drafting your pattern professional tailor lwj

gonna get spicy
lwj is an exceptional couturier fight me
wwx is in need of a new suit
set in london

gusu lan bespoke is a fixture of savile row. some of the highest quality menswear tailoring in london. exquisite designs, razor sharp cuts, exclusive hand finishings. the absolute best.

lan zhan takes pride in his work. you don't get to design for idris elba in any old job.

(he had been the one to take the call, when his stylist had rung. had gone very quiet until he'd mentally slapped himself into responding. he'd barely been able to hold the pins straight, he was so nervous.)

gusu lan bespoke is a family business.

it had been his father's business before him, his uncle's after his mother's death and his father's tumble from grace.

lan huan now runs most of the administration, finance, books. he's a good work partner, and is eternally supportive of lan zhan, embarrassingly so, sometimes.

(lan huan pleasantly telling idris elba how talented his younger brother was had nearly made his ears fall off.)

lan zhan loves the work. the design process, drafting, fitting, finishing. seeing a client's dream come to life before their eyes in the dressing room mirror.

his collection graces the front window, loiters on elegant mannequins throughout the consultation room, flings ideas and comparisons at him in his workshop. this is his favourite place to be, to create, to relax. his drafting table and cutting table and machine. tended with love.

it is here that he is sat, on a grey tuesday morning, when the bell goes. he sighs. lan huan is upstairs in a phone meeting with uncle. lan zhan puts down his shears and schools his face into a polite mask.

the young man in the front room looks like he just crawled out of a bin.

lan zhan stares at him.

he's asian, too, hair falling from a messy ponytail, rips in his jeans that do not look intentional, scruffy t-shirt and open hoodie and combat boots that are losing their soles. a wide, interested grin.

lan zhan stares at him some more.

"hi!" says the bin man--the /customer/, lan zhan corrects himself, even though it's hard to believe. he should not judge. "nice place you've got here." he stuffs his hands into his pockets and spins on one heel, looking up at the shelves of top hats and silk ties.

"hello."

lan zhan clears his throat, pulls himself together. "welcome to gusu lan bespoke. how may i help you?"

there is something undeniably alluring about the bin man, thinks a forbidden part of his brain. his smile, certainly. the slip of thigh showing through denim. his eyes.

"ah, hi! i'm wei ying." he bounds over to him with cheery exuberance, leans on the counter. "i'm in the market for a suit."

"a suit," repeats lan zhan. he looks down at the thin fabric of wei ying's t-shirt. his collar is peeking out above the neckline. "for a client?"

wei ying laughs, and the forbidden part of his brain slides forward into central command. his nose scrunches up with it. "for me, obviously," he says, and lan zhan has to do another double take.

"for you."

"yes! my sister's getting married."

"ah," says lan zhan, because that perhaps makes more sense. he unfolds the the leatherbound notepad on the counter, glances up at wei ying. he's watching him expectantly. "we would usually do a consultation, first," lan zhan explains. "we would take your contact details and

arrange a time to discuss your expectations, timescale, and." he pauses. does his best not to glance at the scraggly cuff of wei ying's hoodie. fails. "budget."

"great!" exclaims wei ying. "i mean, i'm free all day, we could do it now?"

lan zhan flattens his lips. he had hoped to finish cutting out a jacket before lunch. but wei ying is grinning at him with hopeful eyes, and lan zhan finds himself unable to say no to him.

"very well," he says, gesturing towards a padded armchair. "please sit."

he collects a jug of water and two glasses as wei ying makes himself comfortable, then folds onto the chair opposite him, upright position a direct contrast to wei ying's sprawl.

"okay, so," starts wei ying, and lan zhan holds up a hand to silence him.

"before we begin," he says, and he hates to have to do this, but it really seems like wei ying has simply googled "suit shop in london" and come to the first on the list. lan zhan does not want to have to send him to topman, but he fears he might. "we are an bespoke tailors."

"yeah! that's why i came here. my friend recommended you."

/oh/. maybe topman will wait. lan zhan berates himself again for judging. but still.

"what is your budget?" he asks bluntly.

wei ying grins and only blushes a little bit, which is cute. (forbidden brain still mostly in command, lan zhan notes.)

