[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. )
[Oh, this silly, wonderful man. He really doesn't know what he does to Wei Wuxian. His eagerness is somewhat concerning, especially when he licks his fingers of the sticky, gross fluid leaking out of Wei Wuxian's cock-- that has got to taste disgusting-- but still, the sight of it, his inscrutable enjoyment of it, does many, many things to Wei Wuxian. To his heart, to his body. His cock jerks a little, as if demanding more and he needs to will it to calm.
However, Lan Zhan is also likely not ready for what Wei Wuxian is about to do to him.]
I'm here, Lan Zhan... [And so is his hand. He strokes his husband's length, tightening his grip and moving his hand faster. And, despite how dry his throat is from the sight of his husband looking devastated, he manages to speak properly. Softly, but clearly.]
Too good. ( Guttural, unequivocal, mean. Ripped from him, as he struggles far too valiantly to contain his pleasure, growling on the edge of too much on Wei Ying's downstroke.
This time, hissing, he feels mean and enacts his cruelty, dipping in to kiss his husband again, teeth snagging on Wei Ying's lower lip and nearly puncturing it. He worries it in his bite, takes it in. And with a final, half-gasped moan, he pulls his hand away, fishing blindly for the pot of salve he has recovered in light of the books' teachings, and flinching when he inevitably pushes the item clattering down.
He flinches, turning to look at Wei Ying apologetically, like every overly enthusiastic man who should have weaponized his energy far better. )
[At first, he doesn't know what is happening, when Lan Zhan is acting more like a feral beast than Wei Wuxian on a bad day. Then he realizes, as Lan Zhan is stumbling off for salve and over his words:
Lan Zhan is overwhelmed. He doesn't know what to do with all this pleasure, so wound up that he is scared of it. Poor, poor husband. Wei Wuxian can't help but croon at him-- he'll make it better.]
Come here, husband. [He beckons for Lan Zhan to come back to him.] That's for easing the way, so our skin doesn't become irritated with all of this stroking and grinding. Let me show you.
[Perhaps, if Lan Zhan comes once, he'll calm down. Or perhaps he'll realize that this whole sex thing is something he likes, and becomes more insatiable. Wei Wuxian thinks he'll be fine with either or.]
( ...show him. And he eases, he allows, he slips to the side until he's supported on one elbow, his silks gently parting. He only breaks his posture fleetingly to do away with his trousers, slipping them loose.
Then, carefully, biding his time, he reaches out to offer the captive pot of salve to Wei Ying, so that he might be shown the way of this obscure learning. And yet, on the way of things, murmured: )
How did you learn? ( He suspects, not from books. Frowns, because the possibility of Wei Ying picking up his instruction from more than gossip, of having partaken of such intimacy with another man — it fills him with a jealousy that burns brighter than his gaze should. That overwhelms him. )
Oh? Oh? [Is he getting that tone? Is this jealousy?
Lan Zhan's first tone of jealousy?
So cute!]
Jealous, Lan Zhan? Are you getting jealous of my own hand, my own bed, my nightly emissions? [He reaches out and gives his husband a few taps on the nose.]
I told you, didn't I? I used to wake up hard, and of course I couldn't just wake outside and begin my day with something so unsightly. You should be pleased with me, I learned this by myself with only books to help, and now you get to reap rewards!
[And by "rewards" he means a hot touch to the length Wei Wuxian had been stroking earlier, his motions smoother now because of the salve all over his palm and fingers, and Lan Zhan's new, more accessible position.]
( Oh. Oh, but this pleases him, ardor stoking, the slow, measured thrust of his hips chasing Wei Ying's pleasantly teasing hand, the worship of his stroke. He groans with it, half-bitten, half released for Wei Ying's pleasure of knowing his own.
He says nothing, for the longest time. Lives the moment, eyes slowly shutting, his own need visible in the incremental, slow push of his hips attuned to Wei Ying's ministrations. Then, finally, he catches his husband's wrist and removing his hand, gaze burning as he moves to return the favor, dipping his own fingertips in the salve.
