and confusing phrases. The fic is much more readable because of their efforts. All remaining mistakes are mine.restraint (release) on AO3
Zhao Yunlan has a problem. No, scratch that. He has several problems. They are all just sort of… grouped around a single theme. Person.
Problem 1. Professor Shen Wei, with his unshakeable calm and polite little smiles that hide all sorts of things and then the genuine ones that take Zhao Yunlan's fucking breath away. The way he cares about things like his students and knowledge and also, inexplicably, Zhao Yunlan and everyone at SID. The way his tailored suits frame his body, the way those expensive shirts stretch over the muscles of his back. The twice-cursed sleeve garters that reveal an absolutely indecent amount of white, soft skin that Zhao Yunlan bets would feel amazing against his mouth or maybe just pressed over his throat, keeping him still… Professor Shen Wei's fingers, curled around brushes and scrolls and books, adjusting his tie, adjusting Zhao Yunlan's lapels or – sweet mercy – grabbing them with a force he knows isn’t human that still takes him by surprise, and maybe pushing him a bit and...
Problem 2. Black-Cloaked Envoy, wielding all that power with ease and lethal competence, the sheer aura of it pushing backs to bow and knees to bend, and each time Zhao Yunlan has to lock his muscles to not just fold down like a bad hand of cards. The curve of his mouth – so familiar, now that Zhao Yunlan knows what to look for – under that mask, pressed thin in anger or – if Zhao Yunlan does well, if he gets it right – curling up, just a little. The way he moves when fighting, all sweeping strength, graceful and deadly and so hot it makes Zhao Yunlan want to pick fights with the bad guys just to watch Hei Pao Shi finish them. His hands. This time curved around his staff or a blade as sharp as Zhao Yunlan's thirst. The way his fingers cup all that swirling, diamond dark energy, pulling it in or pushing it out, ruthless and precise.
Problem 3. Shen Wei, the man at the nexus of the accomplished scholar and the legendary Lord of Dixing, and yet something much more than just the sum of his roles. It’s Shen Wei who lets a small child go because punishing her would not have been justice and who bends the rules to ensure his colleague gets a happy ending when none had seemed possible. It’s Shen Wei who tucks Zhao Yunlan into bed when he’s sick, who nags him about food and rest, who lets him fall asleep on his shoulder. It’s also undeniably Shen Wei who steps in just a bit too close when they speak, who drops his voice just so to a low, intimate rumble that curls hot and urgent in Zhao Yunlan’s stomach. It’s Shen Wei who follows him with his eyes, the look in them dark and wanting and unbearably tender at the same time.
Problem 4. Zhao Yunlan's brain and body, heart and mind, all of which want it all with the kind of relentless focus that is very fucking distracting. Also, special mention to his dick, which is currently pressing rather painfully against the zipper of his jeans just because Zhao Yunlan had been in the same room as Shen Wei for twenty minutes this afternoon. Granted, during those twenty minutes, Shen Wei had used a lot of long words to politely tear some Inspector from Dragon City regular police a new one for making sly implications about Zhao Yunlan's professional competence and how he's gotten his position only because of his father. It was neither new nor particularly innovative as insults went, but before he'd had a chance to laugh it off, Professor Shen Wei had straightened his shoulders and flat out laid into the man. Then he'd calmly nodded goodbye to Zhao Yunlan and walked out like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, when every single cell and atom of Zhao Yunlan's essence had just fucking blossomed with renewed adoration.
So. A problem. A big one. A multifaceted one even.
Still, because Zhao Yunlan is a god damn professional, he makes it through the rest of the strategy meeting without embarrassing himself in public. Just. With a jacket casually slung over his lap, and then over his arm as he walks out, trying not to limp too obviously.
He even makes it to his own apartment, rather than just pounding on Shen Wei's front door and begging to be let in to... Well, beg some more?
