Xichen gives a sharp, surprised gasp, his thoughts whiting out at the warm weight of Jin Guangyao now occupying his lap, pressed up against him, the heat of him cutting through the numb chill of his Coldblood. Reality slow fades back into his perception and the feeling of Jin Guangyao's mouth on his throat has his cock sitting up and taking a deep interest in what's going on.
"A-Yao," he breathes in a puff of condensed air, his arms encircling his beloved, fingers buried in the dark curtain of his hair. Soft. His hair is so soft, he cannot help but nuzzle affectionately into it as Jin Guangyao makes a mess of his throat that his robes won't be able to hide.
Good, he thinks a touch ruefully, some fluttering rebellious part of him that sounds like the shrill chirps of a wren rising up and thrashing against the constraints of his mind, Let the world know where my heart lies.
He holds Jin Guangyao close, letting him ravage his neck and collarbone to his heart's content, breathless gasps escaping him as he acclimates to the feeling of holding Jin Guangyao, of being held, that this is real.
Eventually he pulls back, perhaps to ask if Jin Guangyao is sure, that if he's not, they should get dressed and talk, but the look in the other man's eye, a mirror of his own naked want, kills any doubt, and he pulls him in for a crushing, clumsy kiss, all awkward lips and tongue of a man whose inherent grace does not extend entirely to his staggering inexperience in these matters.
(obviously.)
"A-Yao," he breathes in a puff of condensed air, his arms encircling his beloved, fingers buried in the dark curtain of his hair. Soft. His hair is so soft, he cannot help but nuzzle affectionately into it as Jin Guangyao makes a mess of his throat that his robes won't be able to hide.
Good, he thinks a touch ruefully, some fluttering rebellious part of him that sounds like the shrill chirps of a wren rising up and thrashing against the constraints of his mind, Let the world know where my heart lies.
He holds Jin Guangyao close, letting him ravage his neck and collarbone to his heart's content, breathless gasps escaping him as he acclimates to the feeling of holding Jin Guangyao, of being held, that this is real.
Eventually he pulls back, perhaps to ask if Jin Guangyao is sure, that if he's not, they should get dressed and talk, but the look in the other man's eye, a mirror of his own naked want, kills any doubt, and he pulls him in for a crushing, clumsy kiss, all awkward lips and tongue of a man whose inherent grace does not extend entirely to his staggering inexperience in these matters.