( Slipped to one side, and no minding of it, mind recalling times enough he'd held Jiang Cheng under extended arm, close and in confidence and consolation. Relaxes his arms, because his understanding of the shift is letting go, and the blanket seems to perplex him as he recognises its embrace; what need has he, who suffers not from blood lost or heat bled as readily from his bones of this? Dismissed in thought, dark of his gaze shifting from the living certainty of his husband's face, the pulse at his neck, to Lethe, eyes blinking, nostrils flared for a breath that pretends.
Serthica, a pretense held together in thin strips of carefully denied and disguised reality.
He struggles against the blanket, against Lan Zhan without intent, stiff fingers of his hand sliding up to tuck into the ties of his coat, tugging them free in abortive, violent jerks. )
Are your senses any clearer than mine have been?
( Asked with the distraction of his digging, before his questing fingers slide deep and deeper, wiggling free his end desire. His hand emerges, triumphant, only caught still within blanket's mass, so that he lurches against Lan Zhan's side, leans heavily, struggles his hand free. Lethe watches, head tipping in degrees to see where this ends, inhaling at the steady rate of such massive lungs, exhaling through the nose.
He half shoves, half near punches Lan Zhan's sleeve when his hand finds itself free of blanket net; huffed annoyance and victory and the hollowness of both underlining the shadows under his eyes while he slips the white scale into his husband's hand. Or tries, a shudder building in his spine that waits to shatter free, and he swallows, convulsive. )
no subject
Serthica, a pretense held together in thin strips of carefully denied and disguised reality.
He struggles against the blanket, against Lan Zhan without intent, stiff fingers of his hand sliding up to tuck into the ties of his coat, tugging them free in abortive, violent jerks. )
Are your senses any clearer than mine have been?
( Asked with the distraction of his digging, before his questing fingers slide deep and deeper, wiggling free his end desire. His hand emerges, triumphant, only caught still within blanket's mass, so that he lurches against Lan Zhan's side, leans heavily, struggles his hand free. Lethe watches, head tipping in degrees to see where this ends, inhaling at the steady rate of such massive lungs, exhaling through the nose.
He half shoves, half near punches Lan Zhan's sleeve when his hand finds itself free of blanket net; huffed annoyance and victory and the hollowness of both underlining the shadows under his eyes while he slips the white scale into his husband's hand. Or tries, a shudder building in his spine that waits to shatter free, and he swallows, convulsive. )
Hold this. What do you feel?