Any pain that accompanies the intrusion is minuscule compared to the shivery pleasure that overrides it, a combination of the delicious cold, the slick of Lan Xichen's finger, the beginnings of the stretch that, Jin Guangyao knows, is no where near comparable to what will follow--and, of course, the knowledge that the one doing this to him is Lan Xichen. For Jin Guangyao, there can be no sweeter intimacy than this.

It could, however, stand to be a bit rougher. (Just a little. Let him taste the knife's edge of discomfort without crossing that line; that's what he wants.)

With his mouth still occupied by Lan Xichen's diligent and exploratory kisses, Jin Guangyao reaches a hand nimbly behind himself to slide his hand down the length of Lan Xichen's arm to find his wrist. Then, gently but with determination, he coaxes two more of Lan Xichen's fingers inside the heat of him along with the first. "You won't hurt me," he assures him in a breathless whisper, dark eyes fixed on Lan Xichen's. "Please."