May all of Wei Ying's wishes be this simple, this gentle. May Lan Wangji be allowed to meet them, one and all. Their foreheads brush together, and his breath's stolen, his eyes shutter. He dips in, and he inhales the scent of Wei Ying and his own sandalwood oils combined, and it's inevitable, isn't it?
Their first kiss, the second, how their lips press hungry, how Lan Wangji's hands walk his flank and lower back. The hour's unsuitable, bright light of not-yet-midday, the sun awake to see them. There can be no question, no conceit of modesty.
He kisses and kisses and kisses this man, and when he starts to peel the silks off Wei Ying's shoulder, it is a known and certain and unquestioning thing. )
[Just as Lan Zhan asked of him before, Wei Wuxian offers up his mouth easily. Happily, even, the kisses eventually starting to tease out soft moans from him as they go on. Lan Zhan definitely kisses like he's ready, and that's how he knows they will be fine.
His hands find the front of Lan Zhan's robes, fisting into the topmost layer and hanging on for dear life as he kisses back to the best of his ability, though with every meeting of their lips, just a bit more of his sense is being stolen away. Lan Zhan is just that good at this.]
Let me feel you too, Lan Zhan. [He digs his fingers under Lan Zhan's layers. Five. Five! It's only proper for a cultivator to wear that many layers, but it's terrible for anyone to deal with in the middle of passion.]
( He laughs, light, brittle. As if he can't help himself, as his layers are shed, one by one by one by one &mdashs; until there is but the last one, clinging, and Lan Wangji recalls the vestiges of his modesty. Perhaps not here, surely.
He peels away from Wei Ying with a begrudging, torn moan, distracted and distraught, overwhelmed. Sweetheart. )
The windows.
( They can be seen, he suspects — by the precisely no people with work or a path beside the heavily isolated quarters of Hanguang-Jun. One demerit, he thinks, of doing... this in daylight.
Tenderly, he reaches for Wei Ying's hand, drawing him invitingly where their bed lies, still ruffled. One day, he will treat his husband to the proper courtship experience, to a bridal night festooned with all the frills, to foods of longevity and fortune, and a well-made bed. )
[He doesn't believe Lan Zhan's protests one bit. Not when he's walked from and towards this house so many times in the past days, he knows how isolated they are. Besides, no one is going to come up to Hanguang-jun without good reason, and usually only when bidden.
But Wei Wuxian allows the protest for now, when Lan Zhan promptly distracts him by bringing him to bed. A bed that he's gotten quite comfortable with over the past few nights, still unmade even if the warm spots left by their bodies are long gone by now. Still, he readily splays himself all over the sheets, looking up at Lan Zhan and his single layer of underwear.
Reaches up, hooking a finger underneath Lan Zhan's lapel, and tugs.]
( He goes willing, falling with his knee first to anchor, to leave him bravely upright while the siren, his spouse, calls on. Wei Ying sprawls, artful in ways that pull up Lan Wangji's brows, question unbidden: Who else?
Only, he knows better, truer. Trailing down,a leg each side of Wei Ying's preciously displayed body, he leans in. His mouth finds Wei Ying's shoulder first, then his hand, peeling off silk. And he chases the roundness of the bone, drags his teeth and has his revenge for every mean thing hus husband has ever said, every taunt and remark — raking his teeth down. )
Delicious. ( He is not a beast to bite, nor a Buddha to refuse him. )
[One could probably luxuriate in Lan Zhan's touch forever and never tire of it. Wei Wuxian could, and he's likely the only one who ever will, because this is his husband and no one else's, he's likely to break anyone who even tries to take him away. Perhaps Lan Zhan feels the same, with the way he's giving him attention. His calloused hands. Those teeth.
If Lan Zhan's teeth feel like that on his shoulder, what would they feel like elsewhere?]
