( Permission granted, Wei Ying far too willing, molten when he rolls over and parts the porcelain of his legs on display. And he's pretty, witty, terribly attractive - a delight.
Lan Wangji lets his gaze trail too long, lets himself follow, falling into his husband's orbit, arms bracketing his legs. He is slow again, considering, perhaps too tentative. Wei Ying, he suspects, does not appreciate that.
In the end, instinct prevails, and he finds himself propping the length of Wei Ying's length whole, dragging his grip over it as before, in a starting stroke. Then, carefully, a few repetitions in, he chance another look up into his lover's eyes... then dips his head down, applying a faint trail of sweet kisses up, root to tip, tongue laving with gentle interest.
Salty, the beading of Wei Ying's pleasure and the trails of what's passed. Slick, but not unattractive. In a way, sweet. )
[It's just a dick, Wei Wuxian wants to yell, why is it considered pretty? Lan Zhan is weird, so weird.
But he can't yell it when Lan Zhan's hot, wet, soft tongue chases away so many thoughts and words. What's left is a whine, loud and high. Pleading as he fists his hands into the sheets. If he had any more strength in him, he might have ripped holes into them and ruined them.]
( This, then, is why he had meant to wait. To learn. He is driving Wei Ying to frustration, failing to meet his needs. At the signs of his husband's growing impatience, he looks up, then at Wei Ying's straining hands and calmly, gently peels them away from the sheets and onto the stretch of Lan Wangji's shoulders, his hair. )
Do not strain your hands. ( They are also, he needn't say, pretty. And though they've suffered worse for sword calluses, surely, they needn't be tormented in vain.
Without further ado or want of invitation, he slips down, back to laving Wei Ying's length with his tongue, catching the tip between his lips and suckling slowly, letting his tongue wander. Catching, here and there, before he slips a little more down, and more, and more, until the breath's stolen from him, and he rises, frowning. Again, this time a little farther down, before his resistance wears down. And again, and though he is barely halfway of enshrouding Wei Ying's cock, he has come the farthest in his attempts, the pleasant saltiness and wet of his husband's arousal like a rich balm in his mouth.
He pulls away, at once pleased with himself but not looking to impose the sentiment. )
Yes-- [Wei Wuxian squirms at the onslaught of Lan Zhan's tongue, but he doesn't actually attempt to move away. In fact, he's attempting to move even further towards Lan Zhan, as far as Lan Zhan will allow him, because he feels like his husband still controls the pace of this whole encounter.
Shouldn't he be able to regulate himself better than this? If it was just him and his hand, he wouldn't be so frantic, so desperate. But the man between his legs is someone he's been mooning over since was younger, and with his lamentably weak self-control, he can't help himself.
He wants all of Lan Zhan. He can only hold himself so much.]
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Lan Wangji lets his gaze trail too long, lets himself follow, falling into his husband's orbit, arms bracketing his legs. He is slow again, considering, perhaps too tentative. Wei Ying, he suspects, does not appreciate that.
In the end, instinct prevails, and he finds himself propping the length of Wei Ying's length whole, dragging his grip over it as before, in a starting stroke. Then, carefully, a few repetitions in, he chance another look up into his lover's eyes... then dips his head down, applying a faint trail of sweet kisses up, root to tip, tongue laving with gentle interest.
Salty, the beading of Wei Ying's pleasure and the trails of what's passed. Slick, but not unattractive. In a way, sweet. )
This part of Wei Ying is pretty, also.
no subject
But he can't yell it when Lan Zhan's hot, wet, soft tongue chases away so many thoughts and words. What's left is a whine, loud and high. Pleading as he fists his hands into the sheets. If he had any more strength in him, he might have ripped holes into them and ruined them.]
Lan Zhan... Do more, come on.
no subject
Do not strain your hands. ( They are also, he needn't say, pretty. And though they've suffered worse for sword calluses, surely, they needn't be tormented in vain.
Without further ado or want of invitation, he slips down, back to laving Wei Ying's length with his tongue, catching the tip between his lips and suckling slowly, letting his tongue wander. Catching, here and there, before he slips a little more down, and more, and more, until the breath's stolen from him, and he rises, frowning. Again, this time a little farther down, before his resistance wears down. And again, and though he is barely halfway of enshrouding Wei Ying's cock, he has come the farthest in his attempts, the pleasant saltiness and wet of his husband's arousal like a rich balm in his mouth.
He pulls away, at once pleased with himself but not looking to impose the sentiment. )
Pleasing?
no subject
Shouldn't he be able to regulate himself better than this? If it was just him and his hand, he wouldn't be so frantic, so desperate. But the man between his legs is someone he's been mooning over since was younger, and with his lamentably weak self-control, he can't help himself.
He wants all of Lan Zhan. He can only hold himself so much.]
Throat all right?