They were nearly at the end of this bout of fucking, when Sergei gave that damned scarf still looping over his shoulders a playful jerk and whispered in his ear if he would mind if he choked him a little?
this is because i can spell konfusion with a k and i can like it
In the spring of 2003, Alec Lightwood is just trying to make it to graduation. He'll have to survive the local music scene, his family, and falling in love first.
Nie Huaisang asks Jiang Cheng to plug him up after sex so he can be filled with Jiang Cheng's cum while presiding over a discussion conference. Halfway through the day, Jiang Cheng thinks he should check if Huaisang needs a refill.
Xue Ling should rightly leave it be. But: Sui da-ge had brought the magistrate here so he wouldn't be hurt, and he seems prone to injuring himself more than anything.
He feels Sui Zhou's smile unlace over his pulse, languid and nude in its amusement. "You've had the morning," he answers, unmoved. "The day won't keep for you."
"You would not hurt me," is what he says, careful, caged in. "You could never hurt me."
This, they have argued to a stalemate of irreconcilable disagreement; could so continue to press in unwinnability until the Heavens broke open overhead and the mountains crashed down astride them. But Sui Zhou serves to live as much as a man as he does a blade, and in that he is long intimated with the lay of blame for a tool in the wield of a hand.
Sui Zhou's WeChat starts firing off around midday, which does at least immediately pare down the pool of potential suspects.