"ah, £3500? huaisang said his cost £5000, but then he had a really cool lining fabric with little birds on it--"

"i remember the one," lan zhan says.

he had been quite the customer, with his matching fans and sweeping gestures and dramatic sighs.

lan zhan feels ashamed for assuming. "£3500 is feasible," he says, which is true--certainly not the price of a good deal of his work, but not the lowest he's gone either.

wei ying bobs his head happily. "cool! cool, so--my sister's wedding, it's in six months but she said i had to get it ordered now or she wouldn't invite me to sunday lunch anymore. six months is long enough, right?"

"mn," agrees lan zhan. most commissions are complete in three.

"nice!" wei ying reaches forward for a glass, pauses halfway to glance at lan zhan and ask, "can i?"

his eyelashes flutter minutely. subconciously, lan zhan thinks. "of course."

wei ying pours himself a glass of water, and lan zhan gets out the notebook.

they discuss. wei ying really has no idea what he wants, only the colour parameters set by his sister, so lan zhan flicks through photos on the shop ipad until wei ying is nodding and commenting on every one.

he's leaning over the small table, head close to lan zhan's.

despite looking like he just climbed out of a bin, he smells of coconut. it's a very good smell. lan zhan is very aware of it.

by the time they've settled on a cut and design, the clock is ticking towards noon. wei ying sits back with a chuckle and checks his phone.

"i should get home," he says, sighing. "thanks so much."

"my pleasure," replies lan zhan. for the first time, he thinks he might actually mean it.

wei ying leaves with a gust of energy and chatter. lan zhan clutches his contact details, and lets himself smile.

pausing here for sleep! will resume tomorrow

lan zhan will not admit it, but the week between the initial consultation and their appointment for taking measurements feels like the longest of his life. he cannot get wei ying's bright, somewhat chaotic energy out of his mind.

he finds himself distracted, an entirely new experience, drifting off into thoughts about the kind of cut that will hug his a--make him look svelte, or about what texture of wool would best suit the shape of his smile.

his brother notices, but is too kind to say anything.

their wednesday appointment rolls around far too slowly and far too fast. lan zhan paces the workshop, glancing at the clock and listening for the bell. 10:49am. 10:57. 11:01. 11:05. 11:13.

has he forgotten? lwj checks his diary--yes, definitely 11am--what if he's forgotten--

the door bursts open with a jingle, and lan zhan's stomach does some sort of acrobatics, landing wobbly and off-kilter. he takes a deep breath.

walks into the front room the picture of perfect composition.

wei ying is waiting by the counter, grinning. he looks slightly less bin-fresh today, dressed in a grey flannel shirt and tight, tight jeans. lan zhan does his best not to stare.

"good morning," he greets him. "are you well?"

wei ying leans forwards on his elbows. "yep! you?"

"mn. i am fine." lan zhan taps his pencil on the counter, watching him. wei ying doesn't seem bothered about running late at all.

"so!" he exclaims. "measurements. where do you want me?"

lan zhan blinks at the flirtatious tone in his voice. wei ying giggles.

lan zhan clears his throat. "if you would follow me."

he leads him to the dressing room, thick white carpet and oak panelled walls and sky blue velvet curtain. the mirrors are gilt in real silver. wei ying looks around with awe.

"if you would--undress," lan zhan says.

he is sure his ears are red. "i will wait outside. please let me know when you are. hmhm. in your underwear."

wei ying flushes, and laughs, high-pitched and slightly nervous. "oh, yeah. yeah. of course. that makes sense."

lan zhan steps outside, pulls the curtain closed.

hidden from wei ying, he leans back against the wall, takes a deep breath. he is a /professional/. he has taken countless measurements of men in their underwear before. this will be no different.

"uh, mr--sir?" lwj flushes. "you didn't tell me your name. i'm ready though!"

lan zhan clears his throat again. "lan zhan," he says. "my name." he hesitates with a hand on the curtain. "may i enter?"

"haha, yeah, of course, it's your dressing room! lan like the shop name?"

"mn. we are a family busine--." he stops. the expanse of wei ying's back is Right There. his thighs are Right There. his ass is Right There, cupped lovingly in slightly too small heathered grey boxer briefs--

"family business," he repeats.

he meets wei ying's eyes in the mirror over his shoulder. he's got his hands clasped in front of him, in front of his crotch. lan zhan mentally steadies himself. professional.

