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.
no subject
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.