Because here's the thing. Zhao Yunlan refuses to be a slave to his own stupid libido. It's not that he doesn't think it won't happen eventually. He's not blind, not anymore. He sees the way Shen Wei looks at him, like he would tear worlds apart just to keep Zhao Yunlan safe, maybe just to keep him smiling, and that's fucking terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. But so far Shen Wei has not made any kind of move to do anything more than look, even though he must know Zhao Yunlan is a sure bet. There has to be a reason for that, more than just some over-inflated sense of duty. At least Zhao Yunlan hopes so. Because if he finds out that the only reason they're not doing what they both so clearly want to be doing is because of Shen Wei's self-sacrificing views on propriety or him somehow assuming this holding pattern is all he’s allowed, then… Well, Zhao Yunlan is going to be pissed.
So it's not that that keeps him from simply leaning against his closed apartment door and shoving a hand down his jeans, taking himself in hand, dry and rough and perfect. It would be good, and it would be quick; the heavy ache low in his stomach tells him as much. It's not even the concern about being interrupted. Da Qing is on a stakeout for the night, and likely to crash at the Headquarters rather than come home.
No, what stays his hand is simply his own resentment over feeling out of control. Zhao Yunlan has wanted people before. Not many, but some, enough to fantasise about them, enough to want to sleep with them for real, and enough even to do it too. But never before has he felt like this, like the want is almost external to him, something thrust upon him and something he has absolutely no control over. He can't put Shen Wei out of his mind when he needs to, can't turn off idle thoughts about what it would be like to mouth at the bones of Shen Wei’s wrist, to see how many fingers he could suck into his mouth at the same time (all of them, he wants to choke on Shen Wei’s long fingers, to gag and drool around them), if Shen Wei would let him try. He can't stop wanting Shen Wei, all the time.
What he can do, though, is not act on it. He is aware of the double standard; hoping Shen Wei's inaction is not about his self-denial and at the same time denying himself a physical relief his body craves. But though it looks the same, it feels different, and at the back of his mind Zhao Yunlan is hoping it means he's doing the right thing, that by not giving into the urge to touch himself every time he wants to, he's keeping his own wants in check, making sure they don't encroach on Shen Wei, don't push him into a decision he's clearly not ready to make.
Methodically, Zhao Yunlan strips out of his clothes, even going as far as tossing each item into the laundry hamper rather than just its general vicinity. He turns the shower to lukewarm, tolerable for a quick wash but nothing that feels so good as to make him want to linger. Even so, he hisses when the spray touches his chest, sluicing down to his groin. His cock hangs between his thighs, heavy and thick. Not fully hard but definitely not uninterested. Zhao Yunlan ignores it, cleaning himself as quickly as possible, his hips jerking forward only little when his soap-covered hand swipes between his buttocks.
He's shivering by the time he's done, not even bothering to dry himself properly before slipping into bed. There's a dull ache of denial at the bottom of his stomach, but Zhao Yunlan ignores it determinedly and closes his eyes.
It helps that he's also exhausted, and soon enough sleep brings a welcome relief.
***
It doesn't last. Zhao Yunlan wakes up hard and leaking, cock trapped between him and the mattress, hips stuttering. The pillow under his face is wet from where he's been biting-sucking-drooling on it. Fragments of dream still cling to his mind; hazy images of Shen Wei's hands, his shy smile turning wicked and just a little mean. The ghost sensation of being held down lingers, Zhao Yunlan's hips, thighs, arms all aching from the lack of bruises.
He's close, knows it wouldn't take a lot to push himself over. With a bitten-off sob, he makes himself stop moving instead, asserting the control that keeps slipping from his grasp.
For a few minutes Zhao Yunlan lies there, breathing harshly, the cool night air drying the sweat on his back where the covers have shifted. Fuck, this isn't working. He feels like he's at war with his own body and mind. It's a battle he's losing. Badly.
His preferred option – for Shen Wei to actually bed him and not just think about it loudly enough that Zhao Yunlan wants to start stripping every time the man looks his way – is still out of reach. He's tried waiting, being patient, being good, but he's not, not on his own, not without Shen Wei here telling him to wait, here to put Zhao Yunlan's body to use, to tell him when he's doing well and...
