Shen Qingqiu yelps, a little, as Binghe picks him up, even though he'd known1 it was going to happen. He wraps his arms around Binghe's neck, for stability, and buries his burning face in his chest. If only Binghe wouldn't smile at him like that, it would make getting his bearings back in his heterosexuality easier.
Somehow being back in contact with his skin reawakens the tears he'd managed to swallow down while Binghe was looking at him. He feels so foolish, and small, and grateful—for Binghe indulging him, giving in to his desires even if they were born of loneliness and selfishness rather than the purity of gay love. Binghe is so good, so pleased with him, despite how incredibly embarrassing he'd been when Binghe pushed inside him, despite how he'd barely done anything to make it good—hadn't even had a chance to wrap his hand around the Pillar, or try to take it in his mouth. He sniffs, pathetically, against Binghe's chest. No wonder wives lingered, forever, in his harem, long after he'd forgotten them; Shen Qingqiu would wait for years to feel like this again, held and cherished and satisfied throughout his whole body.
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Somehow being back in contact with his skin reawakens the tears he'd managed to swallow down while Binghe was looking at him. He feels so foolish, and small, and grateful—for Binghe indulging him, giving in to his desires even if they were born of loneliness and selfishness rather than the purity of gay love. Binghe is so good, so pleased with him, despite how incredibly embarrassing he'd been when Binghe pushed inside him, despite how he'd barely done anything to make it good—hadn't even had a chance to wrap his hand around the Pillar, or try to take it in his mouth. He sniffs, pathetically, against Binghe's chest. No wonder wives lingered, forever, in his harem, long after he'd forgotten them; Shen Qingqiu would wait for years to feel like this again, held and cherished and satisfied throughout his whole body.
1Hoped it would.