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"You have a package," Lan Zhan announces.
Wei Ying gives up on finding which part of the sky this particular blue puzzle piece belongs to and looks up to see his husband holding a small bundle of mail and a nondescript cardboard box of medium size. "Why couldn’t it have been cloudy?" he asks before his brain processes Lan Zhan’s statement, then, “Lan er gege, did you get me another present?” Lan Zhan does that, makes note of the things on which Wei Ying's firefly attention alights in order to surprise him later with a gift of something Wei Ying would have forgotten entirely. It's how his coziest house hoodie, several actually effective fidget toys, and this 1500 piece custom puzzle with a picture of him and Lan Zhan at their wedding—a gorgeously clear and sunny day that has come back to haunt him in tiny blue cardboard shapes—had come to live at their house. It makes Wei Ying feel warm and squirmy inside every time.
This time though, Lan Zhan shakes his head. “I didn’t order anything,” he says, “nor do I recognize the return address.”
A mystery! Wei Ying hops up and grabs the scissors from the mug of pens on their kitchen counter. (Before they’d moved in together, Wei Ying’s scissors had lived wherever he set them down last, necessitating a frantic search each time he needed them. Lan Zhan, the kind of organized person who has dedicated storage places for things like pens and scissors and household tools, had proposed a specific kitchen drawer in this apartment, but Wei Ying had argued that a Designated Stuff Drawer was bound to collect clutter until actually laying hands on the particular item they wanted became a nightmarish task and high-use things like scissors wound up migrating around anyway. Thus, the mug of pens, which also contains scissors and a screwdriver.) The return address doesn’t ring any bells for him either, just a nondescript business name, so he shrugs and slices open the box.
Inside is a layer of black tissue paper, and then—oh. OH. Wei Ying suddenly recalls the evening a few weeks back while Lan Zhan had been away on a trip for work that Wen Ning and Nie Huaisang had come over to drink and make snarky commentary on terrible old scifi movies with him. He remembers the horrible alien parasite babies and the rabbit trail of google searches on his phone, and he can feel his face heating as he looks up from the very large turquoise silicone ovipositor and egg-shaped molds to meet Lan Zhan’s amused gaze. “So, I might’ve drunk ordered sex toys the other day,” he says sheepishly.
Lan Zhan hums at him thoughtfully and types something into his phone. Wei Ying squirms in place as he scrolls, waiting for a verdict. They get up to some pretty weird stuff, he and Lan Zhan, so he’s fairly certain that whatever Lan Zhan is googling, it isn’t, “husband bought alien fetish toys divorce.” As Lan Zhan reads placidly, Wei Ying starts getting excited, and not just because there’s a big, hollow dick in a box on the table between them.
Finally his husband nods decisively and puts his phone away. “Gelatin and agar are both body-safe,” he says. “I have the latter on hand. You will have approximately 90 minutes if there is anything else you need to take care of first.” Practical, decisive, prepared for almost anything, and unrepentantly horny—Wei Ying adores this man.
An hour and a half later, Wei Ying is in his favorite place on earth—on his back naked while Lan Zhan surveys him with a hungry look in his eyes. He had made good use of the time while the eggs were setting to cover the bed with a large towel, cuff Wei Ying’s wrists to the corners of the headboard, and begin to tease him until he’s panting and eager. So far, a normal Saturday night. (Or Tuesday night, or Sunday morning, or…) Then he holds up the ovipositor and drizzles lube over its length. Stroking slowly from tip to base, Lan Zhan quirks an eyebrow at him. “Did you realize you ordered the largest one they make?” he asks.
Wei Ying laughs. Of course he went to their website. He probably read reviews and watched some demo videos too, figuring out how best to hoist Wei Ying on this particular petard of horny internet shopping. “Must’ve been thinking of my Lan Zhan,” he flirts, fluttering his eyelashes.
Lan Zhan lets out an amused little puff of air. “Shameless,” he accuses fondly, giving the toy another exaggerated stroke.
“Always.” Wei Ying loves his husband so, so much. “Gonna fill me with your eggs now, Lan Zhan, get me pregnant with all your alien hellspawn?”
