( Oh, but his husband knows the tunes that call to him, the way that play begets curiosity begets the desire to know, to understand, to see, to press, to move beyond: in a younger version of himself, he'd have leapt at the intimation, smiling and breezy, landed to make half comedic faces with dark eyes and full curiosity, fingers itching to tug at Lan Zhan's stiff perfection, pleasant and pungent at once.
He's older now, and in the moment that stretches, the tightness of mere heartbeats across the vast distance this creates, their supplecation and implacability twofold, he frames words that are too knowing, in their own way.
His husband knows him.
For better, and for worse, he also knows the shape of his husband. )
May, ( he calls out, just loud enough to be heard. ) or will?
( Promises that are promises, and not the illusion of them, the favoured way for Lan Zhan to win his battles, the earnest desire Wei Wuxian has to take things at face value. The reason he trusts and knows better; had not questioned enough in one lifetime.
May is, after all, a flirtation. Will is a promise. Will is a driving force, and his flute spins between his fingers, his other hand splayed across the wyvern's blood-matted, crested forehead. The poor creature, he knows, should be sent back inside soon.
To live or die, he does not care. He's not that kind of bleeding heart, nor one to enjoy suffering. The creature lived by cursed instinct. It was death, inevitable, that found one or the other. )
no subject
( Oh, but his husband knows the tunes that call to him, the way that play begets curiosity begets the desire to know, to understand, to see, to press, to move beyond: in a younger version of himself, he'd have leapt at the intimation, smiling and breezy, landed to make half comedic faces with dark eyes and full curiosity, fingers itching to tug at Lan Zhan's stiff perfection, pleasant and pungent at once.
He's older now, and in the moment that stretches, the tightness of mere heartbeats across the vast distance this creates, their supplecation and implacability twofold, he frames words that are too knowing, in their own way.
His husband knows him.
For better, and for worse, he also knows the shape of his husband. )
May, ( he calls out, just loud enough to be heard. ) or will?
( Promises that are promises, and not the illusion of them, the favoured way for Lan Zhan to win his battles, the earnest desire Wei Wuxian has to take things at face value. The reason he trusts and knows better; had not questioned enough in one lifetime.
May is, after all, a flirtation. Will is a promise. Will is a driving force, and his flute spins between his fingers, his other hand splayed across the wyvern's blood-matted, crested forehead. The poor creature, he knows, should be sent back inside soon.
To live or die, he does not care. He's not that kind of bleeding heart, nor one to enjoy suffering. The creature lived by cursed instinct. It was death, inevitable, that found one or the other. )