( The collapse into the wetness beneath and behind him is almost as surprising as the gravity of Lan Zhan's fall, caught in a falling star's burning radiance, streaking across the darks of Lan Zhan's eyes.
Which is to say, his lips part, his tongue curious even as he consumes his consumer in turn, blood and saliva and the scent of water and healthy decay on his tongue, old blood and sweat and everything else that lives a sensory invasion he welcomes. Including the questing hand that pats at his side so similarly to what Lan Zhan had done earlier, hunting after his talismans, under the curve of one thigh, and his gasp when it squeezes, material of his robes bunching up under greedy, grasping fingers.
Only then Lan Zhan shifts, and the hand does not — Lan Zhan strikes out with Bichen, and on that side nothing has changed, and Wei Wuxian eyebrow twitches as the frustrated high of adrenaline and longing ticks steadily into irritation. All urge to laugh has fled by the time Lan Zhan collapses to his side, having been caressed by a dead hand with all the passion they continue to stutter through when in each other's orbit.
Wei Wuxian slams his own hand down between them, whistling a sharp, irate note, and the hand that'd clutched his thigh jerks away and back through the hole in the boat below, water burbling under after. As he shifts to sit up, the note dropped as sharply as it'd been called, another fist comes slamming up through an existing hole, reaching after the black mirror shards on his person.
Rocketing right into his kidney, as Wei Wuxian pushes down on the waterlogged boat's basin and leaps to his feet, flute back in hand and whipped down across the second offense of undead assault. This hand spasms, fingers flailing out then contracting back inward, and he whistles again, sharp and frustrated, and the boat lurches beneath them as all the dead who held it aloft still retreat to the enforced stillness of the muddy bottoms below. Water bubbles and sloshes and shoves up through the dark maws of each revelation, Wei Wuxian fixing an equally dark gaze on his husband.
And smiles. )
There's a perfectly good shore right there, you know.
( As the boat steadily, gasping and grieving and wheezing, sinks beneath them both. )
no subject
( The collapse into the wetness beneath and behind him is almost as surprising as the gravity of Lan Zhan's fall, caught in a falling star's burning radiance, streaking across the darks of Lan Zhan's eyes.
Which is to say, his lips part, his tongue curious even as he consumes his consumer in turn, blood and saliva and the scent of water and healthy decay on his tongue, old blood and sweat and everything else that lives a sensory invasion he welcomes. Including the questing hand that pats at his side so similarly to what Lan Zhan had done earlier, hunting after his talismans, under the curve of one thigh, and his gasp when it squeezes, material of his robes bunching up under greedy, grasping fingers.
Only then Lan Zhan shifts, and the hand does not — Lan Zhan strikes out with Bichen, and on that side nothing has changed, and Wei Wuxian eyebrow twitches as the frustrated high of adrenaline and longing ticks steadily into irritation. All urge to laugh has fled by the time Lan Zhan collapses to his side, having been caressed by a dead hand with all the passion they continue to stutter through when in each other's orbit.
Wei Wuxian slams his own hand down between them, whistling a sharp, irate note, and the hand that'd clutched his thigh jerks away and back through the hole in the boat below, water burbling under after. As he shifts to sit up, the note dropped as sharply as it'd been called, another fist comes slamming up through an existing hole, reaching after the black mirror shards on his person.
Rocketing right into his kidney, as Wei Wuxian pushes down on the waterlogged boat's basin and leaps to his feet, flute back in hand and whipped down across the second offense of undead assault. This hand spasms, fingers flailing out then contracting back inward, and he whistles again, sharp and frustrated, and the boat lurches beneath them as all the dead who held it aloft still retreat to the enforced stillness of the muddy bottoms below. Water bubbles and sloshes and shoves up through the dark maws of each revelation, Wei Wuxian fixing an equally dark gaze on his husband.
And smiles. )
There's a perfectly good shore right there, you know.
( As the boat steadily, gasping and grieving and wheezing, sinks beneath them both. )