He could do it then, if Shen Wei asked him, if he ordered it. But now... Zhao Yunlan swallows, throat dry enough to be painful.
Scratching this particular itch with anyone else is right out of question. One, Zhao Yunlan doesn't just want to get fucked, he wants to get fucked by Shen Wei. And… much more than that, actually, but that’s a problem for another time. Two, even the idea makes his skin crawl, leaving a bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth. They're not even together yet, and maybe they'll never be, because despite what he knows they both want, the world they live in is not one for fairy-tale endings. And yet... It would feel like cheating.
Zhao Yunlan turns onto his back, pulling the covers on properly, and blinking at the ceiling. The room is almost pitch black, the only light coming from outside the window, the streetlamps casting a faint yellow glow. As predicted, he's still alone, Da Qing having followed his usual post-stakeout routine. The only sound in the flat is his own breathing. The entire apartment building seems to be quiet as well. And even if there were some noise from Shen Wei's flat, he wouldn't be able to hear it.
Idly, he wonders if the same is true in reverse, or whether superhuman hearing is a skill Shen Wei has picked up somewhere along the way as well. The possibilities are... intriguing.
Desire still thrums under his skin. Tentatively, Zhao Yunlan presses a hand to his lower stomach, just letting it rest there, warm and heavy. Even that feels unbearably good right now.
Denial isn't working, that much is obvious. It’s only been making things worse, until he is feeling high-strung and stretched thin, snappy with the team, illogically angry at Shen Wei, who – in a twisted way – is responsible. Until his body is taking what it needs without any conscious decision on his part.
So maybe, if it’s going to happen either way, it’s best that it happens on his terms. At a pace he sets himself.
It’s an illusion of control, he knows it; nothing but a flimsy delusion of choice. But it’s also the only thing he has left to grasp, so he takes it.
Experimentally, Zhao Yunlan inches his hand even lower, fingertips scratching at the edge of his pubic hair. His cock, which had subsided somewhat, twitches in response and his hips jerk up sharply.
Zhao Yunlan snatches his hand away, panting. Shit, he’s still close. Too close to even really enjoy himself. Now that he's given himself permission, he doesn't want it to be over in thirty seconds.
He forces himself to take a few deep breaths until his muscles relax a little, then folds his arms underneath himself, flat between the mattress and the small of his back, just to resist the temptation to touch too soon. It's warm under the covers; the familiar silence of his home and somehow, perversely, the relative closeness of Shen Wei just across the hall make him feel safe.
Zhao Yunlan closes his eyes and lets himself think about everything he's been trying not to.
Like Shen Wei’s mouth.
The images flood his mind, as if they’d crowded the gates and now, given permission, there’s no stopping them.
There’s Shen Wei smiling, small and real and almost secret, just for Zhao Yunlan, because of him. The flat, thin press of Shen Wei’s lips when he’s angry is all too easy to picture; the severe line of them under the Black Cloaked Envoy’s mask, the one that strikes fear into the hearts of strangers but does something quite different to Zhao Yunlan, now that he knows the cost Shen Wei bears for it.
Zhao Yunlan remembers the swipe of Shen Wei’s tongue, the way it darts out to lick remnants of tea or sauce off his bottom lip, or sometimes, after a fight, the sweat gathered on his top lip. Just the thought of that, the promise of salt and skin against his own tongue, is enough to make him whimper. Slowly, he brings one of his hands out from underneath him and lifts it to his mouth. He can feel the tremble of his fingertips, skimming over his own lips, and it’s both good and not nearly enough, self-inflicted torture. Zhao Yunlan rubs his index finger over his lips; a leisurely, circular motion that makes his mouth fall open hungrily of its own accord. He imagines it’s Shen Wei’s fingers teasing him, Shen Wei watching his greedy, needy mouth gape open and ready, Shen Wei saying “Shh, shh, not yet.”
When Zhao Yunlan breathes out “Please, please,” the desperation in his voice is audible, and he can feel himself flushing in the darkness of his own bed.