“No,” Lan Zhan says, pulling Wei Ying's knees just a little wider, “get you pregnant with our alien hellspawn.” Then he presses the tip of the ovipositor against Wei Ying’s hole and begins to feed it inside.
It’s not the widest thing Wei Ying’s ass has taken, but it’s a respectable size. The hollow center means it flexes against his body as it slides into him in a way Wei Ying has never felt, not quite like a toy and not quite like a body part, something almost organic but utterly, well, alien. It’s textured with bumps and ridges and valleys that ripple along his skin and provide an ever-changing sensation as it penetrates deeper into his body. Lan Zhan fucks it back and forth a few times, watching Wei Ying’s face with that intense look he always gets when he’s working Wei Ying over. He has to go slowly on the way in—it’s too flexible for the fast pounding strokes that drive Wei Ying wild—but the way he speeds up a little when he pulls it out makes Wei Ying gasp.
“It’s weird, Lan Zhan,” he says. “Good weird, but weird. Definitely doesn’t feel like any of our other toys.” By itself the sensation isn’t all that overwhelming, but the anticipation of what’s coming has Wei Ying nearly vibrating with excitement. Lan Zhan pulls the ovipositor out slowly this time, leaving just a few inches inside Wei Ying, then reaches past him to the bedside table and brings the bowl of eggs into view for the first time.
It's a clear glass bowl, because Wei Ying's husband thinks of everything, so Wei Ying can see the milky white spheres suspended in lube. Lan Zhan fishes one out, and rolls it around in his fingers as the liquid drips back into the bowl. Drunk Wei Ying had apparently ordered two different size molds, so there are smaller and larger eggs. He hopes Lan Zhan makes him take every last one.
Lan Zhan returns the egg to the bowl and goes to pick up the end of the ovipositor. He pauses, then slides a pillow under the towel to lift Wei Ying's hips in the air. "Better for breeding," he declares in his low, confident voice, like impregnating someone with alien jelly eggs is something he's done hundreds of times. It should sound absurd, but his tone makes Wei Ying dizzy with want.
"Yes," he breathes, "Lan Zhan, please yes, breed me. Fill me up with all your pretty eggs!" He's begging, jerking his hips in needy little movements that make Lan Zhan grip high on his thighs and squeeze tight with those lovely long fingers.
"Hush now," Lan Zhan replies, "you will take what you're given." As though this entire exercise isn't proof positive that Lan Zhan delights in giving Wei Ying everything he wants and then some. With Wei Ying arranged to his satisfaction and mostly holding still, he picks up the toy again and squirts a generous amount of lube into the hollow center. Wei Ying imagines it dripping slowly down the inside of the toy and seeping into his body, and he shivers. First the alien lifeform prepares his chosen mate by secreting a lubricating fluid to make him pliant and receptive, Wei Ying thinks. Do aliens have nature documentaries? They must. Although that would imply people-ier aliens and wildlife-ier aliens, and probably they'd breed differently, so—
"Wei Ying." Lan Zhan cuts into his pondering on extraterrestrial television programming, and Wei Ying looks down between his legs. There are now two distinct bulges in the ovipositor's length, and as he watches, Lan Zhan presses another of the jelly eggs into the toy. Keeping his fingers over the tube's opening, he presses the ovipositor back into Wei Ying's ass. He can feel the stretch as the first bulge breaches his rim, the previous give of the toy now taut around the egg inside. It's not quite the sensation he imagined, more similar to taking one of the dildos with a knot than anything. (They have one of those, too—and Lan Zhan had bought that one completely sober.) Lan Zhan must have a similar thought. He frowns a little and then squeezes the toy near the base and glides his hand along the shaft to push the eggs forward instead.
Now Wei Ying feels what he was hoping for. The bulge of the egg presses against his hole from within the ovipositor and moves through it into him, slowly at first then all at once. Wei Ying lets out a little, "ah!" as the egg slides deeper into him and the bulge in the toy presses against his prostate. Lan Zhan hums, pleased, and squeezes the next one in. This time, Wei Ying feels a burst of coolness against his insides. He realizes it's the first egg, which had been in the fridge for the past hour, being laid in his guts. His breath escapes him in a shaky laugh. "It's in," he tells Lan Zhan, "oh my god, you actually put an egg inside me!!" Lan Zhan merely raises an eyebrow, amused, and Wei Ying laughs. "Yes, er gege, I realize that was the point, don't tease your poor husband."