"i will be taking several measurements," he says. "if you could stand with your arms slightly out."

lan zhan unrolls his tape measure, opens his notebook on the small side table. sets his pencil down on top of it.

he starts from the top. measures the circumference of wei ying's neck, the span of his shoulders, the depth of an armhole. quick, light-touched, efficient.

he determinedly keeps his eyes fixed on where his hands are working, on this side of wei ying. the temptation to glance at him in the mirror is strong. lan zhan only succumbs a little as he passes the tape measure around his chest. wei ying's lips are slightly parted.

wei ying has lovely skin, forbidden brain muses as he notes down another measurement (his waist is wonderfully small. lan zhan wants to wrap his hands around it.). he has freckles spotted all down his back. a birth mark peeking out of the waistband of his underwear.

lan zhan takes his lower hip measurement firmly from the /side/ of wei ying. his proportions are going to look stunning in a tailored suit.

waist-floor. he is a professional. he knows what's next on his list.

"i am going to take your inseam measurement," lan zhan says in a measured tone. "it will be fast, but if anything makes you uncomfortable, please tell me to stop." he says the same thing to every client. it shouldn't be different saying it to wei ying. it is.

"uh, yep," replies wei ying, short and high-pitched. lan zhan crouches next to him, taps slightly on the inside of his knee so that he will move his legs apart a little. ducks his head down, thinks about his uncle's snoring. professional professional professional professional

he is Not looking, he is Not thinking, he is way too close as he carefully settles the end of the tape measure between wei ying's legs--

his hand brushes the underside of wei ying's crotch. just a little. completely accidentally. it happens sometimes.

wei ying gasps softly.

/that/ does not usually happen.

"sorry," murmurs lan zhan, and takes the measurement as quickly as possible. wei ying squeaks in response.

he stand up before he has time to think about the shape of wei ying in his underwear. they make eye contact in the mirror.

wei ying's gaze is definitely dark. he holds it for too long to be polite.

lan zhan looks away, steps away, to get control of himself. clears his throat yet again. "okay. thank you. we are finished. i'll just--"

he flees the dressing room.

once he's found the relative safety of the far side of the curtain, he presses his forehead to the wall, mentally shouts at himself to /get it together/.

"er--should i get dressed again?" comes wei ying's voice.

"yes," replies lan zhan. it comes out strained.

he breathes against the wall until he no longer feels like lan zhan, horniest man alive, and is once again lan zhan, professional savile row tailor. maybe still horny.

wei ying opens the curtain with a grin. it had taken him a while to peel the jeans back on. "hi."

it takes every bit of lan zhan's willpower to keep the professional mask on. "hello," he responds, and feels a bit like idiot, but wei ying's grin widens, and he feels better.

"that will be all i need for today," lan zhan says, leading him over to the counter. "thank you."

"no, thank /you/, lan zhan!"

he likes the way his name sounds in wei ying's mouth. like it belongs there. he berates himself at the thought.

"so... when do you next want me?" wei ying leans on the counter again, looking up at him through his lashes. he smiles flirtatiously.

lan zhan needs to be away from him, now, safe in his workshop, before he does something like bend him over the nearest thousand pound armchair and ruin the upholstery.

he flips open the diary on the counter. it takes him a moment before he can read it.

he usually likes to spend at least three weeks on the initial mockup, fitting each new design into his schedule and working on several projects at once. right now, though, three weeks feels like a lifetime.

he normally has fridays off. next week's is empty.

"i have an availability next friday," he says matter-of-factly. "i will have an initial mockup by then. it will mostly just be a sizing fitting. would that suit you?"

wei ying leans forward to look at the diary. smiles up at him innocently. "i'm sure i could fit you in."

lan zhan stares at him. wei ying stares back. lan zhan is this close, /this/ close--

wei ying bursts out laughing, throws his head back. "oh my god, ahahaha, you should have seen your face! i'm sorry, i couldn't resist. the opportunity was just there. i had to take it."

lan zhan grits his teeth. he shouldn't be allowed to be equally hot and infuriating and enticing. "i assume friday will work for you, then?"

wei ying is still chuckling. "yeah, hah, of course. 11 again? sorry i was a bit late today. i'll try and be on time."

lan zhan makes a note in the diary. that will give him 8 days to make a mock up, which given his particular... interest, in the matter, should give him plenty of time.