Aiya, you want to eat me? My husband hasn't eaten his breakfast yet? Has he been neglecting himself? [His rapid-fire pace would be more of his usual airy, flippant way if it weren't for how he's so breathless, stolen from him by his own husband.] Sorry, Lan Zhan! I don't have a lot of meat on my bones!
[Still, he wraps a hand behind Lan Zhan's neck, as if to encourage him to keep going.]
( His breakfast. Yes. His first, foremost and last meal. He should be allowed this, to consume Wei Ying into himself and ensure they can never be parted. His husband is soft and strange and yielding. He wants more.
And it is Lan Wangji's marital duty to give it. He bites in, hards, mean, teeth catching on skin, rattling it until he knows it's reddened to a point that will later bloom into bruising. And yet, he never breaks skin. Warm, the shy tip of his tongue laps the wound, kitten-like.
He shifts, peeling Wei Ying's silks off his shoulders, down his arms. More intelligently, he should be parting these waters and releasing him completely, but he is — impatient. Cunning. Instead, he drags his fingertips, dancing them down Wei Ying's flank, slipping under the rim of his trousers.
Ah! [How brutish. And yet it also sends excitement racing down Wei Wuxian's bones, makes him pull his robes apart in contrast to Lan Zhan pushing them down, making the belt unravel itself under the two forces. He's almost completely bare now.
Is this what all that Lan restraint, constraint, and discipline creates? An absolute beast with the expressiveness of a rock? It's surprising that word hasn't gotten out about this, there would be chaos in the streets, people looking to have a Lan lover not for their beauty but for their ardor.]
Is this enough for you, er-gege? Or you want more of me, naked on your bed?
( Pallor and prettiness and the long, lean line of surgery. He cannot helps himself, when Wei Ying is bare in ways they have scrupulously neglected. After all, he has not witnessed his husband in the streams since his arrival, and their quarrels and modesty have prevented Lan Wangji from untoward glances during his scheduled bath time.
Now, Wei Ying is sprawled before him, his silks apart. Now, Lan Wangji passes that same, greedy hand over his torso, stopping carefully to envelop the stitched gash where surgery was orchestrated to remove his golden core.
He can't help the sob that escapes him. Can't help himself at all, curling in, mouth chasing the healed line in slow, reverent kisses. Oh, his love. Oh, his disastrous beacon of hardships. )
...hush. Let me thank this flesh for keeping my beloved safe.
[If Lan Zhan hadn't told him to hush, he would have complained or at least tried to redirect him from the awful, ugly surgery scar that will never fade because he has no golden core to cure him of his ills. Perhaps he should have given his actions a little more thought, but it's too late now. Lan Zhan has seen and is giving all of his attention onto his scar.
Which crosses his belly and just barely reaches up to the middle of his chest. Where Wei Wuxian is incredibly soft and sensitive.
He ends up melting under the attention, only able to muster a soft ngh in response to his husband's demand. And maybe a soft whine.]
( That voice, and his name, and together a string of poetry reserved for him, for this moment. He had never thought to hear it. When his mouth walks the shapes, the indentations, the rises of that scar, he shudders, and his gaze turns up, to Wei Ying's face to his lips.
He kisses that start of his husband's abdomen, where gauntness has made his muscle pronounced, where once shined and displayed itself the physique of a consummate swordsman. Not anymore. No matter. )
Say that again. ( A sweeter kiss, tongue laving Wei ying's bellybutton. )
[What is he doing? What is he doing? Is he actually trying to eat Wei Wuxian? Having a taste before he uses his teeth?
He can't handle all of this touching, kissing, licking, these light, feathery touches that make him shiver. Wei Wuxian dearly wants to just grab Lan Zhan's hair and yank him bald, but he has his hands fisted in the sheets already, and he thinks that if he were to let go of them, he might fall apart.
Though Lan Zhan seems to be doing that to him anyway.]
Lan Zhan! [He doesn't just say it-- he squeals it, loudly, body trembling and legs scrabbling for purchase on the bed.
Then he slaps a hand over his mouth because that was embarrassing.]
