( no, the squirming is indeed not particularly disciplined of him - but xingchen doesn't expect him to be. he hasn't yet truly even decided if he's to see this mortifying incident through to the end, let alone holding jiang wanyin to the standards thereof... though with how very closely he once again hovers along the periphery of his 'daozhang' demeanor, it's quite understandable that wanyin might hold some confusion on the matter.
and regardless, he's hardly alone in his confusion. xingchen hadn't anticipated quite so much of a struggle to identify precisely what it is that his new husband desires, and yet here he is, finding his footing again for the second or third time thus far in the short couple of minutes since they've begun. and no sooner does he have said footing, along with some degree of confidence that he has found the correct path at last, that jiang wanyin- well, he goes and says that, far too sharp and too loud for the circumstances or the proximity.
the furrow of xingchen's brow is hardly so subtle this time, and he draws in a sharp quiet breath which no doubt sounds bruised and indignant despite his best efforts. he's halfway to sitting upright when the hand wraps around his wrist, stilling him there for the moment as wanyin makes his case. 'let me breathe for you,' as if he hasn't just declared precisely that very thing an overcomplication to his singular goal of their mutual release - a declaration which stole away the potency that such a request would undeniably have otherwise had.
but then - 'it's not fair to make me crave something i didn't even know i want, only to take it away.' for a moment, xingchen says nothing. does nothing, only continues to eye him with what might be mistaken for an aloof sort of scrutiny if not for the subtle burning still lingering in his gaze. then: )
Tell me what you want. ( these are his terms, hushed but leaving little room for negotiation in either wording or tone. then he leans in a little bit further, his other hand joining the first in unhurried appreciation of his husband's bare skin, gliding up along his ribs and chest. xingchen's gaze flickers down when his fingertips ghost over the peak of one nipple, his eyes half-lidded, his pupils half-blown. ) What it is that I've made you to crave.
no subject
and regardless, he's hardly alone in his confusion. xingchen hadn't anticipated quite so much of a struggle to identify precisely what it is that his new husband desires, and yet here he is, finding his footing again for the second or third time thus far in the short couple of minutes since they've begun. and no sooner does he have said footing, along with some degree of confidence that he has found the correct path at last, that jiang wanyin- well, he goes and says that, far too sharp and too loud for the circumstances or the proximity.
the furrow of xingchen's brow is hardly so subtle this time, and he draws in a sharp quiet breath which no doubt sounds bruised and indignant despite his best efforts. he's halfway to sitting upright when the hand wraps around his wrist, stilling him there for the moment as wanyin makes his case. 'let me breathe for you,' as if he hasn't just declared precisely that very thing an overcomplication to his singular goal of their mutual release - a declaration which stole away the potency that such a request would undeniably have otherwise had.
but then - 'it's not fair to make me crave something i didn't even know i want, only to take it away.' for a moment, xingchen says nothing. does nothing, only continues to eye him with what might be mistaken for an aloof sort of scrutiny if not for the subtle burning still lingering in his gaze. then: )
Tell me what you want. ( these are his terms, hushed but leaving little room for negotiation in either wording or tone. then he leans in a little bit further, his other hand joining the first in unhurried appreciation of his husband's bare skin, gliding up along his ribs and chest. xingchen's gaze flickers down when his fingertips ghost over the peak of one nipple, his eyes half-lidded, his pupils half-blown. ) What it is that I've made you to crave.