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Summary
Yingxing had calloused strong hands used to managing weapons, ready to handle cuts and burning fire, however he touched Jing Yuan as if he was a lily he felt scared would float away into space. His hands only brought the sweetest of sighs out of Jing Yuan's mouth when they adventured under his clothes, bringing his shirt up, and up, and up— until it was on the ground alongside all of the pieces that were used to protect their bodies from depravity.
[…] Jing Yuan remembered in the back of his mind that he should be mad at something, that he should be screaming at the top of his lungs for a frustration that infested his heart and rotted his brain. Yet, all he could think for that moment was that he wanted to give something to Yingxing that he could never return — a sacrifice could be a definition but it didn't quite fit; an offering would be more precise. Of his body, soul and love.
He wanted to give it all to Yingxing.
jing yuan has always wanted yingxing. it was frustating.