He has, perhaps, dreamed of something like and utterly unlike this, in half remembered moments or passing daydreams when a specific, particular kind of tired. One where creativity is distilled to quietly observing his husband with a half smile on his lips, and his eyes have perhaps lingered heartbeats too long on the length of his throat, the crossed front of his robes.
He did not specifically imagine being shoved down into them, being so divorced from a sense of his own body to find it overwhelming and stifling and weirdly comforting to be slipped, shoved, slid down, warmth of Lan Zhan's skin warming him further, taking the chill and the vestiges of dampness that lingered away.
No toads in here, and he braces small feel against the expanse of Lan Zhan's chest, the thud of his heart louder than before, or is that Wei Wuxian's heart? No, Lan Zhan's, he knows it, because his own pitiful toad heart beats that much faster. He hunkers down, presses himself flat as he can against his husband's skin.
"I can wait," he says instead of making any call for a heart that experiences no swaying toward the enthralled chorus of Lan Zhan's frog and toad admirers. "Right here, for hours."
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He has, perhaps, dreamed of something like and utterly unlike this, in half remembered moments or passing daydreams when a specific, particular kind of tired. One where creativity is distilled to quietly observing his husband with a half smile on his lips, and his eyes have perhaps lingered heartbeats too long on the length of his throat, the crossed front of his robes.
He did not specifically imagine being shoved down into them, being so divorced from a sense of his own body to find it overwhelming and stifling and weirdly comforting to be slipped, shoved, slid down, warmth of Lan Zhan's skin warming him further, taking the chill and the vestiges of dampness that lingered away.
No toads in here, and he braces small feel against the expanse of Lan Zhan's chest, the thud of his heart louder than before, or is that Wei Wuxian's heart? No, Lan Zhan's, he knows it, because his own pitiful toad heart beats that much faster. He hunkers down, presses himself flat as he can against his husband's skin.
"I can wait," he says instead of making any call for a heart that experiences no swaying toward the enthralled chorus of Lan Zhan's frog and toad admirers. "Right here, for hours."
Heed his heart indeed.