Forehead to forehead, and Lan Zhan's hand tightens just as Wei Wuxian's drifts down from his cheek, fingers flexing with purpose, voice ever the more strained. Like this, staring into eyes and a hunger that has nothing to do with where they meet, and everything to do with where they don't.
Pain is familiar, is grounding, is something that can try to swallow him whole, but doesn't manage. Fear can, but even now, even snarling, bearing teeth, even pressing forward and in and choking off air, Lan Zhan is human. Not a canine, for all he is erring toward one's grief.
"You wield a beautiful blade, Lan Zhan." A tug on Lan Zhan's waist, pulling him closer, and then the hand that slides up, between them, as if this is a kind of romance instead of a kind of violent dance on sword's sharp edge. Fingers that trail, distracting, before they flit into his own robes, reaching for one of the talismans kept there. "I won't have you weep once your mind calms."
Have you not done enough to me? He'd smile, in a way too genuine to hide the hurt, if he thought it was true. If they didn't tear into each other with words and actions, to turn and lick at each other's wounds, to bind them up and sew the tears, to pick at them again in a new way, later. If this were only Lan Zhan speaking as he would, or should, and not akin to Wei Wuxian in Taravast, straining under two different undead lord's sway.
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Pain is familiar, is grounding, is something that can try to swallow him whole, but doesn't manage. Fear can, but even now, even snarling, bearing teeth, even pressing forward and in and choking off air, Lan Zhan is human. Not a canine, for all he is erring toward one's grief.
"You wield a beautiful blade, Lan Zhan." A tug on Lan Zhan's waist, pulling him closer, and then the hand that slides up, between them, as if this is a kind of romance instead of a kind of violent dance on sword's sharp edge. Fingers that trail, distracting, before they flit into his own robes, reaching for one of the talismans kept there. "I won't have you weep once your mind calms."
Have you not done enough to me? He'd smile, in a way too genuine to hide the hurt, if he thought it was true. If they didn't tear into each other with words and actions, to turn and lick at each other's wounds, to bind them up and sew the tears, to pick at them again in a new way, later. If this were only Lan Zhan speaking as he would, or should, and not akin to Wei Wuxian in Taravast, straining under two different undead lord's sway.