#YES PLS KNEAD ME LIKE I'M YOUR CINNAMON ROLL

[randomingoftherandomness]

Fic: All You Knead is Loaf (Mowen x Lan Jue x Zhang Ping;Modern AU, PWP)

A/N: Because @xinxiaojie​ was kind enough to send me this picture at five minutes to two in the am and thus fed the thirst. It is now sober hours. And you get a new fic. Yay us.

I don’t know how spicy these lemons are for you, but. Yeah. 

Spicy Lemons ahoy 🌶️🍋 (for those uninitiated on the unholy ways of this blog, “spicy lemons” or 🌶️🍋 mean pR0n) ENJOY YAAHAHAHHA I’m running on four hours of sleep here soz soz

[still accepting ALoN fic prompts]

~*~*~*~

The kitchen is an absolute mess. Someone’s upended a bag of flour on the floor and Zhang Ping thinks he spies traces of an egg on their pristine ceiling. In the fuzzy reaches of his mind, he feels a desperate draw to check on the oven, but none of that matters as much when Mowen’s crooking his stupidly beefy fingers, catching them against his prostate with a divine efficiency that only his lover can do.

“That good, huh?”

The smug bastard has the audacity to chuckle, not even a whit out of breath or gasping even as he’s fucking Peizhi on their kitchen counter through the throes of his orgasm. 

Pale skin flushed, beautiful face slack, mouth parted and panting, Zhang Ping delights in the way he is undone by the pleasure that paints his belly in pretty ribbons of pearlescent.

“Pretty Ping’er,” Mowen drawls sweetly. Zhang Ping watches under his lashes when he pulls his come coated cock out of a weakly protesting Peizhi. Still hard, he grips it by the base, nudging it to the back of Zhang Ping’s thigh, smearing the mess on his skin. 

Then, as if a sudden thought occurs to him, Mowen asks, voice quiet and earnest in a shift from just a second ago. “Can I?”

There’s a certain truth to the way the three of them loves - Zhang Ping shows it in every meal he makes and every way he does to make their life together as comfortable as he can, Peizhi provides and gives and protects them in every shade he can cast with his abilities. And Mowen, their darling, brash and confident man, catches them both when they fall, asking for very little in return but these small moments where he is laid bare for them. 

They complete and complement each other.

So, what is Zhang Ping to say other than a contented, “Yes, of course.”

Mowen moves his fingers out of Zhang Ping’s ass. He hisses at the discomfort, but rolls his waist into the grip of Mowen’s hands, racking his own digits through his hair to anchor himself at the blunt press of Mowen’s cock at his hole. “Don’t tease,” He says, working for stern, coming out more like a whine.

“He’s a bad, bad man, isn’t he, Ping’er?”

Peizhi’s hoarse laughter has him tilting his face. Eyes crinkled with tired amusement, he leans in, “C’mere. Kiss me.”

And so, Zhang Ping does.

Allows Peizhi take the lead, blinking sluggishly when a cockhead becomes the sensation of more and then some. He thinks he cries a little when Mowen, without being told to, fucks him to the rhythm of his rapid beating heart. 

“So good. So perfect just for me, just for us,” Mowen purrs over the dirty, sloppy slap of their skin. Zhang Ping thinks his brain shorts out at the way he fills him up, legs shaking as he tries to keep his balance. “Beautiful Ping’er...”

He hums into Peizhi’s mouth, moaning a little when the man licks right back into his own. He feels fucked dumb. It feels like heaven.

“One day, we’ll have Mowen fuck you while I’m riding your cock,” Peizhi murmurs around a smile pressed to the corner of Zhang Ping’s mouth, tongue dragging through the thin line of drool that escapes him. “How does that sound?”

The picture of them doing just that slithers into whatever last braincells he has left to rub together. And it undoes him.

When he comes to, the suspicious stain on the ceiling is what greets him. Definitely egg. Zhang Ping giggles at the realisation. Right before another hits him like a tonne of bricks. 

“The cookies!”