Only for you

[longredribbon]

Continuation from here!

While there's no questioning the plain truth, Wei Ying could express his need and desire to belong to Lan Zhan in countless ways. Lan Zahn is his home, his heart, his everything. It may be a little comical that Wei Ying has a bit of a faulty memory, but there's no joke with the fact that he can't properly remember what his life was like before they crossed paths. What a whirlwind it's been.

Not that there's any room, nor the ability, for reminiscing right now.

Every initial action that Lan Zhan takes feels like one blur of a moment. The forceful and insistent ways how Lan Zhan is with his body is enough for Wei Ying's breath to both hitch within another, almost pained cry. The pleasure is almost too mind-numbing and overstimulating from the start.

—Just one of the ways how Wei Ying loves it.

It only continues with each thrust, with Lan Zhan going hard and deep. So many other ways of experimenting and indulging themselves with their hands, mouths and toys, do, of course, exist, and never fail to make a mess of Wei Ying. ...However, nothing can compare to Lan Zhan, himself.

". . .!!!" Any real words have escaped him, all except for trembling cries of Lan Zhan's name and pleas. His husband is so satisfyingly filling and deep reaching.

Wei Ying, however, is never one to simply lie around. With only a bit of effort he crosses his ankles behind Lan Zhan's neck, effectively pulling him even closer and folding himself in two. Both hands move up beside his his head to sharply dig into the bedding as he bucks his hips in turn. Now and again Wei Ying squeezes tightly around him, his head tossed back with a groan, briefly having met Lan Zhan's look with an equal one of his own.

Comments

[qinzhen]

Lan Zhan, for his part, can remember life before Wei Ying, but as time stretches out before them, these memories have begun to lose their color, gradually becoming a wash of grey on an otherwise unremarkable portrait. Their meeting brought color to his days, and despite the fact that their initial acquaintance may have been considered fractious as best, some part of him had been fascinated. And later, enamored. What he doesn't remember is exactly when he realized Wei Ying had begun to feel similarly - the evolution of their relationship had been so gradual, the ways in which their lives had interwoven had felt as natural as breathing.

Now, his breaths come in shallow pants, rasping with the edge of a moan and all but drowned out by Wei Ying's cries of his name. The new angle allows him to lean in, to sink further into Wei Ying and it feels so impossibly deep, scorching and tight where his husband clenches around him. Lan Zhan releases Wei Ying's ruined hair to cover his hands with his own, and even though there's a quiet intimacy in how Lan Zhan entwines their fingers, his teeth are sharp where they graze the soft underside of Wei Ying's clavicle. Lan Zhan loves to mark him, with bites or toys or even the strength of his grip alone. He enjoys, perhaps more than he should, the identical sets of fingerprints he leaves along the insides of Wei Ying's pale thighs, the bloom of bruises along his neck that only a high collar can hide.

When he briefly slows their pace, it's only to reach between their bodies to roll the ring off Wei Ying's cock and toss it away. He dimly registers the sound of it hitting the floor, but his concentration is entirely on stroking Wei Ying in time to his thrusts, the slickness easing the quick slide of his callused fingers. With his other hand, he takes hold of both of Wei Ying's slim wrists, further pinning him to the bed in the way they both like.

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The tendency of Lan Zhan to do so, to visibly lay claim upon him, is equally needed and satisfying. So much so that Wei Ying often does express to his husband just how much he desires it. He only has just enough modesty to mindfully cover any of the more glaringly obvious marks when in the company of others, be it with make-up or other means. However, when it's only the two of them around, Wei Ying is more than pleased to have them known and revisited.

Ever-needy, desperate and unabashed sounds continue to tumble past Wei Ying's lips. Although he takes deep pleasure in hearing anything and everything that comes from Lan Zhan's side, sometimes going so far as Wei Ying biting down hard on his lower lip, or even attempting to hold his breath, the efforts more often than not are in vain.

Wei Ying squeezes their joined hands for the few moments that it lasts for. He isn't always paying especially sharp attention to each and every decision that Lan Zhan makes. —At least up until they slam into him all at once. The pressure from the ring that he had adjusted himself to wearing, and for so very long, was suddenly lifted, only to immediately be replaced by Lan Zhan's solid grip.

It's all too much. Every tight, wet slip of Lan Zhan's fist over the head of his cock, combined with the unrelenting drive into him, has Wei Ying's bound wrists pressing hard up within Lan Zhan's opposite grip. Gasping, hitched sobs catch in Wei Ying's throat when he climaxes, hard, cum spilling heavily over Lan Zhan's fingers.