( No. Not his voice. Anything but Wei Ying's willing enthusiasm, now fettered. He watches the act of Wei Ying's censorship, and, with a parting swipe of his tongue, all warmth, slides up until they are pressed together, hip to hip, and the evidence of their arousal swelling — and Lan Wangji cannot bear to see him so contained.
One hand bears him, hovering. The other gently starts to peel away Wei Ying's, catching him at the rest. )
Boisterous Wei Ying has learned shame. ( It seems to him a strange thing, late. And as if to discourage the notion, his mouth chases a line of sweet affection on Wei Ying's cheek, running to his mouth, hoping to claiming it, once it is revealed again. )
You did that to me! [The protest comes immediately, as soon as Lan Zhan peels his hand away. Wei Wuxian ends up pouting, even if his resolve to keep it forever crumbles in the prospect of a kiss.]
You did that to me. What were you doing? I thought you were going to bite me, eat me whole.
[Whining and grumbling, but he offers his mouth to his husband at the silent request for it, as he promised.]
( First, his prize, his claim, his earned reward: a kiss from his husband's sweet mouth, entirely willing. Trickling, soft, heated. He takes his time, learning the tenderness of Wei Ying's lips, the give at the first signs of teasing.
For a man who taunts as if it were his trade, Wei Ying has always been remarkably sensitive, yielding before the same in kind. And Lan Wangji's hand lowers to spread over his stomach, to cover it, to claim the scar again, and his mouth finally drips down to the column of Wei Ying's throat. )
[Lan Zhan's reward for all of his attention is a moan straight from Wei Wuxian's mouth. Quite soft, but not smothered against anything.
He will just have to resign himself to Lan Zhan being utterly fixated on his scar, regardless of his own dislike for that area-- it's a good thing then, he thinks, that he didn't tell Lan Zhan every detail. Otherwise his husband would fuss to the end of time. If he cultivated to immortality, he would continue to fuss even long after Wei Wuxian has become a tablet in the ancestral hall.
He sighs softly, raising himself up onto an elbow so he can observe Lan Zhan, and reaches out with his other hand to place it on the back of his neck.]
What's compelling my husband to pay so much attention there, huh? There are places that want you more. [Like, say, between Wei Wuxian's legs.]
( To think, he has wasted years during which Lan Wangji too might have practised teasing. To think all it took was his mouth well applied, his touch boisterous.
In truth, his hand lingers on the scar still, warming skin. Feeling out the rise and fall of Wei Ying's breath, then inching, at long last, south in the cradle of his crotch, where blood's warm and Wei Ying's thighs draw tight, all muscle. Between them, his pretty length, functionally no different and yet a world apart from Lan Wangji's own, blessed if only for its owner.
He takes it in hand, proprietary, wanting. There is a weight to it, a certainty that speaks more of flesh than of commitment, as Lan Wangji feels it out, root to tip. )
It's right there. [Wei Wuxian's soft huffs of impatience are cut by the long, low groan he makes deep in his chest. Lan Zhan's large hand is so warm around him, he can barely even think.
All he wants is for Lan Zhan to stroke it.
No, wait. He also wants kisses, more kisses, he had Lan Zhan's mouth everywhere but his mouth and it's feeling neglected.]
Choose-- my mouth or my... member. [What is a good, not-so-vulgar but also not-so-stuffy word to use for it... because all he can think of is the vulgarity. Lan Zhan might balk. Or he might act like he did earlier.]
( Choose one, says Wei Ying, and Lan Wangji sighs with obvious ache, briefly tormented. One, when the plush lines of his lover's mouth lure him, and the novelty of his stirring arousal call Lan Wangji's interest.
In the end, he must — does, hand curling around Wei Ying's cock in slow, tentative strokes, far too careful not to cause injury. Then, sharpening, turning mean, as if his husband's pleasure is only secondary to Lan Wangji's private possession of this moment. His hunger.
