( The pause, as they split ways, Wei Wuxian taking to knees as his music guides a number of the dead, albeit not their multitudes; wet and glancing up his husband's way with his eyes half narrowed, peering through lashes on angles instead of flirtatious fascinations.
Learn what of young men? He missed aspects, overindulged in others, and what do young men know when it comes to...
You might have been the one, he thinks, Who knew anything at all. What thoughts he has now, granted an end to present priorities, are tongue and teeth and lips and mouths and many, many greedy things, what a young man knows.
He is not shaken from the purpose of the moment, and his song turns suggested, requesting, an appeal to show instead of a command to give. Showing is easier, is fought less by the creatures who hold the shards as summoned, his dark gaze cutting across the slow-flow, congealing blood flows of the dead under Lan Zhan's tender beatings, to find those he may reach out toward, coax closer. One thrust fist returns through the bottom of the boat with a sucking rush of water, unveiling the shard contained within it, a demonstration of appeal.
His foot nudges it free and slams the hand back through, bearing fingers that curl and attempt to pierce the protections of his boot, because this too shall pass, and the shard sinks in the shallow waters of the partly sunken boat's bottom. The rest is a culling done through simpler notes, hands that display, and his own swiftness dancing at the boat's edge as it rocks and attempts to throw them all overboard into the frothing waters.
Three shards, plus the one in the boat. None other are presented that he can see, and his song hits a high he allows to linger, temporarily stalling more at a cost to himself.
The note ends, and he's on his knees, blood quick to trace the corner of his lips as he reaches for, holds on to, the sunken shard, cuts himself on it while lurching toward his husband, he of oar wielding defense. )
To shore, ( comes with the gasp and clearing of his lungs, not coughing blood so much as spitting it free and trusting in Lan Zhan's capabilities, in order to further stretch his own. )
no subject
( The pause, as they split ways, Wei Wuxian taking to knees as his music guides a number of the dead, albeit not their multitudes; wet and glancing up his husband's way with his eyes half narrowed, peering through lashes on angles instead of flirtatious fascinations.
Learn what of young men? He missed aspects, overindulged in others, and what do young men know when it comes to...
You might have been the one, he thinks, Who knew anything at all. What thoughts he has now, granted an end to present priorities, are tongue and teeth and lips and mouths and many, many greedy things, what a young man knows.
He is not shaken from the purpose of the moment, and his song turns suggested, requesting, an appeal to show instead of a command to give. Showing is easier, is fought less by the creatures who hold the shards as summoned, his dark gaze cutting across the slow-flow, congealing blood flows of the dead under Lan Zhan's tender beatings, to find those he may reach out toward, coax closer. One thrust fist returns through the bottom of the boat with a sucking rush of water, unveiling the shard contained within it, a demonstration of appeal.
His foot nudges it free and slams the hand back through, bearing fingers that curl and attempt to pierce the protections of his boot, because this too shall pass, and the shard sinks in the shallow waters of the partly sunken boat's bottom. The rest is a culling done through simpler notes, hands that display, and his own swiftness dancing at the boat's edge as it rocks and attempts to throw them all overboard into the frothing waters.
Three shards, plus the one in the boat. None other are presented that he can see, and his song hits a high he allows to linger, temporarily stalling more at a cost to himself.
The note ends, and he's on his knees, blood quick to trace the corner of his lips as he reaches for, holds on to, the sunken shard, cuts himself on it while lurching toward his husband, he of oar wielding defense. )
To shore, ( comes with the gasp and clearing of his lungs, not coughing blood so much as spitting it free and trusting in Lan Zhan's capabilities, in order to further stretch his own. )