[ There are quite a few things he could say to describe the way Wen Kexing is a living work of art. Most of them die in his throat as he watches him ease down onto that digit and squirm, utterly gorgeous as he says something, cut off, about the way Xichen looks, and how sweet is that? The willingness to hike his own leg up has Xichen taking over to hold it there for him, pushing it higher with a force that can't be easily shoved off; Wen Kexing shouldn't have to do any of the work, not when Xichen delights in it.

Hasty, the way he uses more oil and sinks a second finger inside the molten grip of that ass, mindful of how to best curl his knuckles if it makes Wen Kexing moan or gasp a little more. ]

Good, a-Xing, you're so good for me. You look so beautiful like this.

[ His fingers substitute what he really wants to do and go a pace faster, fucking him open as Xichen rubs soft walls searching for the sweet spot he's read about. There? There. ]

You haven't let anyone do this in a long time, have you? Thank you so much, sweetheart, you're doing so well ...