Finally, he pushes one of his fingers in, his mouth so wet, tongue curling around it in eager welcome. He goes as deep as he can, relishing the slight sting of his nail against the back of his throat. One finger is not enough to trigger his gag reflex, but it is enough to make his hips surge up, cock pressing almost painfully against the underside of the covers. When he pulls his finger out, sucking hard, the slow drag of it makes him keen.
There are so many fantasies he has about Shen Wei’s fingers in his mouth that for a moment Zhao Yunlan’s mind just blanks, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on his own digit. They go from tender to downright filthy.
There’s the one where they are at the station, late at night and all alone, finishing a meal that Shen Wei’s brought him. This one is based on reality, on the several nights that included just that: the two of them sitting side by side on the sofa or on either side of Zhao Yunlan’s desk, swapping takeaway containers. In his mind, Shen Wei smiles at him, small and indulgent, as he watches Zhao Yunlan eat.
“This is good,” Zhao Yunlan says, grinning with his mouth full. “Thank you.” He finishes his own portion of dumplings in record time, ravenous after skipping both breakfast and lunch, and can’t help but eye the still half-full box in front of Shen Wei with a certain amount of envy.
He’s clearly not subtle enough about it as Shen Wei’s smile turns knowing. He picks up one of the dumplings with his chopsticks, but instead of bringing it to his own mouth he holds it out to Zhao Yunlan.
“Here,” he says. “Have some more.”
Zhao Yunlan knows that he should just push his empty dish over for Shen Wei to drop the food into, but he allows his instincts to push him out of his seat instead, just enough to stretch over the desk and wrap his mouth around the piece of food at the end of Shen Wei’s chopsticks.
He holds eye contact until the moment his teeth grab hold of the dumpling, the sweet and spicy sauce coating his tongue with new intensity. It’s just long enough to see the way Shen Wei’s eyes widen, the way his mouth drops open in surprise, just a little.
Then the implications of what he’s just done hit him and Zhao Yunlan drops his gaze, feeling his cheeks flame. He pulls the food off, chews, swallows and sits down, eyes still on the table top.
His finger, resting against his lips, stills too as his body gets caught in the fantasy.
Zhao Yunlan is brazen with his flirting, he knows he is, and normally he enjoys pushing Shen Wei just to check that he still can, but something about the quiet of the evening feels like he’s violated some unspoken rule to keep such games out, except Zhao Yunlan isn’t playing, not really, and…
“Another?” Shen Wei’s voice is rough and Zhao Yunlan’s gaze flies up to find him holding out another dumpling at the end of his chopsticks.
“Yes please,” Zhao Yunlan says, giddy with relief, and leans back across the desk.
In the here and now, Zhao Yunlan’s finger pushes back into his mouth and he moans around it.
In the fantasy, Shen Wei feeds him more morsels, first with chopsticks, then with his fingers, and Zhao Yunlan gets braver and braver, his tongue flicking over fingertips, then knuckles, until he’s pushing into the crease between Shen Wei’s fingers, lewd and greedy, until Shen Wei forgoes food entirely and feeds Zhao Yunlan his fingers instead, one at a time.
There are two fingers in his mouth now and Zhao Yunlan doesn’t consciously remember making the decision to do that. He’s sweating under the covers, hips rocking up, just from this.
The fantasy shifts. This one is less… romantic, less tethered to reality. There is no context, just Zhao Yunlan on his knees, Shen Wei standing above him, fucking his fingers into Zhao Yunlan’s mouth, rough and mean.
“That’s it,” he says, eyes partly hidden behind his glasses. “You want it, don’t you, Xiao Yunlan?” The endearment is all the more effective like this, accompanied by the curl of Shen Wei’s fingers in his mouth, trapping his tongue.
Zhao Yunlan sobs and pushes four fingers into his mouth. Now he gags, saliva dripping freely down his jaw.
In his mind, Shen Wei’s smile turns darker. “Look at you,” he says. “Making a mess.” He’s hard, the outline of his erection plain, ruining the tailored cut of his trousers. Zhao Yunlan can’t stop staring, his eyes flicking between Shen Wei’s crotch and his face in a silent plea.
