Zonghui can't. He can't take from Huaisang the chance he does have for domestic - peace, if not happiness. Neither of them know, perhaps Huaisang can come to love his wife to be, if not kept from the possibility by the guilt of - well, betraying the vows he would make to her, deliberately and regularly.
But those are vows not yet made, and for a little while longer, Huaisang can be his. His to kiss breathless, his to hold, his to pin against the wall, and thrust into, hard and deep, varying the angle until he finds the spot which will make it even better.
His to love.
It doesn't take long because Zonghui's control starts to crumble, and he shivers slightly, burying his fare against the crook of Huaisang's neck for a moment before raising it so he can gasp out against his ear.
"A-Sang. My A-Sang. Beautiful. I'll make you cry out again and again, and you'll be able to feel what we are doing for days."
Each thrust draws a cry from Huaisang, louder when the other starts to hit just the right angle, his toes curling as his head thumps back against the wall.
"Ah, Zonghui," he moans and he doesn't care who might overhear, his nails dig into the other's skin and he rocks his hips down as much as he can into the position that mostly immobilizes him, leaving him at the mercy of the other's strong and deep thrusts.
"Please," he moans at the words, wanting to feel it for days, wanting to keep prolonging the days he feels it. There's a choked sound that might be a sob as he says "please," again, burying his head forward into the crook of the other's neck. "Harder."
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But those are vows not yet made, and for a little while longer, Huaisang can be his. His to kiss breathless, his to hold, his to pin against the wall, and thrust into, hard and deep, varying the angle until he finds the spot which will make it even better.
His to love.
It doesn't take long because Zonghui's control starts to crumble, and he shivers slightly, burying his fare against the crook of Huaisang's neck for a moment before raising it so he can gasp out against his ear.
"A-Sang. My A-Sang. Beautiful. I'll make you cry out again and again, and you'll be able to feel what we are doing for days."
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"Ah, Zonghui," he moans and he doesn't care who might overhear, his nails dig into the other's skin and he rocks his hips down as much as he can into the position that mostly immobilizes him, leaving him at the mercy of the other's strong and deep thrusts.
"Please," he moans at the words, wanting to feel it for days, wanting to keep prolonging the days he feels it. There's a choked sound that might be a sob as he says "please," again, burying his head forward into the crook of the other's neck. "Harder."