Keep going. Keep going.

[qinzhen]

Despite his propriety, there is a part of Lan Zhan that is somewhat lacking in shame, and this part is intrinsically tied to Wei Ying. It is not something he would necessarily admit (although he suspects Wei Ying knows, regardless, having learned to read him to a degree that's almost overwhelming), but there's a certain thrill and satisfaction at other people seeing these marks of ownership, this undeniable proof that Wei Ying is his. He would not leave them if it wasn't for the fact that Wei Ying equally enjoys it, asks for it often. Lan Zhan is all too willing to indulge him and bites into his kisses, brusing his lips and throat and sucking at the skin, making it dark and sensitive.

Sometimes, in stolen moments, Lan Zhan will press his thumb into the marks just to watch how Wei Ying's eyes flutter at the brief and fleeting throb of pain, the reminder of being claimed again and again.

Everything is sound and sensation and Lan Zhan is hyperaware of the rapid pounding of his heart in his ears, his shirt sticking to his back with sweat, and every change in pitch and volume of Wei Ying's moans. If he had the presence of mind to think about it, he would name these moments as among his favorites, the point where Wei Ying is lost, so far beyond beyond speech that he can't even moan Lan Zhan's name. And then suddenly Wei Ying is gasping, spilling over his fist and feeling impossibly tighter where Lan Zhan is buried deep inside of him. Lan Zhan can feel the climax rising in him, his core tightening and heat coalescing in his stomach, in his chest. It drives him faster, harder, chasing his own pleasure and then he comes hard and slick and almost painful, his breath punched out of him in shuddering pants against the side of Wei Ying's neck.

He releases Wei Ying's wrists once he catches his breath, trailing his fingers down the soft insides of his arms with the delicate veins beneath. Although Wei Ying is flushed and disheveled and fucked-out underneath him, Lan Zhan doesn't stop moving his hips, keeping pace at a slow, steady rhythm as they both ride through the aftershocks and oversensitivity in the aftermath. The two of them are often insatiable, and Lan Zhan knows himself. He could easily go another round.

Even so, he checks in with Wei Ying, as he always does. "More?" He whispers into his ear, before nipping at the shell of it.

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A heavy, bone-deep shudder drags through Wei Ying in the moments of Lan Zhan's orgasm, which only drives him to continue to tightly squeeze around his husband. While they don't go bare all of the time, Wei Ying relishes in the feeling of Lan Zhan releasing within him. It only adds to the hypersensitivity. It's plenty even to just feel so full, let alone for Lan Zhan to continue moving.

Both of Wei Ying's arms move to encircle the other man's neck once they're released. The single worded question, the soft, heated breath as Lan Zhan speaks so lightly against him, still is enough to make him shiver. Before anything else, Wei Ying tips his head inwards against Lan Zhan's cheek, catching his mouth in a heavily exhaled kiss, in a way to offer a wordless reply.

—However, as his lips curl into a grin within the kiss, Wei Ying coaxes Lan Zhan to move back, allowing for some distance.

"Lan Zhan. . ."

There's a glazed look in his eyes as he allows himself a moment to let it slowly linger along Lan Zhan's body, which is far too clothed.

Then, he turns around.

Given the position he was in for some time, only moments ago, Wei Ying feels momentarily weakened when standing up on his knees, facing away from Lan Zhan. Still, with his garters and stockings still on, and the way he'll gather all of his hair over one shoulder, it's clear that Wei Ying has no intentions of leaving the bed.

"How about this?" Wei Ying shifts to spread his legs apart again. He then bows down deeply upon his forearms, using one hand to grip his ass as his back arches upward.

"It was a good picture, right?" One of the very first that he'd texted to Lan Zhan. "Did Lan Zhan want to fuck me like this when you saw it? I was so hard even then, with just that toy." He visibly shivers with his own words. "Lan Zhan's cock is always so much better and goes much deeper and harder. . ."

[qinzhen]

His answering hum of affirmation has a breathless edge to it as he's treated to the sight of Wei Ying spreading himself open for him. Lan Zhan is mostly inured to Wei Ying's shamelessness - it rarely leaves him taken aback, not like it used to. It is a privilege of marriage, Lan Zhan believes, to be the recipient of such brazen ardor so often. Despite this, Wei Ying is sometimes still successful at eliciting a reaction from him, however minor, except the end results are different than they once were, and far more satisfying for the two of them.

