Lan Zhan’s expression had turned in on itself, more determined now. He leaned in and traced a line of carefully spaced kisses down Wei Ying’s collarbone, lingering over each one. Wei Ying would have been squirming, if he could feel it. Demanding more, faster, asking to be overwhelmed. He wondered if his heart was beating any faster. He felt as if a heartbeat was somehow shaking even his paper body. Imagination rather than a trace of the spell, he was fairly sure. There was nothing in the magic that should let a scrap of paper feel yearning. Or: Wei Ying and Lan Zhan do some experimenting. For SCIENCE.

Xiao Xingchen’s other hand comes to rest on Xue Yang’s shin above the one already rubbing circles into his skin. “Ah,” he says, low and pleased and pitched for Song Lan’s ears as well as Xue Yang’s. “He likes you, little fox.” The sharp thing in Xue Yang’s chest settles warily. He does not, for the moment, ask what would your boyfriend not liking me look like? or: sometimes a gremlin goes out to get laid and picks up more than he bargained for