Their hands sweep over your skin, travelling up to cup your breasts and down to tease your mound, a viscous throb just beneath it. Anthony mumbles soothing words over your lips, a flick of his thumbnail over your nipple making you groan gently into his mouth. 

Benedict’s lips trace the shell of your ear as his fingers pet the light patch of hair at the apex of your thighs. His touch slips lower, the tiniest of brushes over your engorged, damp clit, making you push up onto tiptoe, chasing his touch as he withdraws it just as quickly, with a teasing chuckle. He makes a show of bringing that glistening finger up to his face, then plunging it into his mouth. His eyes flutter closed as he makes a decadent noise that has you clamping your thighs together and squirming, needing relief.

“Delicious as always, Mrs Bridgerton,” he contends, eyes blazing open again.

Sensing he may be missing out, Anthony mirrors his brother’s actions. You again moan as the touch is far too fleeting to bring you pleasure, just a light tease.

“Mmmm, yes, utterly divine, Viscountess,” Anthony hums in assent as he licks your juices from his fingers, his dilated pupils glittering.

“Air turbulence,” he says as though that explains anything about what’s occurring here. “And I’m not fucking with you - but I do want to fuck you,” he whispers into Tony’s ear.

“You’re straight,” Tony gasps.

“No, I’m not.” Steve is sucking on Tony’s earlobe now and Tony needs to find a way to end this, even as a delicious tingle lances through his body. All touches can feel good, it doesn’t matter where they come from, right?

But Steve’s probably expecting touching back. And… to stick it in him. No. It’s not happening.

Steve blows air gently behind Tony’s ear and Tony wonders how he got here, pinned to a bed on Air Force One by the President of the Free World – and his friend of around a decade – when they’re both straight.

A belt around them because of "air turbulence."

“I’m straight, Steve.” Tony gently pushes at Steve's shoulder - which doesn't move at all. He's not worried, he doesn't think Steve will hurt him. Tony wants to make sure they're on the right page - Steve keeps acting like he's a whole chapter ahead, and that's an uncomfortable thought for this futurist.

Another huff of air this time on his neck. And a hand on the other side stroking his earlobe. Jesus, where did Steve learn these moves? It's tender - and all encompassing with the weight of his body pressing down. It's impossible to think of anything else.

“Of course Tony. That's what you say. But have you considered that you’ve never seen men as an option because you’ve always been elbow-deep in pussy?”

Tony can’t help it. He laughs. It's outrageous. Steve is so incorrigible in his persuasion – what a ridiculous thing to say.

Steve laughs with him but shifts so he's looking Tony in the eyes, drinking him in. It's intense - Tony feels out of his depth. And he realizes he's seen this expression before.

Earlier: The soft lighting in the cabin at dinner. The way the staff had given them space – and not a single presidential staffer haranguing Steve for a signature on their paperwork.

Steve looking into his eyes. Actually maintaining eye contact, with a soft smile on his face.

Pouring Tony a fine merlot – and the quiet firmness in how he made sure Tony alternated each glass with a heavy crystal glass of water.

And... third date? It’s hard to concentrate with Steve’s bulk covering him, and the way he ducked his head to suck on Tony’s earlobe again - sending a not unpleasant shiver through Tony. A mouth is a mouth, Tony thinks archly. Perfectly normal for the sensation to travel down into his groin.

"Third date? When on earth were the other two?" Steve leans back, eyes dancing with laughter. Is he fucking with Tony?

"You were my date at the Smithsonian thing."

"Oh." Tony blinks, surprised. "When you invited me, I assumed another inventor, scientist, eccentric genius – someone else less controversial – had suddenly backed out." And Steve knew that Tony would drop everything for him, of course.

Steve scowls a little, "Tony, there's no other inventor-scientist-eccentric genius for me."

Unexpected warmth blooms in Tony's chest. It's a hell of a kick to be on the other side of a seduction – even if it's obviously not going to work.

There's another wet gurgle from Steve's tummy, and then he lies down atop the clinic's exam table, placing his hands on either side of his body. He looks quite vulnerable in that position - even, dare one think it, helpless. His exposed belly stretches against his waistband in a very suggestive manner.

