Shen Qingqiu bears the onslaught admirably,1 kissing back when Binghe's pecks touch his lips,2 still squirming and embarrassed. Having the door closed is better, but it hadn't really been what he meant, which is why he hadn't done it himself. If Binghe is going to keep referring to him as his wife, shouldn't they be somewhere a little more. Conjugal? He puts a hand up, finally, to stop Binghe's mouth. "I know, rightfully, this whole Mansion is yours to do with what you will," he says, delicately, "but—does my emperor not have quarters of his own?"
It's maybe a little pathetic of him, to angle for more time like this when he's not even gay anymore. Especially when Binghe hasn't just picked him up and taken him to bed already. If he really wanted Shen Qingqiu as his wife, surely he would have laughed off the door request and paraded them both naked through the halls, regardless of who saw. He should—let Binghe finish with whatever sweet conclusion he'd had planned for the encounter, not humiliate himself further. He hunches his shoulders, a little. "I mean. We don't have to—"
1 Enjoys it very very much. 2 when he cranes his head around to catch Binghe's mouth.
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It's maybe a little pathetic of him, to angle for more time like this when he's not even gay anymore. Especially when Binghe hasn't just picked him up and taken him to bed already. If he really wanted Shen Qingqiu as his wife, surely he would have laughed off the door request and paraded them both naked through the halls, regardless of who saw. He should—let Binghe finish with whatever sweet conclusion he'd had planned for the encounter, not humiliate himself further. He hunches his shoulders, a little. "I mean. We don't have to—"
1 Enjoys it very very much.
2 when he cranes his head around to catch Binghe's mouth.