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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(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.