Upon securing the stethoscope around his neck, Bruce makes his way over towards the exam table where he stands above the man's rounded gut. It churns away like a factory, the red streak of a fresh stretch-mark painted just near his navel.

Steve exhales and shuts his eyes as the other man positions the stethoscope against his midsection. Down his sides near his hip bones, a dusting of thin stretch-marks is littered. The skin near his navel is slightly puckered and wrinkled from the expanding fat there, and the skin there is a slight, rosy red. As Bruce listen to the gurgling, bubbling sounds coming from Steve's gut, he hears something else: the low, wet rumblings of gas moving through the man's bowels like a tidal wave.

"Your stomach sounds really gurgly," he comments, using his free hand to feel about the area of which he is listening to. It is hard and firm.

Bruce can feel the bubbling of Steve's digestive tract from the outside, the vibrations from the gurgling, rumbling contents of his intestines. As he feels around the man's stomach, the other shudders and grumbles in mild discomfort, and then he feels it: a tremendous, wet bubble, moving through. Steve groans slightly as his tummy swells with yet more gas.

"Sorry if I'm hurting you at all-" the doctor sets his stethoscope aside, pressing his fingers above the other's navel, beneath his diaphragm. "Can you tell me how that feels?"

Steve whines softly as he feels Bruce's fingers pressing into the soft flesh of his gut. "Kinda tight. Like something wants to get out..." His voice trails off, the rumble of gas inside his belly building into a louder, more insistent growl.

Moving his hands to knead into the other's lower belly, now, along his large intestine and down beneath his navel where the colon resides, Bruce can feel more than hear as a particularly large swell of gas pushes its way passed his prodding fingers with a loud groan.

Steve can't help the way he groans loudly, his muscles tightening in discomfort as the gas pushes passed the doctor's hand. He grits his teeth as it continues to build and bubble inside him, his belly distending further and further. “My God... that's... a lot of gas...!”

"Is it stuck?" Bruce asks, tone seemingly innocent, as he presses down upon the hard swell. "Let it out, Steve - you'll feel better for it."

Steve takes a deep breath, and then another, and he relaxes a little as the gurgling continues. Bruce is almost positive he can hear the gurgling of gas moving through Steve's large intestine now. With a final, shuddering breath, the sounds finally subside, his large, distended belly growing quiet. He looks at the other, his eyes wide. His stomach is noticeably bigger than it was before.

Then, abruptly, the silence is torn into by the booming slap of the hot, rippling fart that erupts from between the man's quivering thighs. Its stench immediately permeates the room - the hot, wet odour stinging at Bruce's eyes as his nostrils are assaulted by the offending scent.

Steve, who has yet to sit up, is startled by the unexpected and forceful fart. He grits his teeth as both its force and its horrible stench hit him, and he curls slightly out of reflex. "Holy sh-... god." He takes another deep breath, visibly swallowing. "God, that was.... holy hell."

"That was... something, alright." The other fails to suppress the way his nostrils flare as they are burned from the inside-out by the penetrative odour. "How are you feeling after that?"

“Maybe Táo Jiā should take you,” she suggested with a gleam of mischief in her eye. Chén Jīnlián glared at her and tightened her arms around Jiāng Chéng’s neck but she was smart enough not to object.

“If Jiāng-zōngzhǔ is tired of course,” she said, “I don’t want to tire him.”

How did a six year old know which parts of his pride to prick so well? He must be getting soft in his old age. Besides, the girl’s parents had a child each.

“Who’s tired? We’re nearly there anyway.”

Hòu Míngyuè grinned and bowed her head before walking away to give water to others.

“I’ve gotten really good at painting lotus flowers, my kite is covered in them,” Chén Jīnlián said.

“Well, that is in your name,” said Jiāng Chéng, lips twitching. One day Chén Jīnlián would learn why she was called Golden Lotus but it was not going to be any time soon. Jiāng Chéng wasn’t even sure she knew he had picked the name, never mind that it had been a joke to embarrass her parents but he had forgotten that her mother was unflappable and shameless like the rest of the Lán and she had accepted it without blinking. Whoops.