He knows it’s a fantasy, knows Shen Wei would never be this rough – not to start with, not unless Zhao Yunlan begged for it, maybe not without a written treatise on just how much Zhao Yunlan wanted it. But this is about Zhao Yunlan indulging, about letting himself imagine the unimaginable, just this once. And so he imagines Shen Wei pulling his fingers out, telling him to keep his mouth open and ready, like a good boy, while Shen Wei unbuckles his belt, unzips his trousers and peels them back just enough to expose the sharp cut of pubic bone.
Zhao Yunlan gives his fingers one last hard suck before reluctantly letting go. He breathes harshly, lips parted, waiting.
Maybe it’s not Professor Shen about to fuck his mouth, maybe it’s the Black Cloaked Envoy, extracting payment for all those times Chief Zhao has shown him less respect than is his due. Maybe he’s pushed Zhao Yunlan to his knees in a back alley somewhere, after a case, the power still crackling in the air around them. Maybe there are tendrils of it around Zhao Yunlan’s legs and torso and wrist, keeping him down and helpless.
Zhao Yunlan forces his body to stillness. His eyes are wide open, staring at nothing, his breathing harsh and fast, a thin whining sound escaping at every exhale.
There’s a dildo in the bottom drawer of his bedside table. He could get it out, could push it into his mouth until he choked on it. But Shen Wei hasn’t given him permission.
He stretches the wait out as long as he can, hands pushing the covers down, while his wet fingers trace patterns over his chest, long teasing caresses from the hollow of his throat down to the dip of navel, goose bumps chasing after his touch.
God, he wants Shen Wei’s hands on him, slow and careful and worshipful. Or rough, possessive, demanding. Coaxing or taking, Zhao Yunlan wants it all. He skims over a nipple, almost by accident, and the sensation makes his whole body jerk, a pulse of precome dripping down the side of his cock. He does it again and again, bitten-off “ngh, ngh, ngh” sounds punctuating each swipe of his thumbs.
A harsh pinch and he’s back in the alley, Hei Pao Shi using dark energy to push right under Zhao Yunlan’s jacket and t-shirt, to flick over his nipples, cool and sharp and perfect.
He kicks off the blankets entirely, hands grabbing onto his thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, little sickle moons of pain that are meant to stave off the inevitable, yet only make the pleasure spark higher.
In a panic Zhao Yunlan rolls to his knees, sitting up in the bed with the covers pooling around him, sheets bunched up underneath. It’s stupid, he’s being stupid, there’s nothing stopping him from just taking himself in hand and bringing himself off right now.
Except. Except.
He doesn’t want to. Not yet.
He tells himself he’s in control and knows he’s lying.
Actually being on his knees is not helping and for a few perilous seconds his hips stutter forward, fucking thin air helplessly, until Zhao Yunlan wraps one hand around the base of his cock and squeezes tight enough to make himself hiss in discomfort. His other hand pinches a bruise into the tender inside of his thigh. It’s enough to tip the balance and he can feel the orgasm receding, for now.
He stays like that for several minutes, kneeling in the middle of his messy bed, hand around his hard-on and struggling not to move. A shiver racks its way through his body and it’s only partly caused by the coolness of the air. His mouth feels empty.
When he’s sure he’s got himself under some semblance of control, Zhao Yunlan lets go of his dick and brings his fingers back to his mouth. The smell of musk and the bitter taste of his own precome is enough to turn it into Shen Wei’s cock instead his own sticky fingers pushing past his lips.
Zhao Yunlan groans and inside his head Shen Wei does the same, his face flushed and dipped down to look as he fucks his way into Zhao Yunlan’s mouth in short, insistent thrusts, until the head of his erection nudges the back of Zhao Yunlan’s throat.
