As the robes fall away, Jiang Cheng can't help but stare. The enormity of the moment isn't missed and he half surprises himself by not jumping when he's straddled. He's instantly aware of the contrast between nudity and clothing, acutely attuned to the weight in his lap. Unbidden, he moves his arms around, uncertain if he's doing so to ward off a chill or to keep Huaisang there. Huaisang's skin, his lower back, actually, is soft and silky against his callused fingers.

He's certain that the kiss is too brief.

A somewhat strangled, derisive snort is his first answer to the question. He takes a moment before answering, looking a little bashful in the process. "Not what you want to hear. Usually...'Just one night to myself would be nice,' or 'please, don't let an advisor or A-Ling need something.'" He never thought of a specific person or a fantasy. The act was just a way to scratch a bothersome itch. And clearly, Cheng was not poetic about it.