"Who's teasing?" Lan Zhan asks, giving the ovipositor a little tug that causes the eggs to catch on the inside of his rim and a second one to pop out of the toy.
Wei Ying shivers. "That feels so weird!" he says, delighted and turned on. "More, gimme!" Lan Zhan pinches the sensitive inside of his thigh for the impatient demand, making him yelp, then gives him more.
On a purely physical level, it's not making the list of top ten mindblowing things Wei Ying has ever experienced. (Lan Zhan had him write out an actual list one time, because he is a weirdo, and Wei Ying adores him.) The bigger eggs are a decent stretch as they go in, kind of like anal beads but squishier, and for all its length the ovipositor has to be mostly outside of him for Lan Zhan to insert the eggs—they explode one when he tries to press it in with the base right up against Wei Ying's body, and Wei Ying laughs until Lan Zhan stuffs the lube-y half-egg into his mouth. (Plain agar jelly plus unflavored lube—blech.)
They soon figure out a rhythm though, and Wei Ying allows himself to sink back into the fantasy. He watches the little frown of concentration between Lan Zhan's brows as he carefully feeds the slippery spheres into the toy and imagines him as an alien researcher, testing the human body for suitability as a host for his brood. The squishy, wriggly feeling of fullness becomes more noticeable with each egg Lan Zhan inserts. How many does this species lay? Lan Zhan watches him writhe against the bed, rolling his hips to feel the eggs slip-slide against each other inside him, and makes a pleased little noise. "Full?"
Wei Ying nods. They're not firm enough or heavy enough to make him uncomfortably full, but he's so aware of them inside him. Are they starting to melt? How long will they last? Does—he gasps as the thought occurs to him—does he have to lay these again somehow, or would they hatch inside him? Lan Zhan watches, his eyes full of molten want. He's still dressed, just his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but Wei Ying can see the distinct press of his hard cock against the zipper of his pants. The contrast coils warm and syrupy in his belly: Lan Zhan's careful control and his own wanton need. He wants to see that control snap.
"So full," he says, biting his lip in the way he knows makes his husband want to claim his mouth for himself. All these years together, and he never gets tired of riling him up, of acting as shameless as he can to tease out the passion he knows roils under that composed facade.
Unlike when they were young, however, Lan Zhan has learned how to tease back. He raises a single eyebrow ever so slightly. "Too full?" he asks. "Shall we stop?" He sits up and moves as though to remove the ovipositor, and Wei Ying's wrists are caught short by the leather of the cuffs as he jerks, desperate to catch Lan Zhan's hands and keep him from pulling the toy out.
"No!" he begs. "Please, Lan Zhan, no, don't stop! Not too full, never too full of you.” He takes a deep breath and really goes for the gold. “Want to take all your eggs, I can do it, I can do it, please!" He doesn't know how many are left, but he doesn't care. He's so turned on, but it isn't enough, not nearly fast or hard or full enough to get him off, and if Lan Zhan stops and cleans him up now, he just might die.
Lan Zhan hums, that pleased little sound he always makes when he's reduced Wei Ying to begging, and reaches for the bowl again. "Two more, then," he says.
Of course they're two of the bigger ones. Wei Ying relishes the stretch and slide as Lan Zhan squeezes them into him through the ovipositor. He fucks the toy back and forth a few times, releasing the eggs into his body and jostling them deeper inside of Wei Ying. Wei Ying grins, triumphant. "Told you I could do it!"
"Good boy," Lan Zhan says, and then, "hold them," as he slides the toy out of Wei Ying entirely, sets it in the empty bowl, and stands. Wei Ying clamps down on nothing, his hole feeling strangely empty even as his insides feel pleasantly full. He's not, he suddenly realizes, entirely sure what happens next.
"Lan Zhan?" he asks. "What… now what?"