God, he’s wanted to blow the man since about five minutes after they met. It’s not even the physical act itself, not entirely. Zhao Yunlan wants to make Shen Wei feel good, wants him to let go, just for a moment, and take what is so obviously his to take that Zhao Yunlan doesn’t know how to make it any plainer without actually pushing for a conversation that he doesn’t think Shen Wei is ready to have.
He sucks on his fingers, swallowing around them greedily, his other hand rubbing over his thighs, stomach, chest, his palm sliding easily over sweat-slick skin. He keeps his movements slow, pretends his body isn’t trembling with suppressed need, that he’s not sobbing with it.
Zhao Yunlan knows Shen Wei would never, not even if he begged, but that doesn't stop his mind from summoning up yet another fantasy, this one taking place in Shen Wei’s office at the university. He’s been there often enough – first for cases, or at least with the pretence of cases, and then just to see him, to poke and needle and draw out reluctant smiles – that picturing it is not difficult. Maybe Zhao Yunlan is there with yet another request for assistance, maybe it’s a bullshit one and they both know it, but he pushes anyway, sprawling over the visitor’s chair and refusing to notice any hints about how busy Shen Wei is, how he doesn’t have time for Zhao Yunlan right now.
What would it take, to make him snap? Zhao Yunlan scratches nails over his lower stomach, angry raised lines from hipbone to hipbone, not sure he actually wants to know the answer to the question but unable to stop turning it over in his mind all the same.
“What’s the matter, Professor?” he asks, sliding even lower in the chair, letting his legs fall open. “Aren’t these your office hours?”
These absolutely aren’t Shen Wei’s office hours. It’s late and the campus is abandoned, which is why Zhao Yunlan is here in the first place, pushing his luck.
“I have so many questions about today’s lecture,” he adds, throwing in a wide-eyed look of borderline adoration, playing it up all he’s worth.
He fully expects the blush that stains Shen Wei’s cheeks, the way his words stutter when he gets up, indignant and flustered. “Chief Zhao… Zhao Yunlan,” he says. “This is not appropriate.”
And Zhao Yunlan agrees, he does, but he doesn’t think the flush on Shen Wei’s face is entirely outrage and so he flows to his feet, stepping around the desk until he’s standing close. “Won’t you help me learn, Professor?” he asks, and the breathlessness in his voice is only half playacting now.
Shen Wei’s gaze drops to his mouth. This is not a fantasy. This is an everyday occurrence, one that drives Zhao Yunlan insane, makes him reach for lollipops, tongue curling around candy as a poor substitute for something even sweeter.
He would never be this brave, this openly desperate in real life – or would he, could he? – but in the safety of his own mind Zhao Yunlan lets himself look back, eyes trained on Shen Wei’s mouth and then trailing lower, lower still. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises, his meaning clear.
Would this be it? Yes, he thinks. Yes. Zhao Yunlan pulls his fingers out of his mouth, lets them drop down to wrap loosely around his neck.
It’s Shen Wei’s hand that shoots out, palm cupping his throat, thumb seeking out his frantic pulse. “You are being very disruptive, Zhao Yunlan,” he says, squeezing just a little, for emphasis. “I won’t tolerate that.”
And god, even in his fantasy he’s shocked that Shen Wei is playing along. “Oh?” It comes out in a gasp, a drawn-out moan. “What… What are you going to do about it?”
What would Shen Wei do? Pull him in for a kiss? Bend him over the desk and…? But no. Those are rewards, and he hasn’t earned them yet.
This is a fantasy. Zhao Yunlan knows that no matter how much he feels like Shen Wei’s touch is something he might have to work for, the reason for its continued absence is probably the exact opposite of that. But the potential…
“Nothing,” Shen Wei says, letting go of Zhao Yunlan fast enough to make him stumble a bit, his balance shot. “Not yet.”
Shen Wei smiles, and it’s a little cold, a little mean as he pulls the chair back and points at the space under his desk. “In there,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “I have marking to do and don't have time to see to your... remedial lesson just now.”