"i look forward to it," he gets out, and it feels like so much more than just another customer service line.

wei ying's eyes sparkle. "so do i," he replies, and pushes himself off the counter with playful ease. "great! well, i'll see you next week, lan zhan." he leans on the door handle on his way out, and actually /winks/ at him "can't wait."

with that, he's gone, and it feels like the sun has disappeared behind a cloud. lan zhan is rooted to the spot, a little stunned. can't wait. wei ying. winking.

he snaps the diary shut and makes a beeline for his workroom. he's got some drafting to do.

that's it for tonight folks! thanks for reading, more coming tomorrow

lan zhan rearranges his entire weekly schedule. he is currently at various stages in the process for twelve different clients; they can all wait. he knows it is neither professional nor responsible to favour one over the others. he does not care. he will do it anyway.

a mock up is only the first step in the journey of creating a bespoke suit, but he pours himself into it anyway. snips precise cuts, hand-bastes the seams, works in the smallest amount of ease. imagines how it will hug the dips and curves of wei ying's body.

the following friday cannot come fast enough. lan huan looks at him with gentle concern over their dinner on thursday, and lan zhan knows he has noticed that he has been holed up in his workshop all week.

lan zhan silently tells him not to ask. he doesn't.

friday morning dawns, and lan zhan returns from his run around kensington gardens tense with more than just a post-workout high. he showers and stands among the crowd of suits and scarves on the piccadilly line. thrums with some sort of anticipation.

wei ying's mock up is ready, has been ready since wednesday. he forces himself to work on something else for the first half of the morning.

10:57am. the bell goes. lan zhan experiences an embarrassing pavlovian response.

he takes a moment to collect himself before stepping out. if this is how he reacts to every time wei ying steps in the shop, he will not survive to see the completion of this suit.

he's there, bright and beaming, leaning against the counter with playful eyes.

"good morning, lan zhan!" wei ying greets him. "as you can see, i am in fact /early/ for my fitting. by three minutes! impressive, huh?"

lan zhan allows himself a polite nod. "that is very thoughtful of you."

wei ying pouts. "hey! don't tease me. i'm fragile."

lan zhan chooses not to comment on wei ying's fragility. "i have prepared the mock up in the dressing room," he says. "if you would--?"

wei ying bounces to the dressing room, curls the curtain around his fingers. "i am genuinely excited," he says. "to see what it'll be like."

lan zhan pulls the curtain closed between them. "please undress," he says. his voice feels tight.

wei ying's chuckle comes through the velvet. "you know, if you keep leading me into your boudoir and ridding me of my clothes, i might start getting the wrong ideas, lan zhan."

lan zhan chokes.

wei ying must hear him, because he laughs, louder, and swats at the curtain. "oh my god, chill out, i'm only teasing. i know it's the same fore everyone. i'm ready, by the way."

lan zhan has done this before, which means he is scientifically capable of doing it again, but that doesn't make stepping into the dressing room and being greeted with the mesmerising expanse of wei ying's skin any easier.

"hey!" says wei ying, and waves at him in the mirror.

lan zhan nods silently. he does not trust himself to speak.

he gets wei ying into a dress shirt without much trouble. holds the pants open for him to step into while he does up his buttons, Very Professionally pins the waistband shut. wei ying's skin is warm beneath it.

the jacket is a cut he's very proud of, sharp and fitted. he smooths it over wei ying's shoulders, briefly meets his gaze in the mirror. his eyes look a little darker in the golden light of the dressing room.

"i am going to do some adjustments while you are wearing the suit," says lan zhan in his politest customer tone. "it may take a little while. please let me know if at any point you need a break."

"of course," replies wei ying. he's smirking. just a little bit.

lan zhan works on the jacket, first, and actually manages to get lost in the enjoyment of the work--removing a pin here, putting in a quick basting stitch there. wei ying's waist already looks trim without it. by the time lan zhan is finished, he will look positively victorian.

wei ying hums happily throughout, watching him in the mirror. despite his outrageous flirting, he's a surprisingly good customer, responding to lan zhan's need for him to lift his arms or turn slightly before he's even asked him.

eventually, the jacket mock up sits perfectly on his shoulders. lan zhan smooths it over one last time, does a tour of wei ying with a critical eye. he finds little at fault. he will look stunning in the final fabric.

he removes the jacket, hangs it carefully on the wall.

he looks down at the fit of the trousers. they fit well already, hugging his thighs and glancing over his socked feet, almost perfectly, except for--well.

maybe he didn't work quite enough ease into the centre back seam.