“Now,” his husband says, voice dark and possessive as he efficiently strips out of his clothing, “I will fertilize the eggs.”
Wei Ying scarcely has time to gasp before Lan Zhan is surging over him, caging his body in with his arms and claiming his mouth in a hungry kiss. Wei Ying groans into the familiar sensations, the lips and teeth and tongue that Lan Zhan always seems to think have as much right to be in Wei Ying's mouth as his own. He pulls back after a moment and scrunches his nose adorably, and Wei Ying laughs. "And whose fault is it that my mouth tastes like that, eh?"
"Wei Ying's," Lan Zhan declares petulantly. He's so cute, his husband, and Wei Ying tells him so, which earns him a sharp pinch to his nipple that has him bucking up reflexively and jostling the eggs inside him. His mouth falls open on a gasp at the strange sensation, and Lan Zhan pushes three fingers inside. Three still very lube-y fingers.
He tries to point out this will only make his mouth taste worse, but the words slur into utter nonsense around his husband’s long fingers as Lan Zhan pets over his tongue and makes him drool. Wei Ying is not, by nature, a particularly dignified person, but Lan Zhan seems to take a perverse delight in reducing him to an utter mess. Eventually he deems himself sufficiently slobbered upon and extracts his fingers to give his cock a few long strokes before lining up and thrusting into Wei Ying's extremely ready hole.
Wei Ying loves taking his husband’s cock. Loves the closeness and the fullness and the little absurd feeling that maybe this time is the time Lan Zhan will just melt into his body and stay there, making a home for himself in all Wei Ying's empty places. It's a ridiculous thought, he knows, but they're ridiculous people who have decided to be ridiculous together. Case in point: his ass full of jelly eggs.
"What does it feel like?" Wei Ying asks, curious how this whole experiment has been for Lan Zhan. He’s taken over with the kind of single-minded zeal that usually signals he’s really into something, but, to be fair, he gets like that nearly every time he gets Wei Ying naked, so. Lan Zhan places one large hand low on Wei Ying's belly and deepens his strokes, as though he's trying to feel himself or the eggs through Wei Ying's body. The angle of his hips has the convenient side effect of driving his cock over Wei Ying’s prostate on every thrust.
Lan Zhan hums thoughtfully as he methodically fucks Wei Ying breathless. "I can feel them a little," he reports, like he’s not currently making Wei Ying’s eyes roll back in his head, "when I'm deep. Mostly, you are very wet."
Understatement of the year. It feels like Lan Zhan used the better part of a bottle of lube on him, and obscene squelching sounds fill their bedroom with every thrust. The easy way Lan Zhan slides in and out of his body is maddening—almost no friction, just the punishing slap of his hips against Wei Ying’s ass and the relentless feeling of his cock rearranging Wei Ying’s over-full insides. "All for you, gege," he pants, grinning at the wry little smile in the corner of Lan Zhan's mouth that means he’s about to say something deliciously mean or devastatingly adoring. Wei Ying has never figured out which one makes him combust more.
“All mine,” Lan Zhan agrees. “My Wei Ying.” His eyes are dark with intent, and his gaze bores into Wei Ying even deeper than his cock. Wei Ying groans when Lan Zhan’s hand finds his own erection and begins to stroke in time with his words. “Taking my eggs so well. Will you grow round and full with them, Wei Ying? Bear our strange children inside your body?” Wei Ying imagines it, imagines tentacled alien babies filling him up and writhing inside him. Imagines Lan Zhan taking care of him as he grows heavy with them, feeding him and tending to his needs with that proud, possessive look in his eyes. “Perhaps I will keep you like that,” he continues, his own breath coming faster now as Wei Ying gasps and chants his name in his arms. “Breed you over and over, always full of my eggs, my cock, our young.” Wei Ying shudders beneath him, and Lan Zhan leans down to lick a broad, hot stripe up his neck. “All for me,” he growls, sinking his teeth into that sensitive skin.
