It's a relief to be guided, and the positive reinforcement yields swift results. Perhaps Lan Xichen is a quick learner, or perhaps he is simply primed for Jin Guangyao's affection in a way he wouldn't be for anyone else. He only knows that he wants to keep kissing Jin Guangyao for the rest of his life, those soft lips more important to him than the very air he breathes.

The languid roll of Jin Guangyao's hips has his own moving in tandem, drops of sweat from his beloved freezing on his own chilly skin as he finds his own rhythm to meet his lover's.

His hand slides between where their bodies are joined at the hips and wraps his fingers around their grinding erections, giving a few experimental strokes. His eyes are open again, dark as night as he watches Jin Guangyao, gauging each reaction, so that he can minimize his own inexperienced fumblings and touch his beloved how he deserves.

"A-Yao," he murmurs just to say it, his lips wandering over his chin, his jaw, his pulse, where sucks a dark bruise. (No more shame, no more hiding, no more holding back. This is theirs, this is what should have always been from the moment Meng Yao reached for a bruised, broken, grieving Lan Xichen's hand in a dark alley surround by the bodies of Wen soldiers.)