"lan zhan?" asks wei ying after he has spent too long staring, in panic--not because he's not drafted it right, no, but because--

"i may have to make a few adjustments," he says, and it's a miracle it comes out steady, "on the centre back seam."

"oh," says wei ying. lan zhan glances at him in the mirror. there is a high blush covering his cheeks. (lan zhan's own ears are bright red.) "ok."

lan zhan sighs through his nose, thanks the universe for the time he's had, and crouches down.

he leaves a good inch of allowance on seams like these he expects to adjust; he is glad of it now, as he snips carefully at a couple of basting threads and does everything in his willpower to re-pin without thinking about the fact that his hands are on wei ying's ass.

wei ying, who has been shuffling, moving and humming nonstop since he entered the dressing room, has frozen. lan zhan tries not to read anything into it.

"hey, lan zhan," he says. there is the lightest of playful inflections in his voice. "don't make them /too/ loose."

lan zhan fumbles so much that he almost stabs him with a pin. it takes a couple of tries before he can slide it into place, and get the words out. "i will not."

he finishes off as quickly as possible and stands up. wei ying's grin is dancing in the mirror. "all done?"

"mn," replies lan zhan. "thank you for your patience."

wei ying grins.

lan zhan unpins his waistband, maintains his professional focus as he helps him slide the trousers off, mindful of sharp pins. the bottom of the dress shirt grazes his thighs.

"i will be waiting outside," says lan zhan. his gaze, ever traitorous, flicks to wei ying's bare legs. he's wiry and lean, just a little bit of softness on his thighs. his fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and touch, so he curls them into a fist.

he leaves hastily.

wei ying, fully clothed again in denim jacket and high-waisted jeans, bursts out on him with only just enough time for lan zhan to remove his forehead from the cold glass of the cufflink cabinet.

"lan zhan! are you okay?"

he swallows. he is a professional. the mantra is starting to feel insufficient. "i am fine," he says.

they arrange a date for the next fitting. wei ying flutters his eyelashes and lan zhan's stomach flutters in response. his grin is infectious.

and so this is how it goes: lan zhan lives his life from fitting to fitting, throws himself into the creative process in between. the wool for wei ying's suit arrives, a lightweight dark grey herringbone twill, and he marvels over it when lan zhan lays it across the counter.

wei ying flirts, outrageously, unashamedly. lan zhan takes it, lets him toss his insides up and down and inside out with acrobatics at every word that comes out of his mouth. furiously spends his nights thinking of messy hair and sparkling eyes and a bright grin.

it is foolish, he knows this. wei ying seems to tease like he needs it to breathe. lan zhan barely knows him, has no indication of whether he's even single, let alone interested.

it does not stop his brain from getting incredibly creative.

wei ying flounces into gusu lan designs two and a half months after lan zhan first met him with a costa takeout cup in hand and a shopping bag banging against his legs. "gooood morning!" he exclaims. "how are you doing today, my favourite tailor?"

lan zhan steps down off the stool he had been using to rearrange the top hat display. "good morning, wei ying," he says. he frowns at wei ying's coffee. there is a splash of it on the lid, a dried trickle down the side of the cup.

"what?" says wei ying.

"nothing." lan zhan folds the stool and puts it away.

"i got bumped on the tube! lan zhan. be kind to me. i have to trek in all the way from ilford every time we have an appointment, you know. i have to change twice."

"i am kind to you."

wei ying pouts and dumps his shopping bag in an armchair. "i'll go and get changed," he sighs.

lan zhan shakes his head. the suit is nearly complete now, only really awaiting finishings. he doesn't have the heart to tell wei ying that this will likely be their final fitting.

he doesn't really have the heart to think it himself, either.

wei ying is already buttoning up the dress shirt when lan zhan enters, wiggling his eyebrows at him in the mirror. he doesn't need help dressing any more, the pins and basting stitches long gone. lan zhan does anyway.

he holds the jacket out for him to slide his hands into, settles it on his shoulders. the shape of it compliments wei ying's jaw, the colour his eyes. they stand, looking in the mirror, for a heavy moment.

wei ying runs a hand across his waist. "i look good," he says.

