( Wei Wuxian turns, freed from his husband's embrace, back toward him, to the space that stretches partly between them, one exhalation to the next. The ghost climbs the tub, settles on it, tries to set one foot outside, drips water while he doesn't quite manage the step out yet.
Wei Wuxian, eyes drinking in the blossom across his husband's cheek, and his own smile, different and promising in ways they keep saying later and after and soon towards. He reaches out, fingers tugging at Lan Zhan's waistband, even as he rounds him. Even as he looks toward the young man perched for freedom, gaze wide, still hopeful, still hungry.
It's such a different hunger than the despairs he's used to. What do you think, he wants to ask Lan Zhan, He really wants? Wei Wuxian keeps his fingers hooked into Lan Zhan's robes, the impulsive, impish tug of it, while his free hand lifts, extends to the young man caught in the translucence of his youth until he eventually fades.
There's a warmth to those fingers, to the weight of them, damp, in Wei Wuxian's hand. To the ghost who anchors himself with that hand, who levers upward, to feet finding purchase on tiles that flicker brilliant white to mottled, blood-splattered neglect. )
Soothing or vengeance, ah?
( Tremulous, that smile. Stark naked, the whole of him. There are ghosts who wear their deaths well, and so does this one, golden and sun-kissed and sky-eyed, the light of day to the night's skies found in both his gaze and that of his husband's. He shifts his grip, Lan Zhan tugged close, don't leave. The ghost, offered the escort of another step closer, eyes falling downcast, the false flush of youth and embarrassment highlighting a cheek structure, a nose, unlike those they'd grown up surrounded by. )
no subject
( Wei Wuxian turns, freed from his husband's embrace, back toward him, to the space that stretches partly between them, one exhalation to the next. The ghost climbs the tub, settles on it, tries to set one foot outside, drips water while he doesn't quite manage the step out yet.
Wei Wuxian, eyes drinking in the blossom across his husband's cheek, and his own smile, different and promising in ways they keep saying later and after and soon towards. He reaches out, fingers tugging at Lan Zhan's waistband, even as he rounds him. Even as he looks toward the young man perched for freedom, gaze wide, still hopeful, still hungry.
It's such a different hunger than the despairs he's used to. What do you think, he wants to ask Lan Zhan, He really wants? Wei Wuxian keeps his fingers hooked into Lan Zhan's robes, the impulsive, impish tug of it, while his free hand lifts, extends to the young man caught in the translucence of his youth until he eventually fades.
There's a warmth to those fingers, to the weight of them, damp, in Wei Wuxian's hand. To the ghost who anchors himself with that hand, who levers upward, to feet finding purchase on tiles that flicker brilliant white to mottled, blood-splattered neglect. )
Soothing or vengeance, ah?
( Tremulous, that smile. Stark naked, the whole of him. There are ghosts who wear their deaths well, and so does this one, golden and sun-kissed and sky-eyed, the light of day to the night's skies found in both his gaze and that of his husband's. He shifts his grip, Lan Zhan tugged close, don't leave. The ghost, offered the escort of another step closer, eyes falling downcast, the false flush of youth and embarrassment highlighting a cheek structure, a nose, unlike those they'd grown up surrounded by. )
Some people are simpler than we are.