The three of them like kisses for comfort. But they like it in different ways.
Shen Qingqiu likes slow, gentle kisses. Soft mouth over his, warm and languid, like a fire banked. He likes his partner to lead. Likes the sweet press of lips and tongue, stirring the embers deep inside him. And he’d respond, shyly, curling his tongue against the other’s, inviting him in. It calms him, this reminder that he’s loved and cared for. That he’s no longer alone.
Liu Qingge likes it rough. He kisses like he fights—hard, intense, ruthless. He wants the same passion from his partner, the same fervor. He wants to be dragged close, wants teeth on his lips and down his neck, wants the sweet burst of pain that ignites the flame and lights fireworks behind his eyelids. He’d nip at his partner’s lips in turn, thrust in his tongue as soon as the plush mouth parts for him. It helps him forget, distract him from the emotions roiling inside his chest.
Luo Binghe likes the feel of his partner on him, against him. Warmth is all he wants and needs, filling the empty chambers of his heart with the love he so craves. He’ll take what’s given to him, return it tenfold. In truth, he wants his Shizun’s the most, wants to lose himself in the sweet taste of Shen Qingqiu’s mouth, to feel his heart tremble at Shen Qingqiu’s soft, embarrassed noises. In truth, he wants his Shizun, period. But sometimes Shen Qingqiu is too tired from their travels, too drained from a long conference with the other Peak Lords. So he goes to Liu Qingge; savors the tussle that ensues before his reward.
They like it in different ways, yet they give in to the one in need.
With Shen Qingqiu, Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge treat like glass, just the way he likes it. They curl around him like cats in the sun, dropping kisses on his neck, his shoulders, his back. Take turns with his mouth, soft and warm, never pushing deep until Shen Qingqiu lets them in. They’d leave marks, of course. Especially Luo Binghe who just can’t help himself, this foolish disciple. But Shen Qingqiu touches the dark bruises when he’s alone sometimes. Smiles to himself as if he’s holding the world’s secrets.
Luo Binghe is one thing—Luo Binghe is a beast—but it stuns Liu Qingge the rare times Shen Qingqiu’s kisses turn aggressive. The way Shen Qingqiu would bite along his jaw and suck on his earlobe, the way Shen Qingqiu would mouth on Liu Qingge’s throat when Liu Qingge bares it with a gasp. And Luo Binghe would sit there, looking smug the entire time, like he’d trained his Shizun for this very moment. (He probably did, the filthy bastard.) But Liu Qingge doesn’t complain, not when he’s groaning against Shen Qingqiu’s lips, Luo Binghe’s fingers trailing up his thigh.
Luo Binghe melts as soon as Shen Qingqiu initiates, well. Anything. But he’s especially happy when Shen Qingqiu slots their mouths together, unprompted, unabashed. Because they fit together just so, his bottom lip caught between both of Shen Qingqiu’s. He’s entirely too easy to please, he knows that, but he can’t bring himself to care. Liu Qingge, on the other hand, is a wild thing that has to be held down. Beat into submission before he finally, willingly, lets Luo Binghe kiss him. Liu Qingge bites down once, drawing blood, but Luo Binghe savors it, licking into Liu Qingge’s mouth to give him a taste.
It works. None of them knows how, but it does.