Still, he cannot be the judge of this encounter alone. )
Like this? Teach me. ( Surely, Wei Ying must — know what he wants. Must have the exercise. )
[At the very least, stroking himself to completion is nothing new to Wei Wuxian, not after all those awkward days of his youth waking up hard, made all the more awkward when he still had to share a room with his shidi. However, there's nothing awkward in the way he places his hand on Lan Zhan's own.]
Come up here and give me your own, and I will show you. [His poor husband, he likely meditated all of his teenaged awkwardness away instead of learning his body. At least in this, Wei Wuxian is a little more experienced than Lan Zhan and can provide guidance.]
( His own, says Wei Ying, and for a moment Lan Wangji's startled, gaze traveling down between his own legs, where his arousal hangs proud, swollen with interest, attentive. He has made no secret to himself of his attraction to Wei Ying, and now his body thrums and sings, and he is alert, crawling over his lover until he can press one of his husband's hands over the rim of his trousers, then within.
He thinks it foolish, how they've been navigating this like schoolboys, perhaps childish. Thinks that at least one of them should have brought experience to the marriage bed, and that perhaps they've been wronged in their education. His fingers are slow, clumsy when they catch Wei Ying's, when they circle over his husband's length again. When he tries, unlearned and sheepish, to stroke him tenderly, like Lan Wangji enjoys his own need met. Careful not to overwhelm. )
[Lan Zhan stroking him like that doesn't really help. Thankfully, he doesn't do it the exact way Wei Wuxian likes it, which lets him keep his mind, even for just a bit. His hand is still warm and large... He has to keep himself from getting distracted by opening his legs for his husband to slot between them better, closing his hand around Lan Zhan, feeling its weight.
It is weighty. So big! He can barely close his fingers around it. Perhaps Lan Zhan wears so many voluminous, fluttering layers to keep it hidden.]
No, no, just follow my lead. I used to do this a lot in the mornings, whenever I woke up hard. Sometimes even at night before I slept as if it would make a difference... [Sometimes it did, sometimes it did not. Bodies are odd.
He adjusts his grip, holds it the way he'd hold himself during those times, and gives a long, slow stroke from root to tip, making sure to tighten once he's close to the head. Then he looks up at Lan Zhan's face, to check if he understood-- and to see his reaction, of course.]
( He hisses between clenching teeth, face accosted by a grimace that doesn't ease, doesn't relinquish him. His hands strained, made even more artless by the loss of precision, as the minute thrust of his hips in Wei Ying's grasp rattles both their prone bodies. Follow Wei Ying's lead, only this road can but lead to unraveling.
In the end, his mouth attaches itself to Wei Ying's throat once more, suckling, to his clavicle while he seeks to mimic the attention paid to his own cock. Soft, easy, perhaps too careful. He course corrects, grip thickening, his own strokes tasked with hitting that same precise balance beloved by Wei Ying in his single example. )
I did not. ( It will not shock Wei Ying. Whispered, easy between them, he suspects few things might shock Wei Ying. ) Does this please?
Ah... [Excuse him. The moment he feels a grip he does like, his brain turned to squishy mud that's been trampled by feet and beasts of burden. Doesn't help that Lan Zhan is sucking on his skin again, driving him to distraction.]
You-- We can do more. [He gives himself a kick mentally, before reversing his stroke, going back down to the root of Lan Zhan's not-inconsiderable length, loosening his grip just a hair as he does. Then he demonstrates the motions again, and again. His hand can't seem to stop, really.
And he also wants to see how Lan Zhan reacts to this, because he didn't do much with that first, tentative touch. He just wanted to see Wei Wuxian's reaction-- sweet of him, but this is also for Lan Zhan.]
( Too much, too soon. For a young man, unaccustomed to pleasure, this is a deluge, the grit of his teeth his only pallid shield against the wave of bone-breaking contentment. He curls inward, into Wei Ying's grip, groaning against the nook of his throat, unambiguously overwhelmed. )
W... Wei Ying.