Just the idea makes the bottom of Zhao Yunlan’s stomach drop away, desire punching into him like a fist. He imagines lowering himself down to his hands and knees right there in the middle of Professor Shen’s office and crawling into the cramped space under his desk. He imagines curling up, cross-legged or with knees tight to his chest as Shen Wei sits down on the chair and rolls himself close, his long legs bracketing Zhao Yunlan, boxing him in even further.
It would be dark, but not like the almost black of his bedroom, just dim enough that it would take Zhao Yunlan’s eyes a minute or two to adjust, to make out the outline of Shen Wei’s hard cock pressing against the seam of his trousers. This close, Zhao Yunlan thinks, he would be able to smell him.
Would he dare to press his face into the open vee of Shen Wei’s legs, to rub his cheek against the hot ridge of his erection, to mouth at it through the expensive fabric? Yes, he decides, he wouldn’t be able to help himself.
Zhao Yunlan brings his fingers back into his mouth, imagines opening Shen Wei’s trousers, slowly, slowly, waiting to be told to stop, to be told no, ready to beg. What would his cock look like? Long and slender like Shen Wei himself? Thick enough to make Zhao Yunlan work for it? Curved or straight, rosy pink or more purple when he’s hard, hot and silky in the palm of Zhao Yunlan’s hand, pushing into his mouth finally, finally…
He groans, fucking his own mouth in earnest now, slow at first but increasingly frantic, caught by the image. Would Shen Wei moan? Would his hand come down to grab Zhao Yunlan’s hair, to move him at the pace he liked, or would he remain silent and in control, working – or pretending to – while Zhao Yunlan sucked him off?
His knees spread further, balls drawing up while his cock jerks, smearing precome over his own stomach.
Would Shen Wei come inside his mouth? Over his face? Would he let Zhao Yunlan finish him off at all or would he pull him off before it got that far, drag him from under the desk and into his lap?
Panting harshly, Zhao Yunlan tips forward, his hands coming out the last minute to hold himself up. He’s a mess. There’s drool all over his chin, his mouth feeling tender and used. His hair is sticking to his face, the sharp smell of his own sweat unable to hide the muskier evidence of his arousal. Zhao Yunlan lets his head drop down, chin resting against his chest. His erection hangs heavy between his legs, precome pearling at the end, long string of it stretching down toward the mattress. Fuck, what must he look like? Needy and desperate, just from a few fantasies. What would Shen Wei say if he saw him like this? What would he do?
The thought makes him shake, a complicated mixture of desire and humiliation and desperate, desperate want curling inside him, pushing his legs further apart. In a haze, Zhao Yunlan reaches for his bedside table, fumbles open a drawer and finds the lube. He unscrews the top blindly, squeezing some onto his hand, and then reaches behind himself, folding down until he’s leaning on one elbow, back arched and ass up.
The first touch makes him hiss and then it’s Shen Wei holding him down with a hand on the back of his neck, Shen Wei’s fingers pushing inside him, two at a time because Zhao Yunlan wanted to feel it, because he begged. Because Shen Wei won’t be able to deny him anything.
It’s why Zhao Yunlan hasn’t asked for this. Not yet.
Except in his mind.
They are in Shen Wei’s office, Zhao Yunlan bent over the desk, his ass still red and stinging from a spanking he more than deserved. They are in Zhao Yunlan’s office, high on adrenaline after a close call, tearing at each other’s clothes in a frantic need to get closer, to make sure no one is hurt. They are in this very bed, moving languidly against each other while the afternoon sun streams in, turning everything slow and golden, and when Shen Wei adds a third finger the stretch burns in a way that sets Zhao Yunlan’s whole body on fire.
He sobs; a low hitching moan, barely muffled by his own forearm.
“Shh, shh,” Shen Wei hushes him. His breath is damp against the back of Zhao Yunlan’s neck, his body draped across his, pinning him to the mattress. “You’re doing so well. Just relax for me.”
Zhao Yunlan does, his muscles going lax, legs opening even further. The angle is awkward, his shoulder already twinging from the strain, but the pain is distant, swamped by thick waves of pleasure. He reaches back, pushes in deeper, fingers curling to almost, almost graze over his prostate.