Less masterfully, but eager, he catches Wei Ying's length in his hand, applying himself with the same biting cruelty of his lover, choking it in hand. )
Not unsightly. Never unsightly. ( A correction. ) You are beautiful.
[He just says these things and is unaware of what they do to Wei Wuxian. Terrible for his heart, more deadly than the motions of his hands. Though that might be more because his hands are not experienced.]
Ooh, Lan-er-gege, you romantic...
[Lan Zhan may have moved his hand off, but Wei Wuxian returns it as soon as it's freed. And then he presses himself against his husband, bodies connected, ankles intertwined, stroking each other to completion in this bed.]
( Together, then. And it's good, to work to purpose, to make of himself the instrument of Wei Ying's passion, to satisfy his husband. They strain tirelessly, strokes even, the wild, punching thrust of their hips frantic, Lan Wangji's mouth mean as it sketches heaving pledges near the lobe of Wei Ying's ear.
He latches as he can, onto what is given to him, Wei Ying's neck, his shoulder, his upper arm, his cheek. Teeth grazing, before unforgivably, with a last, barely-there stroke of Wei Ying's own arousal, he surrenders to his pleasure, wetting Wei Ying's hand with his seed, as a low, heady moan spills from within him.
He sighs, forehead falling onto Wei Ying's shoulder, his eyes shutting. Breathes, barely remembering as his hips convulse, to chase his husband's own satisfaction with slowed, stronger strokes. )
[Lan Zhan in the throes of orgasm is a sight to behold. Wei Wuxian momentarily forgets all about his pleasure just to watch him, that heavy cock dripping all over his hand and wrist.
And the way his name is being called? Too much, too much.
He finishes as well, much louder than Lan Zhan had, crying out his pleasure as his legs tighten around his husband's. A quick and sudden end that leaves him panting in Lan Zhan's arms and blinking up at him blearily.]
Lan Zhan... [A soft whine, followed by a turn of his head towards the man's mouth. He wants a kiss.]
( Wet warmth, their bones molten. Musk blooming. He clings to Wei Ying as if he is a lifeline, the core his husband surrendered. His head hangs low, forehead slipping onto Wei Ying's clavicle mouth soft and blossoming bruises across whatever stretch of skin he can reach.
He feels at once consumed and reinvigorated, overwhelmed and wanting. For a moment, they were complete, one body, one heart, one beat, one pulse of need. He nudges Wei Ying with his nose, soft, until they converge again, their mouths meeting without deepening the kiss.
[He'll take that to mean it was good-- that's one question he doesn't need to ask.
He wraps his arms and legs around Lan Zhan like he's unwilling to let him go, even as they part from the kiss to breathe.]
You want more? [Likely not. Lan Zhan sounds like a swimmer who pushed himself too hard. Wei Wuxian himself feels winded, and is surprised at that-- he used to get himself off before and yet has never felt this tired. Is it because he did it with Lan Zhan? Is it because Lan Zhan was the one touching him instead of him working on himself alone?]
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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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However, Lan Zhan is also likely not ready for what Wei Wuxian is about to do to him.]
I'm here, Lan Zhan... [And so is his hand. He strokes his husband's length, tightening his grip and moving his hand faster. And, despite how dry his throat is from the sight of his husband looking devastated, he manages to speak properly. Softly, but clearly.]
Are you feeling it? Is this good?
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This time, hissing, he feels mean and enacts his cruelty, dipping in to kiss his husband again, teeth snagging on Wei Ying's lower lip and nearly puncturing it. He worries it in his bite, takes it in. And with a final, half-gasped moan, he pulls his hand away, fishing blindly for the pot of salve he has recovered in light of the books' teachings, and flinching when he inevitably pushes the item clattering down.
He flinches, turning to look at Wei Ying apologetically, like every overly enthusiastic man who should have weaponized his energy far better. )
We are mean to... do something. With salve.