( Hungry, his hips drags through Wei Ying's hold, and he cannot help himself, tirelessly adjusting the sway of his body to give of himself, without inhibition. Inevitably, he forgets himself, only remembering to resume his own ministration, strokes of Wei Ying's length harsh, uneven, on the cusp of meanness. As if only this petty bedroom brutality may hope to ground him.
And as his tongue wanders the line of Wei Ying's shoulder, absorbing a sheen of sweat, he cannot help, too, drifting his hand down to collect beads of the wet gathering around his husband's tip. He brings his fingers up, and, eyes on Wei Ying, licks them serenely, enamored with the musk, the concentrated saltiness of his lover. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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May all of Wei Ying's wishes be this simple, this gentle. May Lan Wangji be allowed to meet them, one and all. Their foreheads brush together, and his breath's stolen, his eyes shutter. He dips in, and he inhales the scent of Wei Ying and his own sandalwood oils combined, and it's inevitable, isn't it?
Their first kiss, the second, how their lips press hungry, how Lan Wangji's hands walk his flank and lower back. The hour's unsuitable, bright light of not-yet-midday, the sun awake to see them. There can be no question, no conceit of modesty.
He kisses and kisses and kisses this man, and when he starts to peel the silks off Wei Ying's shoulder, it is a known and certain and unquestioning thing. )
He will. He does.
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His hands find the front of Lan Zhan's robes, fisting into the topmost layer and hanging on for dear life as he kisses back to the best of his ability, though with every meeting of their lips, just a bit more of his sense is being stolen away. Lan Zhan is just that good at this.]
Let me feel you too, Lan Zhan. [He digs his fingers under Lan Zhan's layers. Five. Five! It's only proper for a cultivator to wear that many layers, but it's terrible for anyone to deal with in the middle of passion.]
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He peels away from Wei Ying with a begrudging, torn moan, distracted and distraught, overwhelmed. Sweetheart. )
The windows.
( They can be seen, he suspects — by the precisely no people with work or a path beside the heavily isolated quarters of Hanguang-Jun. One demerit, he thinks, of doing... this in daylight.
Tenderly, he reaches for Wei Ying's hand, drawing him invitingly where their bed lies, still ruffled. One day, he will treat his husband to the proper courtship experience, to a bridal night festooned with all the frills, to foods of longevity and fortune, and a well-made bed. )
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But Wei Wuxian allows the protest for now, when Lan Zhan promptly distracts him by bringing him to bed. A bed that he's gotten quite comfortable with over the past few nights, still unmade even if the warm spots left by their bodies are long gone by now. Still, he readily splays himself all over the sheets, looking up at Lan Zhan and his single layer of underwear.
Reaches up, hooking a finger underneath Lan Zhan's lapel, and tugs.]
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Only, he knows better, truer. Trailing down,a leg each side of Wei Ying's preciously displayed body, he leans in. His mouth finds Wei Ying's shoulder first, then his hand, peeling off silk. And he chases the roundness of the bone, drags his teeth and has his revenge for every mean thing hus husband has ever said, every taunt and remark — raking his teeth down. )
Delicious. ( He is not a beast to bite, nor a Buddha to refuse him. )
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If Lan Zhan's teeth feel like that on his shoulder, what would they feel like elsewhere?]
Aiya, you want to eat me? My husband hasn't eaten his breakfast yet? Has he been neglecting himself? [His rapid-fire pace would be more of his usual airy, flippant way if it weren't for how he's so breathless, stolen from him by his own husband.] Sorry, Lan Zhan! I don't have a lot of meat on my bones!
[Still, he wraps a hand behind Lan Zhan's neck, as if to encourage him to keep going.]
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And it is Lan Wangji's marital duty to give it. He bites in, hards, mean, teeth catching on skin, rattling it until he knows it's reddened to a point that will later bloom into bruising. And yet, he never breaks skin. Warm, the shy tip of his tongue laps the wound, kitten-like.