"mn," lan zhan says before he can catch himself. "it. suits you."

wei ying stares at him, then his face scrunches up in glorious laughter, and he rocks back against lan zhan, bumping into his shoulder. "lan zhan! that is such a bad pun. oh my god. /suits/ you."

lan zhan would much rather he laugh at his pun than hear the genuine intent behind those words. wei ying sniggers for a little while longer, then gets lost in looking again, turning a little to check the back. it is an excellent sight.

he softens, smiling, and turns to lan zhan.

"hey, lan zhan. thank you. really."

"you are very welcome," says lan zhan, and means it. he would have made wei ying this suit for free, he thinks. the 20% deposit in the company finances is nothing compared to that smile. "i am glad you chose gusu lan bespoke."

"so am i," murmurs wei ying, and he is suddenly incredibly close, the dressing room shrinking around them. lan zhan thinks about the tiny mole below wei ying's lips. thinks about the smell of his coconut shampoo. brushes a hand over the suited curve of wei ying's waist.

the doorbell jingles.

wei ying jumps back as if in shock, laughs sheepishly. "ah, lan zhan. you should probably get that."

he's still frozen. wei ying prods his chest. "lan zhan. door. i'll hang the suit up."

right. right, doorbell. he leaves the dressing room in something of a haze.

aaaannd leaving it there for the night. please don't attack me in my sleep.

one final part coming tomorrow, which will earn the 18+ rating and only cause light angst before a happy ending!

lan zhan has been putting off finishing wei ying's suit.

he's been putting off finishing it, because once he hands it over and wei ying bounces out onto the street, he is never going to see him again. he is never going to see him again and he doesn't think he can cope with that.

but he's put it off now to the point that tomorrow is the completion deadline they arranged three months ago, and he still has hand finishing to do. he's put it off to the point that he is still sat up in the workshop at 11pm, straining his eyes in the too-bright light.

he sighs, rethreads his needle, settles another button into place. it's not unheard of for him to stay at work late--there is a very comfortable futon in the corner for a reason--but he is /feeling/ the fact that he hasn't gone to bed yet. just three more buttons.

three more buttons and one more morning and he's never going to see wei ying again.

he pushes the thought from his mind, focuses on the meditative movements of the needle in his fingers, the press of his thimble, exacting the tension on the thread. loses himself in it.

his peace is broken aggressively and all at once.

there's a loud rattle at the door. someone thumping against the glass. lan zhan freezes. he may well be in mayfair but that doesn't stop the fact that it's late and he's alone.

he sets the jacket down silently and picks up his shears. they are as sharp as his prize kitchen knife. he's thankful to lan huan for making him take those self defence classes in sixth form.

he crosses the workroom cautiously, stomach fluttering. the window is alarmed--

he stops as soon as he sets foot in the front room. the silhouette against the glass of the door is achingly familiar.

"wei ying?"

he's across the room in a heartbeat, unlocking the door and flinging it open. wei ying almost topples inside. he's a mess; he's wearing some sort of uniform, but there's--something, down the front of it, and in his hair, and he reeks of soured dairy.

lan zhan just about manages to stop his nose from wrinkling. he's mostly stopped thinking of wei ying as "bin man", but now--

"wei ying? are you alright?"

wei ying shakes his head, stumbling inside. with a jolt lan zhan realises he is crying.

"wei ying!" he catches his elbow, helps him into the nearest arm chair. wei ying sobs and grabs at his shirt, dragging him down with him; lan zhan has little choice but to pull him into his lap. the smell is negligible compared to how much lan zhan is worrying for him.

"'m sorry, lan zhan," wei ying sobs into his chest. "sorry, sorry, i'm so sorry."

"shh, wei ying." lan zhan's hand hesitates over wei ying's back, but then he's wracked with another sob, and it settles, rubbing him as soothingly as he can. "it's okay. it's okay."

"it's /not/ okay!" wei ying cries, twisting his hands into lan zhan's shirt--it's silk and probably not going to survive wei ying's tears, but he doesn't care. "it's not, and i didn't even think you'd be here, and you are and now i feel stupid and annoying and it's not okay--"

"wei ying," lan zhan says firmly. "can you tell me what has happened?"

wei ying sobs a bit more, then sniffles, looking up at lan zhan with huge, watery eyes. he's a mess, but he's beautiful in the half light.