Reaching the top of the hills gave a nice view of Lotus Lake and the rivers that fed into it and flowed out of it. Jiāng Chéng’s eyes swept across the area, instinctively searching for any signs of danger like an invading army. Who would be invading Yúnmèng Jiāng these days? It was impossible to guess but not every enemy was like the Wēn had been and demonstrated their villainy outright. Not that his Ā-Diē had paid much attention to the obvious threat.

“I can get down now Jiāng-zōngzhǔ,” said Chén Jīnlián as she wriggled in his grip. Jiāng Chéng rolled his eyes and set her down, watching with amusement as she limped away on the wrong foot.

“Aww, she’s going to be a nightmare when she starts training,” said Gào Chángyíng, fluttering her fan as she came up to him. She was a regal woman, tall and effortlessly put together with clever eyes and nimble hands.

“That’s your wife’s problem,” said Jiāng Chéng, glancing in Táo Jiā’s direction where she was wrangling the smallest juniors into order so the kites would not get tangled up together. It helped she was as tall and broad as Niè Míngjué had been so she had the reach and strength to move small children like pieces on a board game.

“And when she’s an adult, she’ll be your problem. I hope you’ll be able to let her down gently,” said Gào Chángyíng with a grin. Jiāng Chéng’s cheeks warmed and he scoffed,

“Ridiculous!”

“Have you seen yourself Jiāng-zōngzhǔ? You’re quite the handsome man still.” She snapped her fan shut and went to jab him in the arm. Jiāng Chéng deflected it with Sāndú’s crossbar,

“Keep that away from my robes, or you’re paying for the damage.”

“I wreck your favourite robes once and I never hear the end of it,” she sighed but she did swap her blade-fan for a regular one that would not slice his sleeve off if it grazed him.

“I liked those robes, and they were expensive!” Jiāng Chéng growled.

“Oh the kites are going up!” she said as if she had not heard him and she wandered off to join her wife. Jiāng Chéng turned his attention to the myriad of kites that were being pulled up into the sky. A lot of them were decorated with lotus flowers, but there were also dragons, cranes, butterflies, fish and frogs. Quite a few of the frogs were clearly inspired by the frogs on Sandu, especially the one on the pommel. Jīn Líng had loved that one when he was little, his little baby fingers feeling every crevice of the carving.

It had been a while since he had seen Jīn Líng but that was his own decision. His nephew needed to be seen doing his duties without Jiāng Chéng hovering so they had mutually agreed that some distance between them would be to their benefit. The fact that this was a post-agreement in many ways did not make it any less irksome. As Jīn Líng had gone to Cloud Recesses to study and he had spent more time with Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng had stayed away because he did not want to interfere with those burgeoning relationships.

Whatever his own feelings about Wèi Wúxiàn, Jīn Líng needed allies and these days having the Yílíng Lǎozǔ was an asset to your own power as a young sect leader. Jīn Líng had tried to get Jiāng Chéng to come to Koi Tower when Wèi Wúxiàn had been there in some naive interest of reconciliation but Jiāng Chéng had always been able to avoid it. Gào Chángyíng’s spy network always kept him informed about where Wèi Wúxiàn was so he could avoid him.

Jiāng Chéng had not spent a single festival with Jīn Líng in nearly five years.

“You need alcohol,” said Jiāng Mín, appearing at his side and holding out a jar of chrysanthemum wine. Jiāng Chéng accepted it and took a large swallow to help drown the morose feeling he got whenever Wèi Wúxiàn darkened his thoughts. “I was thinking.”

“Oh no.”

“It’s a nice thought!” Jiāng Mín laughed. “Listen, you always count the grains and the names, have you ever counted the kites?”

Jiāng Chéng looked at them in confusion. They waved the hand holding their jar at the kites filling the sky, “The first Zhòngyángjié this sect had after the war there were only six kites in the sky. Now look at how many there are, have you ever counted?”

Jiāng Chéng glanced at the kites and quickly swallowed another mouthful of wine. It was not just sect children flying their kites, the people of the wider Lotus City had come out to fly kites.

“They’re too close together, they should space out more,” he said.

“They’re too close because there are so many of them the hill isn’t big enough,” said Jiāng Mín in exasperation. Jiāng Chéng grinned into his jar at having successfully annoyed them.

