( The delicious nature of pressing until Lan Zhan trips over the last vestige of his reserve and acts. Explodes into furious motion, even more contained this time, the cut of teeth and lips and awkward angles forced to compliance with wanting hands, craving thick as the red of blood that decorates his lower lip when he's dropped, and Wei Wuxian collapses with a small sound of loss, pupils too wide in his already dark eyes. The rabbit on his lap scrambles off when he starts to slide out of Lan Zhan's lap wholesale, his hands latching on to his husband's robe-bedecked legs to keep him from slipping down stairs on the thin padding of his backside.
He takes a moment, head tipped forward, dark mass of his hair left for Lan Zhan's contemplationg, to breathe. To turn and look back over his shoulder, open mouth tending toward a smile with a certain amount of wonder, his tongue worrying thoughtlessly at the tooth-born cut in his lip.
To want, and be wanted. To be known in any part, and to hear I want to know more. )
Ah. Okay?
( Let him hold like this for a beat, another, his heart hammering in his chest, visible at his throat. )
I'll speak. About everything. Just, ah. Ask? When I forget?
( He doesn't judge it rightly, even now, when times are meant for speaking, when they're meant for silence. A lifetime of being irreverent to keep relationships smooth hasn't made it easy to reach beyond that and admit what else is there, what he feels, when it isn't convenient.
It turns out, heartache and want and sadness and joy and the hollow space in his chest that Lan Zhan fills with its conflicting, wonderful emotions that leave him exhausted in a pleasant way more often than not, these can all be truths too. And they're never convenient, and that's fine, even if he didn't think that was true before. )
And kiss me again?
( From where he sits below Lan Zhan's feet, arms winged back and holding to his robed knees, awkward and beautiful and nothing like he thought of himself in moments where he was his most appealing, his most confident. Just this. Just them. Just a cold staircase, two rabbits over the entirety of their human antics, and the pain of what awaits, but not alone. )
no subject
( The delicious nature of pressing until Lan Zhan trips over the last vestige of his reserve and acts. Explodes into furious motion, even more contained this time, the cut of teeth and lips and awkward angles forced to compliance with wanting hands, craving thick as the red of blood that decorates his lower lip when he's dropped, and Wei Wuxian collapses with a small sound of loss, pupils too wide in his already dark eyes. The rabbit on his lap scrambles off when he starts to slide out of Lan Zhan's lap wholesale, his hands latching on to his husband's robe-bedecked legs to keep him from slipping down stairs on the thin padding of his backside.
He takes a moment, head tipped forward, dark mass of his hair left for Lan Zhan's contemplationg, to breathe. To turn and look back over his shoulder, open mouth tending toward a smile with a certain amount of wonder, his tongue worrying thoughtlessly at the tooth-born cut in his lip.
To want, and be wanted. To be known in any part, and to hear I want to know more. )
Ah. Okay?
( Let him hold like this for a beat, another, his heart hammering in his chest, visible at his throat. )
I'll speak. About everything. Just, ah. Ask? When I forget?
( He doesn't judge it rightly, even now, when times are meant for speaking, when they're meant for silence. A lifetime of being irreverent to keep relationships smooth hasn't made it easy to reach beyond that and admit what else is there, what he feels, when it isn't convenient.
It turns out, heartache and want and sadness and joy and the hollow space in his chest that Lan Zhan fills with its conflicting, wonderful emotions that leave him exhausted in a pleasant way more often than not, these can all be truths too. And they're never convenient, and that's fine, even if he didn't think that was true before. )
And kiss me again?
( From where he sits below Lan Zhan's feet, arms winged back and holding to his robed knees, awkward and beautiful and nothing like he thought of himself in moments where he was his most appealing, his most confident. Just this. Just them. Just a cold staircase, two rabbits over the entirety of their human antics, and the pain of what awaits, but not alone. )