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Lan Zhan is overwhelmed. He doesn't know what to do with all this pleasure, so wound up that he is scared of it. Poor, poor husband. Wei Wuxian can't help but croon at him-- he'll make it better.]
Come here, husband. [He beckons for Lan Zhan to come back to him.] That's for easing the way, so our skin doesn't become irritated with all of this stroking and grinding. Let me show you.
[Perhaps, if Lan Zhan comes once, he'll calm down. Or perhaps he'll realize that this whole sex thing is something he likes, and becomes more insatiable. Wei Wuxian thinks he'll be fine with either or.]
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Then, carefully, biding his time, he reaches out to offer the captive pot of salve to Wei Ying, so that he might be shown the way of this obscure learning. And yet, on the way of things, murmured: )
How did you learn? ( He suspects, not from books. Frowns, because the possibility of Wei Ying picking up his instruction from more than gossip, of having partaken of such intimacy with another man — it fills him with a jealousy that burns brighter than his gaze should. That overwhelms him. )
Who taught you?
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Lan Zhan's first tone of jealousy?
So cute!]
Jealous, Lan Zhan? Are you getting jealous of my own hand, my own bed, my nightly emissions? [He reaches out and gives his husband a few taps on the nose.]
I told you, didn't I? I used to wake up hard, and of course I couldn't just wake outside and begin my day with something so unsightly. You should be pleased with me, I learned this by myself with only books to help, and now you get to reap rewards!
[And by "rewards" he means a hot touch to the length Wei Wuxian had been stroking earlier, his motions smoother now because of the salve all over his palm and fingers, and Lan Zhan's new, more accessible position.]
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He says nothing, for the longest time. Lives the moment, eyes slowly shutting, his own need visible in the incremental, slow push of his hips attuned to Wei Ying's ministrations. Then, finally, he catches his husband's wrist and removing his hand, gaze burning as he moves to return the favor, dipping his own fingertips in the salve.
Less masterfully, but eager, he catches Wei Ying's length in his hand, applying himself with the same biting cruelty of his lover, choking it in hand. )
Not unsightly. Never unsightly. ( A correction. ) You are beautiful.
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Ooh, Lan-er-gege, you romantic...
[Lan Zhan may have moved his hand off, but Wei Wuxian returns it as soon as it's freed. And then he presses himself against his husband, bodies connected, ankles intertwined, stroking each other to completion in this bed.]
We do this together, hm?
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He latches as he can, onto what is given to him, Wei Ying's neck, his shoulder, his upper arm, his cheek. Teeth grazing, before unforgivably, with a last, barely-there stroke of Wei Ying's own arousal, he surrenders to his pleasure, wetting Wei Ying's hand with his seed, as a low, heady moan spills from within him.
He sighs, forehead falling onto Wei Ying's shoulder, his eyes shutting. Breathes, barely remembering as his hips convulse, to chase his husband's own satisfaction with slowed, stronger strokes. )
To... together. Wei Ying. Wei Ying.
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And the way his name is being called? Too much, too much.
He finishes as well, much louder than Lan Zhan had, crying out his pleasure as his legs tighten around his husband's. A quick and sudden end that leaves him panting in Lan Zhan's arms and blinking up at him blearily.]
Lan Zhan... [A soft whine, followed by a turn of his head towards the man's mouth. He wants a kiss.]
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He feels at once consumed and reinvigorated, overwhelmed and wanting. For a moment, they were complete, one body, one heart, one beat, one pulse of need. He nudges Wei Ying with his nose, soft, until they converge again, their mouths meeting without deepening the kiss.
Too lethargic. Too readily consumed. )
Thank you.
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He wraps his arms and legs around Lan Zhan like he's unwilling to let him go, even as they part from the kiss to breathe.]
You want more? [Likely not. Lan Zhan sounds like a swimmer who pushed himself too hard. Wei Wuxian himself feels winded, and is surprised at that-- he used to get himself off before and yet has never felt this tired. Is it because he did it with Lan Zhan? Is it because Lan Zhan was the one touching him instead of him working on himself alone?]
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