He shifts, peeling Wei Ying's silks off his shoulders, down his arms. More intelligently, he should be parting these waters and releasing him completely, but he is — impatient. Cunning. Instead, he drags his fingertips, dancing them down Wei Ying's flank, slipping under the rim of his trousers.
His mouth slips to Wei Ying's shoulder. )
And you will not give it to me?
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Is this what all that Lan restraint, constraint, and discipline creates? An absolute beast with the expressiveness of a rock? It's surprising that word hasn't gotten out about this, there would be chaos in the streets, people looking to have a Lan lover not for their beauty but for their ardor.]
Is this enough for you, er-gege? Or you want more of me, naked on your bed?
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Now, Wei Ying is sprawled before him, his silks apart. Now, Lan Wangji passes that same, greedy hand over his torso, stopping carefully to envelop the stitched gash where surgery was orchestrated to remove his golden core.
He can't help the sob that escapes him. Can't help himself at all, curling in, mouth chasing the healed line in slow, reverent kisses. Oh, his love. Oh, his disastrous beacon of hardships. )
...hush. Let me thank this flesh for keeping my beloved safe.
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Which crosses his belly and just barely reaches up to the middle of his chest. Where Wei Wuxian is incredibly soft and sensitive.
He ends up melting under the attention, only able to muster a soft ngh in response to his husband's demand. And maybe a soft whine.]
Lan Zhaaaaaan... [A soft whine, but long.]
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He kisses that start of his husband's abdomen, where gauntness has made his muscle pronounced, where once shined and displayed itself the physique of a consummate swordsman. Not anymore. No matter. )
Say that again. ( A sweeter kiss, tongue laving Wei ying's bellybutton. )
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He can't handle all of this touching, kissing, licking, these light, feathery touches that make him shiver. Wei Wuxian dearly wants to just grab Lan Zhan's hair and yank him bald, but he has his hands fisted in the sheets already, and he thinks that if he were to let go of them, he might fall apart.
Though Lan Zhan seems to be doing that to him anyway.]
Lan Zhan! [He doesn't just say it-- he squeals it, loudly, body trembling and legs scrabbling for purchase on the bed.
Then he slaps a hand over his mouth because that was embarrassing.]
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One hand bears him, hovering. The other gently starts to peel away Wei Ying's, catching him at the rest. )
Boisterous Wei Ying has learned shame. ( It seems to him a strange thing, late. And as if to discourage the notion, his mouth chases a line of sweet affection on Wei Ying's cheek, running to his mouth, hoping to claiming it, once it is revealed again. )
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You did that to me. What were you doing? I thought you were going to bite me, eat me whole.
[Whining and grumbling, but he offers his mouth to his husband at the silent request for it, as he promised.]
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For a man who taunts as if it were his trade, Wei Ying has always been remarkably sensitive, yielding before the same in kind. And Lan Wangji's hand lowers to spread over his stomach, to cover it, to claim the scar again, and his mouth finally drips down to the column of Wei Ying's throat. )
I will. Forgive me, I must.
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He will just have to resign himself to Lan Zhan being utterly fixated on his scar, regardless of his own dislike for that area-- it's a good thing then, he thinks, that he didn't tell Lan Zhan every detail. Otherwise his husband would fuss to the end of time. If he cultivated to immortality, he would continue to fuss even long after Wei Wuxian has become a tablet in the ancestral hall.
He sighs softly, raising himself up onto an elbow so he can observe Lan Zhan, and reaches out with his other hand to place it on the back of his neck.]
What's compelling my husband to pay so much attention there, huh? There are places that want you more. [Like, say, between Wei Wuxian's legs.]
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( To think, he has wasted years during which Lan Wangji too might have practised teasing. To think all it took was his mouth well applied, his touch boisterous.
In truth, his hand lingers on the scar still, warming skin. Feeling out the rise and fall of Wei Ying's breath, then inching, at long last, south in the cradle of his crotch, where blood's warm and Wei Ying's thighs draw tight, all muscle. Between them, his pretty length, functionally no different and yet a world apart from Lan Wangji's own, blessed if only for its owner.
