Neither of them have, Xichen's finger twisting the fabric of his pants, his grip turning white-knuckled as his hips buck forward, seeking more of that warm heat, his breathing rough, eyes closing.

And he groans Guangyao's name, head dropping back against the wall behind them, his lips parting a moment later. "I...your mouth is....I'm sorry..." In case it hurt Guangyao when he moved.