Xiang Yu yielded, allowing himself to be pulled down. Han Xin's kiss was not gentle but rather an assertion. It was the culmination of that explosive feeling inside him, a desperate attempt to pour all that chaotic, radiant energy into the man who had caused it. His lips slanted over Xiang Yu's, his tongue sweeping into his mouth with a possessiveness that bordered on frantic. This was no mere meeting of lips; it was a conquest, and Han Xin was taking what was already his.
Xiang Yu gasped into the onslaught, a rough, startled sound that was immediately swallowed by Han Xin's hunger. His own hands, which had been so careful and precise moments before, came up to clutch at Han Xin's robes, the fabric twisting in his strong grip. He didn't push him away. He held on, his own breathing becoming a ragged counterpoint to Han Xin's heavy pants.