As with the photos, he is being goaded again now, he knows. He feels a prickly sensation and the sharp spike of arousal it brings, making his breath catch in his throat. He lays his hand on Wei Ying's back to steady himself, his fingers running along the hard arch of his spine with deliberate slowness. He presses down against the nape of Wei Ying's neck to force his head forward and down. Wei Ying likes to be held here, and Lan Zhan likes the shape of his hands at Wei Ying's throat, the beat of his pulse fluttering beneath them, the way Wei Ying's eyes go wide and glassy, his trust and surrender.

"I think," Lan Zhan says, and pauses to consider his words, to inhale, exhale. There's the scent of sex and the heat in the room, heavy in his own lungs. It grounds him, this evidence of both their bodies in tandem. "Since you also enjoyed the plug to this extent," he continues, his voice low, contemplative. "You can take more."

He leans forward to grab the toy from where they discarded it in their eagerness. Lan Zhan traces the curve of Wei Ying's ass with the plug, slowly brings it to where he's still so wet and open. When he finally presses it inside, it's a sure movement, quick and precise and without resistance. It's not nearly enough for Wei Ying, and another time, perhaps, he would make him beg for it. Instead, he shifts the angle of Wei Ying's hips until they're level with his own, and carefully thrusts inside, a slow, agonizing stretch.

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There's little time nor chance to give any sort of proper reply. —Granted, that's as if to say Wei Ying has been in such a mindset throughout this all to begin with. The affect that he has upon Lan Zhan is more than pleasing to hear.

When Lan Zhan forces him down even further, he's hardly one to have any sort of desire to resist. Wei Ying only bends deeper. The calm, yet demanding tone that fills the other man's words has him grinning to himself, eager and willing and waiting. He bites down on his lower lip, that one hand still behind him, digging into his skin.

. . . If he would've had any idea at all that the toy would be put to a much more devastating use, Wei Ying might have taunted Lan Zhan about it.

Now his arm stretches out alongside the other. It's been a brief while since Wei Ying has taken in this much. He whines, keening as he feels Lan Zhan moving back into him, the backs of his thighs trembling, toes curling. Wei Ying is scarcely able to keep himself from doing otherwise, his cock still stiff and slick.

"L-Lan Zhan. . . Lan Zhan. . ." Wei Ying's voice pitches in a moan, already a breathless plea. He tries to slowly grind back upon Lan Zhan but recognizes that he isn't the entirely mobile. Instead, he adds to the intensity, squeezing tightly around his husband.

Just a bit further from them on the bed is the small remote for the plug and its multiple settings.

[qinzhen]

Lan Zhan has long since categorized all of Wei Ying's sounds during sex, knows intimately where and when to keep going, and when to stop. So far, he communicates no discomfort from the stretch, whining in pleasure and not pain.

(It isn't as if pain would be unwelcome, necessarily - this he knows as well. But Lan Zhan is always cognizant of Wei Ying's limits, and when he wants to inflict pain, he is nothing but sure about it.)

The plug is a unfamiliar pressure along his dick as he bottoms out inside of Wei Ying. Strange, but by no means uncomfortable, and when Wei Ying tightens around him, it only adds to the feeling of being encased in his husband's scorching heat. The tips of his fingers dig into Wei Ying's hips when he attempts to move, tight enough to bruise and holding him firmly in place. He swallows at the sight of Wei Ying stretched so far open, at his breathless moans of Lan Zhan's name. His throat bobs and lets out a long, ragged breath. Wei Ying takes everything he gives him so well.

A quick glance and the remote is in sight, nearly hidden in the rumpled sheets. He barely has to stretch to reach it. He's so aroused he feels foggy with it, and it takes a moment for his mind to register the different settings, which buttons would produce which patterns. The middle setting nearly bends him over at the waist, his knees shaking as a punched-out moan tumbles from his lips. It's a heartbeat pattern that runs counterpoint to the pounding of his own heart and just a hair shy of overwhelming, threatening to undo him then and there.

"Wei Ying," he moans at the first experimental thrust, before gradually moving up to a steady pace. It's so incredibly slick and tight and he can feel the vibration down to his thighs, raising goosebumps all over his skin.

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More cries. It does hurt; aching and blissfully so. He can all but feel Lan Zhan throughout the whole of his being, not only where they're joined. Their position is far from new, yet still different every time. Even after the years they've had together, Lan Zhan never fails to thrill him. Wei Ying also has the consistent habit of taunting his husband when they're like this. It doesn't matter at all that Lan Zhan very quickly picked up on the fact. Of course he did.

