There is no other man in the cultivation world, or in any other iteration of it across any universe, who Jin Guangyao would allow to take him like this: beneath them, on his back or otherwise, legs spread and his control utterly surrendered. With anyone else, such a thing veers too closely towards realizing every wretched thing ever muttered about him when his back was turned, about what Jin Guangshan's genteel and delicate-looking whoreson bastard must have done to secure his place first as Chifeng-zun's deputy, and then within the Lanling Jin. (He'd have come by the trade naturally, after all, wouldn't he?)

With Lan Xichen, the act feels sacred, as though he should make prayers and burn offerings before an altar--once he can bear to separate himself from his peerless sworn brother's arms. With Lan Xichen atop him, between his legs, shuddering and spilling cold inside him, surrendering doesn't feel like submission or a violation; it feels like freedom, and an invitation. To taste for himself something that Lan Xichen desires, and that only Jin Guangyao can give him in return.

"I'm here. Er-ge--" Breathless and slick with sweat (and other things; his seed is a mess on his stomach, and already he can feel Lan Xichen's release as a cold trickle from between his thighs) Jin Guangyao rolls onto his side and gathers Lan Xichen into his arms, drawing him into another kiss. This one is slower than those they shared at the height of their passion, but no less intimate for it, and Jin Guangyao only draws back to rest their foreheads together when his lungs burn demanding air. Then, unable to stop himself, he smiles a little, his eyes bright.

"Lan Xichen," he says, for no purpose other than to speak the name aloud, and strokes the backs of his fingers along his cheek. (translation: he loves you, er-ge.)