Lao Wen...

[ The sound of his voice surprises him as he breathes it into the kiss. It's low, throaty, wrecked, and Wen Kexing's only just barely touched him. His fingers brush feather-light over Zishu's skin, his lips hot and damp, and the needy sound he makes as his hips jerk into Wen Kexing's hand is enough to make his cheeks burn. He reaches up, his hand shaking as he buries it into the silken weight of Wen Kexing's hair, rests it at the base of his skull to give himself something to hold onto. His gaze, he focuses on Wen Kexing's plush mouth, so different from Zhou Zishu's own stern, thin lips. He can't bring himself to focus on Wen Kexing's eyes, not just yet. ]