[ The sensation of Yingxing growing hard all over again—it's more than welcome, Dan Heng moaning lowly into his mouth between their kisses, hips arching into the other as he starts to fuck into him all over again, this time slow and careful, tender even as each movement is so noisy. And just as Yingxing explores him, slow hands over his ass, his thigh, his knee, Dan Heng's fingers trace up and over his shoulders, his neck, then down over his back, traversing strong muscle, learning Yingxing's body in a way photos could never teach him.
He groans softly, rolling himself down against the guitarist's thrusts, and despite the low coil of heat still in his belly, this time feels different to him too: gentler, less desperate, something for the two of them, rather than the needs of his body.
As awful as parts of it have felt so far, Dan Heng doesn't think he wants his heat to end, if it means staying here like this.
(But that's a pipe dream, isn't it? Yingxing has places to be, and so does he—) ]
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He groans softly, rolling himself down against the guitarist's thrusts, and despite the low coil of heat still in his belly, this time feels different to him too: gentler, less desperate, something for the two of them, rather than the needs of his body.
As awful as parts of it have felt so far, Dan Heng doesn't think he wants his heat to end, if it means staying here like this.
(But that's a pipe dream, isn't it? Yingxing has places to be, and so does he—) ]