"i didn't mean it to happen," he says.

lan zhan nods, allows him to continue. wei ying sniffles, looks down at his fingers fiddling with the button of lan zhan's shirt. "it was a really bad customer," he mumbles. "i mean, they're all awful, it's a bar for entitled white men in suits but--i just couldn't anymore."

"what happened?" prompts lan zhan.

wei ying sighs, small and woeful. "i threw an espresso martini in his face. then he threw his entire white russian at me. it stinks." he sighs again, and looks up at lan zhan with trembling lips.

"and then i lost my job," he ventures, and his words are getting smaller and smaller, so much that lan zhan has to strain to hear them, "and now i can't afford the suit anymore."

he takes a deep breath, shudders, and starts sobbing again.

"shh, wei ying," murmurs lan zhan, because that's about all he can manage right now, he's so ready to eviscerate the customer who made wei ying cry like this off the very planet. "it's okay."

"no! don't you see how it's not okay? how can it--i can't even go to jiejie's wedding!"

"you can," lan zhan replies softly, and wei ying groans in frustration, presses his head into lan zhan's shoulder.

"i /can't/, lan zhan, because i can't pay you for the suit that you have put /weeks/ into, and i should never have come here, i should have just gone to primark--"

the words sting; lan zhan's hands tighten on wei ying's arms. "wei ying," he says through gritted teeth. wei ying just keeps on crying, heedless. lan zhan pulls him back a little. "wei /ying/."

"what, lan zhan?" he's hurting, angry. "how can you possibly make this better?"

his eyes flash, heated, challenging. he is everything.

lan zhan tugs him forward and kisses him.

wei ying lets out a surprised sound, hands stilling on lan zhan's chest. lan zhan doesn't let him go. he gasps, barely audible, and then responds with eagerness.

his face is still wet with tears; the lingering smell of white russian is hanging on the air. lan zhan could not care less. he kisses wei ying like he needs it to breathe. he thinks, maybe, he does.

wei ying pulls back a bit, gasping, and lan zhan goes for his jaw. "so this--"

"ahh--aha--lan zhan--so this is how you're going to make everything better, huh?"

lan zhan hums his confirmation against wei ying's neck, finds the spot where it meets his shoulders, closes his teeth around it. sucks. wei ying moans.

"that's--that's not very professional of you, lan zhan--"

"have been professional," lan zhan kisses into his neck. "have been professional for too long. don't want to be professional any more."

"o-okay, but this doesn't solve the issue of the suit." wei ying gasps and drags lan zhan's mouth back up to meet his. his tongue is hot and slick.

"later," growls lan zhan, and stands up, bringing wei ying with him. "now, out of these clothes."

"/god/, yes, lan zhan."

nsfw from here onwards!

they stumble though the darkened front room, desperation and pent up tension fuelling every touch, every kiss. wei ying's dirty uniform top lands on the counter somewhere. lan zhan curses his own choice of button down shirt.

by the time the backs of his knees are hitting the futon in the workroom, wei ying is halfway out of his trousers, straining against his briefs, fumbling at lan zhan's belt.

"off, off, off," he pants against his mouth. "god, lan zhan, you have no idea--when i first walked in--"

"have wanted you for so long," replies lan zhan, stripping his belt out and tossing it away, uncaring. "that first time--"

"--in the dressing room, /god/, yes, with your hands all over me, you have no idea, lan zhan--"

lan zhan thinks he does have some idea, actually. he has replayed the brush of his fingers against wei ying's crotch over and over in his mind until the image is worn and well-used.

he brushes his fingers over his clothed dick again now, with purpose. wei ying gasps.

"yeah," he says, "yeah, let's do that."

they stumble out of their underwear; lan zhan's mouth waters at the sight of wei ying, hard and naked and and needy. he drops onto the futon, pulls wei ying down on top of him.

he has never regretted the lack of /necessities/ more.

wei ying's hand circles them both, thrusting messily together. lan zhan groans softly, bites his lip; wei ying giggles. "lan zhan, ah. you're gorgeous. wanna blow you."

lan zhan kisses him hungrily in response. "/yes/, wei ying."

wei ying shuffles off the futon, kneels between his thighs, grins up at him. he flutters his long eyelashes; he's beautiful.

