Weiran almost came just from that. He dragged his mouth away from the pillow. “P—please—” He wasn’t sure what he was begging for, but at this point he would take whatever Xingyu would give him, would do anything Xingyu asked of him as long as Xingyu just kept touching him. Hell, as long as Xingyu kept looking at him. Desperate, he twisted at the waist, panting, his tongue pillowed against his bottom lip. “K—I want—kiss—”

Xingyu’s mouth met his messily, hungrily. He sucked Weiran’s tongue into his mouth like he was trying to drink him. His taste had changed—it was saltier now, and Weiran dimly put together that it was because his mouth had just been around Weiran’s cock.

And then another finger, entering him faster than the first. The sting of the pain shot all the way up Weiran’s spine. It made his head spin, made him dizzy. He broke away from Xingyu’s mouth with another shudder and pushed backward, trying to drive those fingers even deeper. He knew the spot must be around there somewhere, he’d found it when he’d been playing around on his own—there—yes—the shock of pleasure reverberated through him all at once. He collapsed against the mattress, his strength evaporated, and came against the comforter with a strangled cry. “I—g—Xingyu—”

The fingers inside of him were still moving, still working without mercy to stretch him open. Weiran sobbed and reached back with one hand, scrabbling for Xingyu’s arm or wrist or anything—

Xingyu caught that hand and laced their fingers together. “Hold on a little longer.” And he kissed Weiran’s fingers, feather-soft again, his tongue snaking out to trace against the outline of each digit.

The third finger almost made him come again, almost made him unravel.

“Agh—gege—I want—ngh—”

Xingyu’s fingers slid out, and then nothing. Weiran dragged in a ragged breath. He twisted around, pushing up onto his elbows again, to see what Xingyu was doing behind him—

He had the little foil packet open, was taking the condom out, was rolling it on. Heat poured into Weiran’s throat until it was difficult to breathe.

And then Xingyu was holding himself in one hand, lining up against the cleft of Weiran’s ass, pushing forward—

“Oh, fuck—”

He pushed in slowly, agonizingly, all the way to the hilt. Between Weiran’s gasps, he could hear Xingyu’s agonized breathing, and the sound of it was enough to make him tremble. He was doing that to Xingyu. He was making Xingyu feel like that.