His hips jerk and he chokes on Shen Wei’s name. “You’re so good,” Shen Wei says. “I want you so much.” And Zhao Yunlan keens, because that’s all he wants, for Shen Wei to risk whatever he thinks he’s risking just to have him. Because Zhao Yunlan is worth it.
He’s fucking himself in earnest now, imagining Shen Wei’s cock pushing its way inside, filling him up until he’s spilling over. Just like this would be good: Zhao Yunlan on his hands and knees, Shen Wei’s fingers digging bruises to his hipbones. Or face to face, Zhao Yunlan on his back, legs bent toward his chest, Shen Wei dripping sweat above him. Zhao Yunlan wants to ride him, writhing naked in Shen Wei’s lap, making a mess of his tailored suit, moaning helplessly into his mouth. Or maybe Shen Wei would pull him onto his cock the other way around, make Zhao Yunlan do all the work, look at himself in the mirror while he fucked himself on Shen Wei’s cock.
He’s drooling now, licking, gnawing, sucking desperately at his arm, mouth aching with emptiness. His cock is leaking steadily, and he wants to take himself in hand, but he wants something in his mouth even more.
Clumsily, Zhao Yunlan shuffles his elbow back until he can reach his fingers, shoving four back into his mouth, tucking his thumb in between them to get that too. The stretch hurts and tomorrow his mouth is going to look bruised. Used. Maybe Shen Wei will see it and know what Zhao Yunlan has done, how he’s fucked his own mouth raw because Shen Wei wouldn’t.
His knees give out and he collapses onto his front with a garbled groan, the rucked-up sheets dragging painfully against his hard-on.
It’s still achingly good. His mouth is full, his ass is full and his mind is full of hazy images of Shen Wei above him, behind him, underneath him. He’s gasping at the phantom feel of Shen Wei’s flushed face buried against his neck as he fucks him. Would he be silent, ruthlessly in control and taking Zhao Yunlan apart piece by piece with slow, long thrusts? Or would he get lost too, swept away by the raw intensity of the building desire, the desperate need for closer, now, more, everything, until any distance between them melted away into honey-thick pleasure?
Zhao Yunlan sucks on his fingers, almost tasting the bittersweet tang of desire coating overheated skin. He moans Shen Wei’s name and it comes out slurred, wet with need. He’s rutting the mattress now, fucking into the folds of his dirty sheets, up onto his own fingers, beyond caring what he looks like, what he must sound like, chasing the edge of release.
When he comes, there’s nothing controlled about it. The pleasure rushes through him in waves, pulling him deeper, as inexorable as the ocean. He spills into the scant space between the bed and his stomach, caught between his own fingers, legs splayed over and trembling from the strain. It’s filthy and graceless and almost violent, and it feels like it shatters something much more important than Zhao Yunlan’s control in its wake.
He lies there for a long time afterwards, tongue still moving lazily around his fingers, the fullness in his ass easing into a gentle ache, the sweat on his skin cooling, then drying.
It’s not until his body registers cold that he finally pulls his fingers out, groaning at both the emptiness left behind and the twinge in his shoulder, the soreness of his jaw. It takes a few tries but eventually Zhao Yunlan manages to stand up. Clumsily, he strips the bed, having to lean on the bedside table for balance more than once. He wants nothing more than to pass out right now, but the sheets reek and so does he, and if he can smell it, he’s not prepared to deal with Da Qing’s reaction when the cat slinks back in the morning.
Bundling the sheets into the washing machine, wetting a towel to wipe himself down, and washing spit and lube off his hands takes up all his focus and it’s easy to keep thoughts from taking shape. Zhao Yunlan splashes water over his face, ignores the wetness already there, streaks of it staining his cheeks. Right now, he can control this: scrubbing come and sweat off his stomach, taking long gulps of water straight from the tap, wrapping a clean sheet around himself, crawling back under the covers.
Everything else will take care of itself tomorrow.
And if not, maybe the time has come to ask Shen Wei to do it instead.
***