Wei Ying cries out and comes, the arousal that has been simmering in him since he opened the package at last spilling over at the pure heat in Lan Zhan’s voice. Lan Zhan sucks hard on his neck and thrusts even deeper into his spasming body, coming a breathless moment later with a muffled, “Wei Ying!” and collapsing down onto him like the best kind of weighted blanket.
Wei Ying blinks at their ceiling and breathes. He can feel his chest expanding against the warm breadth of Lan Zhan’s own, both their hearts beating so fast he cannot tell one from the other. He remembers his arms and flexes his hands where they’re gripped by the cuffs above his head. “Lan Zhan,” he asks, “Lan Zhan, husband, please untie me. Want to hold you.” Lan Zhan makes an adorably grumpy noise at being asked to move, but reaches up to unfasten the cuffs. “Don’t go,” Wei Ying says quickly, before he can begin to pull away. “Just—here. Stay.” Wei Ying wraps his arms around him, and Lan Zhan settles back down atop him. They cling to one another like that for a few minutes, just holding on as their hearts slow and their bodies come down from the heights they’d found in each other. Wei Ying feels Lan Zhan soften and slip out of his lax body.
Then he startles when he feels something else slip out as well.
“Uh,” he says eloquently, face heating. “Lan Zhan, I think it might be time to clean up.”
Lan Zhan pushes up on his elbows, and Wei Ying squeaks as the press of his hips sends another egg slip-sliding out of him. Lan Zhan pulls back to stare curiously between Wei Ying's legs and reaches out a hand to trace the sensitive rim of Wei Ying's hole. Wei Ying twitches at the gentle touch, but Lan Zhan just keeps slowly circling a single finger around the mess of Wei Ying's ass. He feels loose and open and so, so filthy wet. "Sloppy," Lan Zhan murmurs, sounding immensely pleased.
Wei Ying's face is on fire. "Lan Zhan!" he whines, wanting to grab his hand to stop his obscene petting but afraid of finding out what his body will do if he tries to sit up. "Stop looking at me like that; it's too embarrassing."
"You like when I look at you," Lan Zhan answers, smug, and Wei Ying buries his face in his hands with a groan—he's right, but he doesn't have to say it.
Lan Zhan scoops him up in a bridal carry and bears him along to the bathroom to clean up—a wholly undignified process wherein Wei Ying “births” a few more undissolved eggs that go bouncing hilariously along the tile floor of their large shower and they rinse a truly impressive mix of fluids off both their lower halves and down the drain. Wei Ying has never been more appreciative of Lan Zhan’s insistence upon using a sex towel—nor his forethought in choosing a machine-washable bedspread.
Soon enough, they are clean and ensconced in fresh sheets once more, Wei Ying curled into Lan Zhan’s side and playing with one of his hands while Lan Zhan combs the fingers of the other though his hair. “Well, that was fun!” Wei Ying says. “Messy, though.”
Lan Zhan hums and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Worth it,” he says. “You enjoyed it very much.”
“Oh, I definitely did,” Wei Ying confirms. He nips the tip of Lan Zhan’s thumb affectionately and grins. “But I don’t think I was the only one. Where did all that stuff about breeding me and keeping me barefoot and pregnant come from, eh? Who taught such a proper man as Lan er gege to talk so dirty?”
Lan Zhan tugs his hair in mild admonishment. “Wei Ying,” he says, answer and amusement and affection all combined. “You have very—" an uncharacteristic pause, and Wei Ying braces for however he's going to finish that sentence "—consistent fantasies, when I am fucking you. The appeal of the toy seemed obvious.”
Wei Ying has never been so perceived in his life. It’s awful. He loves it. How dare he! “So rude, husband! I can’t believe you would use my own horny babbles and drunken internet purchases against me, Lan Zhan, for shame!”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, sounding not ashamed at all. “I enjoyed it very much too. I will take responsibility for all of your horny babbles.”
“And drunken internet purchases,” Wei Ying reminds him.
“And drunken internet purchases,” his perfect, wonderful husband agrees.
“Should’ve put that in the vows,” Wei Ying muses, smiling at Lan Zhan’s quiet snort of laughter. Lan Zhan keeps stroking his hair, and Wei Ying holds on to his other hand, warm and squirmy and full of love inside.