“Which is your lot’s?” he asked.

“Well, my youngest was in charge of the decorating this year and so … well it’s eye catching at least?” they sighed, pointing at a grotesquely bright yellow kite. Jiāng Chéng squinted at the decoration and tried to figure out what he was looking at. Jiāng Mín’s youngest kid was … well she was weird. In that way all small children are weird but condensed enough to make up for six kids. Jiāng Chéng had once come upon her in the mud trying to teach a row of frogs the philosophy of cultivation but she had more or less created her own version of the Way that involved eating whole chillies coated in honey, some theory that ducks had entire universes down their throats, and the secret to forming a core was yelling. That last one she seemed to have decided from watching Jiāng Chéng. For his part he had taken the chillies away before she killed one of the frogs or burned a hole in her own stomach and left her to it.

Another day she had claimed to be a caterpillar and crawl on her belly up and down the corridor for so long her chin was rubbed raw and her robes ruined. Jiāng Chéng had asked her why when he nearly stepped on her and she had told him she was trying to make “bum silk” to offer the goat god that lived under the pier. Apparently he would give her horns of great power if she succeeded. He had elected not to interfere further.

“It’s apparently meant to be a horse-monkey she had a dream about,” said Jiāng Mín.

“Sure,” said Jiāng Chéng.

“She really wants to work in the stables. For the manure.”

“If she tracks that through the sect, you’re cleaning it up.”

Jiāng Mín responded by chugging back the rest of the wine in their jar. Jiāng Chéng smirked, looking around at the people gathered. He spotted Healer Bái talking to the Orchids, an arm around Hòu Míngyuè’s neck as she drank from her jar, and nearby his librarians were standing side by side, watching but not participating as they preferred. Then something caught his eye behind them. A small boy was standing on his own clutching a kite on the edge of the crowd. He was watching the other children send their kites into the air with their parents with an air of sad envy all around him. Jiāng Chéng blinked and suddenly a different child was standing there. Small and malnourished, clutching a ragged bag that held all his worldly possessions instead of a kite, cowering from the world.

Jiāng Chéng squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as the hollow in his chest ached. When he opened his eyes again the boy was as he had been.

“I thought everyone was paired up,” he said to Jiāng Mín who followed his gaze. “Where is his shī​xiōng?”

“I don’t know, I made sure to pick ones who I would have expected to do their duty.”

“Tomorrow I want that disciple’s name,” said Jiāng Chéng, passing over the jar and striding to the boy, “Ā-Tù, where’s your shī​xiōng?”

“I don’t know,” said Tù, his lip quivering, “He said he would meet me up here, but I haven’t seen him. He – he said he would help me finish my kite.”

Rage cut through Jiāng Chéng that was so white hot it blinded him for a moment and Zǐdiàn sparked around his hand.

“Let the Lán have their Twin Jades – Yúnmèng Jiāng will have their Twin Heroes.”

His core swirled and qì shot up to his arm, only to snap back like a bowstring. Jiāng Chéng was forced back to the present where a small child with no parents was looking up at him in alarm. He swallowed hard and put a hand on his hip,

“He should have kept his word, he has disgraced his title of shī​xiōng. I will have words with him.”

“You will?”

“Mn.”

Tù swallowed and looked down at his kite,

“But then he won’t want to talk to me anymore. Who will fix my kite then?”

“Your kite isn’t broken, it’s just unfinished,” said Jiāng Chéng, already crouching down next to him, “I’ll help you.”

“You will? But, shī​fu, you’re the zōngzhǔ, and I’m just a –“

Jiāng Chéng scowled at him,

“Just a what? You’re one of my charges, you call me shī​fu, so why wouldn’t I help you?”

Tù did not seem to have an answer to that so he held out his kite. Together they finished stringing it and Jiāng Chéng helped him launch it into the air. It quickly rose up and joined the rest and soon Tù was running with the other children, kites trailing after them. Jiāng Chéng watched him go and came back to Jiāng Mín who wordlessly held out the jar of wine. Jiāng Chéng threw it back and wiped his mouth, grimacing as it soured in his stomach.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine. Just get me that disciple’s name. They’ll be on stable duty at minimum for the next year.”