"i'm told i'm pretty good at this," says wei ying, cocky, and sinks his mouth down over lan zhan's length.

wei ying is not lying. lan zhan groans again and collapses back against the futon, hand blindly searching for wei ying's head, threading his fingers into his hair. his tongue is all sorts of skilled. his mouth is a revelation. his /throat/--

"wei ying," grunts lan zhan.

"hmm?"

wei ying hums the question around his cock, the vibrations of it sending jolts of arousal up lan zhan's spine.

"wei ying. i am--close--"

wei ying pulls off with a wet /pop/. "you can come in my mouth," he purrs.

lan zhan thumps his head back against the futon and tugs desperately at wei ying's hair; the moaning produced goes straight to the tightness twisting low in his gut--

wei ying takes him into his throat and swallows around him. lan zhan can't hold back any longer.

he comes with a wordless moan. wei ying swallows around him, takes it all, keeps him in his mouth until he's completely spent. lan zhan pulls weakly at him until wei ying crawls back onto the futon and kisses him.

"you have such a nice cock, lan zhan," mumbles wei ying.

"mn." lan zhan reaches between them, wraps his fingers around wei ying's hardness. "wei ying too. and ass. have given lots of thought to wei ying's ass."

wei ying gasps into his mouth. "oh my god, lan zhan."

"next time, i'm going to fuck you properly," says lan zhan. "i know the outside of you so well. want to learn inside you."

"oh my /god/," wei ying gasps again, and comes.

after, they lie sweaty and sticky on the futon. the bathroom is just across the room, but lan zhan does not want to move, even if he could. wei ying is still catching his breath against his chest. lan zhan's arm is tight around his back.

"next time?" wei ying asks quietly.

lan zhan noses at the top of his head. "if wei ying would like."

wei ying smiles up at him; it might be nearing midnight, but his grin is the sun at high noon. "wei ying would very much like."

lan zhan kisses him in response.

later, once they're cleaned up and wei ying has borrowed some fresh clothing (one of the advantages of fucking in a tailor's), they lie spooned on the futon under lan zhan's blanket. the way wei ying presses against his front feels like he was made to fit there.

"i can find another job," says wei ying quietly into the dim light of the room.

"not necessary," says lan zhan, and kisses his shoulder.

"lan zhan. i am not letting you give me this suit for free."

lan zhan is glad wei ying can't see his frown. "why not," he mumbles.

"lan zhan! you--seriously? this is your job. your livelihood. you deserve to be paid for the work you've done."

"wei ying can--"

"do not say wei ying can make up for it in other ways. i want to have sex with you, but not because of that. never just because of that."

wei ying has rolled onto his back, is glaring fondly at him in the low light.

"lan zhan," he says softly. "i really like you."

"mn. like wei ying a lot too." understatement of the century, he thinks.

"we can work something out. monthly instalments or--whatever. i want to pay."

lan zhan feels like pouting. but wei ying is right, his professional mind, absent for so long, supplies. he does deserve remuneration for his work. maybe they can work something out. 50% cash, 50% blowjobs.

"okay," he says softly. "now come back here."

wei ying hums and settles back against him. the silhouette of the suit on its mannequin is just about visible.

he feels wei ying think the words before they even come out.

"hey, lan zhan, do you think--"

"i am not fucking you in the suit."

wei ying whines in disappointment, and lan zhan nudges his head forward and nips his ear.

"at least, not until after the wedding."

the end though let's have a few wrap-up thoughts, shall we?

- lan zhan very nearly does fuck wei ying in the suit when he sees him in the final look, fully accessorised courtesy of nhs
- lan zhan is his date to the wedding and wears modern hanfu
- wei ying gets a new job as +

an actual rubbish collector to finish paying for the suit. the irony is not lost on lan zhan. there's a first time for every pet name, and "bin man" is certainly not in common use
- lan zhan does eventually fuck wei ying in the suit, on their honeymoon. (they brought it precisely

for this purpose.)

thank you so much for reading!!! i really appreciate it, and it's so much fun to read everyone's reactions. likes/interactions/qrts are always dearly valued

i'm currently unemployed due to covid, so if you'd like to buy me a coffee, i would be eternally grateful! https://ko-fi.com/daltoneering 

this thread can be read from the beginning here! https://twitter.com/daltoneering/status/1311102448896020480?s=20