When he feels the way Lan Zhan's grip reaffirms its weighted hold, demanding he remain in place, Wei Ying only puts up more resistance, anyway. The way he counters by pressing back hard sets his head and forehead a little heavier and flush upon the bed. Rather than make the attempt to better use his arms or hands.

It's through heavy breaths and shaky moans when Wei Ying somehow finds half a mind and pockets of clarity to speak and even form words. Anything to dig even further under Lan Zhan's skin. Wei Ying tells him to fuck him even harder, deeper. Impossibly so. He spares no details, knowing full well and wickedly so how such filthy expressions affect Lan Zhan, and in turn, his actions. Wei Ying has to ask: Is this what Lan Zhan had in mind when he first laid eyes on Wei Ying when he arrived home and entered their room, seeing the way Wei Ying laid hands upon and pleasured himself? Lan Zhan should know just how wholly he was pretending that the sweet cherry popsicle was his cock, quickly growing impatient and dissatisfied as the dessert melted and lessened further and further in size. Nothing can at all compare, but it was arousing to imagine.

Nevertheless, given the way he's positioned, there still is only so much more that he can put into words. Any form of real coherency at all dissolves for good this time when the vibrations begin.

Wei Ying trembles with the sound and weight of Lan Zhan within and upon him. The grip he has against the sex and sweat-soaked bedding beneath them is white-knuckled, and while he aches to move a hand to his cock, wet and dripping with precum, refraining to do so only adds all the more to everything. He barely has even a breath to take.

[qinzhen]

Although Lan Zhan loves to see Wei Ying's face when he rides him, to pepper it with kisses or watch as Wei Ying's eyes flutter and roll back as he comes, there is this - Lan Zhan can imagine few better sights than this, his hands clutching Wei Ying's hips, holding him steady as Lan Zhan drives himself in and in until Wei Ying can feel it in his teeth. Where he's face down on the bed, his arms useless to hold him up.

Again, Wei Ying goads him, and Lan zhan can't help but give him everything he asks for and more.  He aches with his desire, some deep part of him wanting to give the way a dam gives way to a flood, ardor and lust overflowing, bearing down on him in waves. Another time, perhaps, he'll experiment with the settings on the vibrator to see which patterns best suit them both, but the steady pressure of it against his dick and its consistent buzz are more than enough.

In response to Wei Ying's ramblings, all Lan Zhan can manage is a low groan of his name, a hot puff of air as his head drops forward. The filth that pours out of Wei Ying's mouth in these moments gets under his skin in the best way, drives him harder. He will never get enough of Wei Ying's voice, particularly when it's hoarse and wrecked with sex, with his desperate cries for Lan zhan to go faster, deeper. He's impossibly hard, shuddering with the force of his thrusts and panting for breath as his muscles burn. The slap of skin on skin is deafening as his awareness narrows, shrinks down to nothing more than raw sensation and awareness - the sweat beading under his shirt, the way Wei Ying fucks back onto him and the slap of his ass against Lan Zhan's pelvic bone and thighs, hard enough to sting, and the blooming redness on Wei Ying's skin with the force of it.

He's getting close - he can feel his core tighten with it, and with the way Wei Ying squeezes around him, Lan Zhan can tell he is, as well. His neglected cock hangs down between his legs, dark with arousal and dripping steadily into the sheets. Lan Zhan knows, intimately, that Wei Ying can come untouched; he has done so with Lan zhan buried deep inside him before, but also from something as simple as having Lan Zhan fuck his mouth. So he doesn't bother touching him there. Instead, he shifts his weight so he can bring Wei Ying up on his knees on the edge of the bed, Lan Zhan's arm holding him around his slim waist, back to front. There is less leverage for his thrusts but the angle is different, bringing him even deeper inside Wei Ying and allowing him to press and grind into that spot that will make him see stars. His other hand moves from Wei Ying's waist, skims over his stomach and hard nipples to wrap lightly around his throat, collaring him with Lan Zhan's long fingers.

He presses just so, hard enough that Wei Ying will have to gasp for breath, work for it, but not enough to completely cut off his air. Lan Zhan has to take a deep breath of his own before he can speak, and even then, his voice is ragged, deeper than his usual register, almost a growl.

"You will come like this," he grounds out, gritting his teeth against how the plug has shifted angle as well, and he thinks he can feel the vibration down to his bones now. "Like this," he says, leaning to speak directly into Wei Ying's ear, to harshly bite at the shell of it. "Or not at all."

It isn't an empty threat. But they play this game, sometimes, and he knows Wei Ying loves it.