[ god he has to do all the fucking work around here. listening to these two talk in circles, getting absolutely nowhere, both pining so badly that xue yang feels like he's about to choke on it hanging in the air between them is more than his zero impulse control self can take.

they're seriously sitting across from each other, talking about the relative warmness of the night, song lan visibly seething but unwilling to tip his hand to his blind friend, xiao xingchen trying to maintain a peace he doesn't begin to grasp the full picture of. it's been a long time since xue yang was so frustrated and pent up he wanted to cut something open just to watch it die, but they're pushing him to his limit and the only person here he's both willing and able to kill is his own damn self so.

next option. ]

I think we can offer Song-daozhang better entertainment than that.

[ pulling himself back up, he first locks his gaze with song lan's own, then starts with a slow kiss to xiao xingchen's lips. he doesn't glance away as he trails his hands down xiao xingchen's torso, down to his waist, making short work of his sash to peel his robes apart. since, you know.

it's such a warm night.

smiling to himself, he settles between xiao xingchen's legs, kissing up one creamy thigh, still looking over at song lan between every kiss, every playful swipe of tongue. he nuzzles shamelessly at xiao xingchen's crotch, through his thin layer of underwear that remains. ]

I'll tell you both a different kind of story with my lips.