[ Swallowing down what he can, Jiang Cheng still makes a mess of Xichen whose cheeks and parted lips, an extended tongue, catch the hot ribbons of come that scatter over his face and drip down; some gets in his hair.
Panting hard, he slides his fingers free to wipe on the sheets so they aren't sticky and lifts his head to gaze up, smile curling. ]
no subject
Panting hard, he slides his fingers free to wipe on the sheets so they aren't sticky and lifts his head to gaze up, smile curling. ]
Nicely done, a-Cheng.