( Depths of meaning, wound around his hand now in Lan Zhan's ribbon, in a way claimed and knowing and public where this world barely blinks, and the whole of his husband's clan would shudder to a halt, eyes wide, understanding.
Perhaps more than he understands the words that flow after, grains of rice spilled, a tempering of heat more than joy. He cocks his head to the side, wiggles those bound fingers, still smiles with the pleasure of a man who feels he might. )
Refusals?
( Which stance taken and defended is his husband referring to now? Has there been one, on the boundaries of their bodies or appetites? Was he asked some morning before he woke, when the soft seduction of slumber leaves his tongue heavy and his eyes unwilling to creak open, greeting the dawn? )
Embraced death. Would choose to embrace life... ( he says, head still canted, studying Lan Zhan, feeling his dead dragon's amusement and concern, at him, at them, at nothing identifiable. ) ... and rest. I'm not opposed.
( The queue shifts, and Lethe lifts head, enough to peer through the moving group along their narrowed passage. Resettles wings to better fit, making of a dragon something more lithe than the wagon that, further ahead, restricted passage. Humanity, living in this instance, varied and brilliant, drips and flows forward, some voices left behind, others tended to in ongoing complaint. Winding deeper in, not to the trains, but elsewhere in the warren of the Mouse House, and Lethe, unhappy at the constraint but not unwilling to accept it, the pale ghost of a once living being's regard, carried forward in spite of the rot that stole all breath away. )
no subject
Perhaps more than he understands the words that flow after, grains of rice spilled, a tempering of heat more than joy. He cocks his head to the side, wiggles those bound fingers, still smiles with the pleasure of a man who feels he might. )
Refusals?
( Which stance taken and defended is his husband referring to now? Has there been one, on the boundaries of their bodies or appetites? Was he asked some morning before he woke, when the soft seduction of slumber leaves his tongue heavy and his eyes unwilling to creak open, greeting the dawn? )
Embraced death. Would choose to embrace life... ( he says, head still canted, studying Lan Zhan, feeling his dead dragon's amusement and concern, at him, at them, at nothing identifiable. ) ... and rest. I'm not opposed.
( The queue shifts, and Lethe lifts head, enough to peer through the moving group along their narrowed passage. Resettles wings to better fit, making of a dragon something more lithe than the wagon that, further ahead, restricted passage. Humanity, living in this instance, varied and brilliant, drips and flows forward, some voices left behind, others tended to in ongoing complaint. Winding deeper in, not to the trains, but elsewhere in the warren of the Mouse House, and Lethe, unhappy at the constraint but not unwilling to accept it, the pale ghost of a once living being's regard, carried forward in spite of the rot that stole all breath away. )