Work Text:
Jiang Cheng was a man of few words when he wasn’t angry. He spoke in gifts and gestures. Wen Ning’s favorite was his kisses.
A kiss to his sternum, hovering over his belly button.
A kiss to his chest, pressing his ear to hear his heartbeat.
A kiss to his neck that bobbled with each breath.
A kiss to his lips that spoke in unconditional love.
“I love you,” spoken in silence.
“I love you,” spoken in touches to his wrists.
“I love you,” spoken in hugs as if he might fade.
“I love you, too, A-Cheng,” Wen Ning whispered.