[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. )
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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.
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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?