[ Battered and bruised, and his rib — crack against corners, he feels the piercing stab, the swell of hurt spilling from him like river's waters. Does not shrivel beneath his hurts, so they must leave and breathe shallowly on him, must be survivable.
He is not the petty pastures of his war damage. He will endure, for all Wei Ying tumbles them down and rearranges them, and squirms within hands like a sea catch in the net, and his eyes and cheek and the straining parts where tree root has gashed silks reveal skins as pale as a fish's fat belly. When they sprawl, side facing side, crowning a bed of leaves, coppers and cool red and a blossomed heap of vibrant greens, Lan Wangji is already indulgent: anything to sate Wei Ying's frenzy, which sours his scent, no doubt contaminating the taste of his flesh.
An ugly spread, fear. If you treat me as a dog, be in agony of me.
He cannot kneel here, but his hands stray soft, one dangled limply by his face, wrist to the sun, the other drifting the peel hair off Wei Ying's face. Yield. ]
Wei Ying. [ Reasonable, plain. An arc cleaves his mouth that might poison lips to a smile on other, better men. ]
I would like to kill you. [ Then, patiently, like a gust of breezy wind, and his dark eyes no more than a starless sky, husked for it. ] Then, I would have to kill myself.
[ In turn, the bead string of sacrifice would end with Sizhui's own martyrdom or a lifetime's feud, attempting to avenge their deaths against the local curse-craft. He knows this coolly, iced over his nape. A certainty like winter, coming. ]
no subject
He is not the petty pastures of his war damage. He will endure, for all Wei Ying tumbles them down and rearranges them, and squirms within hands like a sea catch in the net, and his eyes and cheek and the straining parts where tree root has gashed silks reveal skins as pale as a fish's fat belly. When they sprawl, side facing side, crowning a bed of leaves, coppers and cool red and a blossomed heap of vibrant greens, Lan Wangji is already indulgent: anything to sate Wei Ying's frenzy, which sours his scent, no doubt contaminating the taste of his flesh.
An ugly spread, fear. If you treat me as a dog, be in agony of me.
He cannot kneel here, but his hands stray soft, one dangled limply by his face, wrist to the sun, the other drifting the peel hair off Wei Ying's face. Yield. ]
Wei Ying. [ Reasonable, plain. An arc cleaves his mouth that might poison lips to a smile on other, better men. ]
I would like to kill you. [ Then, patiently, like a gust of breezy wind, and his dark eyes no more than a starless sky, husked for it. ] Then, I would have to kill myself.
[ In turn, the bead string of sacrifice would end with Sizhui's own martyrdom or a lifetime's feud, attempting to avenge their deaths against the local curse-craft. He knows this coolly, iced over his nape. A certainty like winter, coming. ]
It is what I wish to do. Allow me.