He takes it in hand, proprietary, wanting. There is a weight to it, a certainty that speaks more of flesh than of commitment, as Lan Wangji feels it out, root to tip. )
Speak your need.
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All he wants is for Lan Zhan to stroke it.
No, wait. He also wants kisses, more kisses, he had Lan Zhan's mouth everywhere but his mouth and it's feeling neglected.]
Choose-- my mouth or my... member. [What is a good, not-so-vulgar but also not-so-stuffy word to use for it... because all he can think of is the vulgarity. Lan Zhan might balk. Or he might act like he did earlier.]
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In the end, he must — does, hand curling around Wei Ying's cock in slow, tentative strokes, far too careful not to cause injury. Then, sharpening, turning mean, as if his husband's pleasure is only secondary to Lan Wangji's private possession of this moment. His hunger.
Still, he cannot be the judge of this encounter alone. )
Like this? Teach me. ( Surely, Wei Ying must — know what he wants. Must have the exercise. )
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Come up here and give me your own, and I will show you. [His poor husband, he likely meditated all of his teenaged awkwardness away instead of learning his body. At least in this, Wei Wuxian is a little more experienced than Lan Zhan and can provide guidance.]
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He thinks it foolish, how they've been navigating this like schoolboys, perhaps childish. Thinks that at least one of them should have brought experience to the marriage bed, and that perhaps they've been wronged in their education. His fingers are slow, clumsy when they catch Wei Ying's, when they circle over his husband's length again. When he tries, unlearned and sheepish, to stroke him tenderly, like Lan Wangji enjoys his own need met. Careful not to overwhelm. )
Just so?
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It is weighty. So big! He can barely close his fingers around it. Perhaps Lan Zhan wears so many voluminous, fluttering layers to keep it hidden.]
No, no, just follow my lead. I used to do this a lot in the mornings, whenever I woke up hard. Sometimes even at night before I slept as if it would make a difference... [Sometimes it did, sometimes it did not. Bodies are odd.
He adjusts his grip, holds it the way he'd hold himself during those times, and gives a long, slow stroke from root to tip, making sure to tighten once he's close to the head. Then he looks up at Lan Zhan's face, to check if he understood-- and to see his reaction, of course.]
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In the end, his mouth attaches itself to Wei Ying's throat once more, suckling, to his clavicle while he seeks to mimic the attention paid to his own cock. Soft, easy, perhaps too careful. He course corrects, grip thickening, his own strokes tasked with hitting that same precise balance beloved by Wei Ying in his single example. )
I did not. ( It will not shock Wei Ying. Whispered, easy between them, he suspects few things might shock Wei Ying. ) Does this please?
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You-- We can do more. [He gives himself a kick mentally, before reversing his stroke, going back down to the root of Lan Zhan's not-inconsiderable length, loosening his grip just a hair as he does. Then he demonstrates the motions again, and again. His hand can't seem to stop, really.
And he also wants to see how Lan Zhan reacts to this, because he didn't do much with that first, tentative touch. He just wanted to see Wei Wuxian's reaction-- sweet of him, but this is also for Lan Zhan.]
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W... Wei Ying.
( Hungry, his hips drags through Wei Ying's hold, and he cannot help himself, tirelessly adjusting the sway of his body to give of himself, without inhibition. Inevitably, he forgets himself, only remembering to resume his own ministration, strokes of Wei Ying's length harsh, uneven, on the cusp of meanness. As if only this petty bedroom brutality may hope to ground him.
And as his tongue wanders the line of Wei Ying's shoulder, absorbing a sheen of sweat, he cannot help, too, drifting his hand down to collect beads of the wet gathering around his husband's tip. He brings his fingers up, and, eyes on Wei Ying, licks them serenely, enamored with the musk, the concentrated saltiness of his lover. )
...precious.
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