Chapter Text
If he could, Song would stay in that small cabin on the snowy mountains forever. Or at least until he quenched his thirst. On that pile of blankets in front of the fire. Just the two of them and no clothes.
Unfortunately, that was not very practical.
They would wake up, make breakfast, gather their things and keep walking. Rushing to the next stop before darkness. Once they would get to the shelter, Song only had enough patience to set the bags, light the fire and bring in some snow to boil. Once there was no reason to venture outside, he would take out the blankets and spread them on the floor in front of the fire.
After that he would throw himself at Huo Ying and would not let go until much-much later.
He would take off their clothes. Press himself with every inch of his body to him. At first his hands would travel along Huo Ying’s body, very obviously admiring every muscle and every curve. Gradually the movement lost purpose and he would just chaotically brush his hands on him and dig into him with his fingers. His legs would support him less and less and he would stumble back, looking for a wall or a door frame or a counter or any piece of furniture to support him. His skin would cover in goosebumps wherever he was touched, and his body would react like a small earthquake to every kiss. He exhaled harder and louder, slowly turning the sound of breath into loud moans. His hips would press and rub against Huo Ying desperate to adhere to him. And once he had hands upon those hips, holding him tight against Huo Ying, his legs would finally give in. Huo Ying would hold him up just to guide them back to the blankets and lay on him, enjoying the touch of every inch of that silky skin on his. Feeling the rugged breath on his face and chest heaving so high it would touch and then sink away from him. He would slide a hand down and down until it reached the hard flesh pressed against his abdomen. With every stroke Song’s the moans would get louder and more desperate. His knees would go higher and higher, granting access. Huo Ying would let go and slide his hand over the inside of the thigh and down and back, until his thumb would find the opening. That was met with a very satisfying gasp. Even if Song tried to say something, at this point it came out as something completely unintelligible. But the message was clear. Huo Ying would look down and see no trace of the normal propriety and grace, just tangled hair and sweaty, distorted face. He would enter him and be welcomed with an arch of the back and almost a scream of pleasure. Every thrust would produce a moan and contraction of muscles, clutching on anything he could reach. Being inside him was maddeningly tight. If he was not such a distracting sight, Huo Ying would never be able to hold on for long enough to feel the warm stickiness between them, notifying him that he could release his own tension now, which would come out with a small explosion in his throat.
This was admittedly the most pleasant way to warm up after walking all day in freezing wind and deep snow.
On the other side of the mountain ridge their descent slowed down. They would stay in the same place for a few days and spend every hour of light looking for the exotic flower that was to bloom somewhere in this area.
The days were short and cold. The nights were dark and long and often stormy. But the evenings. The evenings were full of passion that did not seem to fade or diminish. The kind, which Huo Ying never expected, never imagined he would have in his life. He did not expect that holding someone like this could be this pleasant. That kissing him would be this exciting. That bedding him could be this satisfying. Taking to his own hand, it was only for tension release. What Xiao Shuqian did was something similar, even though it involved someone outside himself. But this, this was different. This was satisfying in a completely different way. It was like learning a new skill, a new tool. What it could do, how it responded to him, what other way were there to operate it. What would happen if he touched him differently, softer or firmer, sooner or later, stroked, pressed or kissed. Every option brough different reaction. Where else he could touch to get something new. He wanted to try, to explore, to study. He knew a thousand ways to cause pain, injury and death. Now, he wanted to learn as many ways to bring pleasure.
Up there in the mountain, between the snow, the fire of the stove and between the blankets tangled on the floor, Huo Ying stopped being indifferent to the success of their search.