( The ease in lifting his chin, allowing access to his throat, this sweet intimacy which still unsettles the steady rhythm of his heart. He breathes in deep, slow, filling himself with the scent of Lan Zhan, layer and burning, skin to skin. Hair tickles and soothes in contact, his eyes half closing as words sink in, settling below the surface.
Does he look for handsome medicine? At times, yes. The wandering traces of his fingers over Lan Zhan's skin trace characters, lazy and slow. A name, especially: Lan Zhan, roadmap in his mind.
The storm outside renders his mind more calm. There's no immediate escape from his own heart demons. The urge to drown them into silence with alcohol is one he's struggled with internally for years, but neither does it pull on him now. Is there a lurking hurt? Is there an inherent desire for distraction, and this the opportunity? He breathes steady, his own qi following the touch of his fingers: easy sharing, and strange, feeling as if the depths of the ocean within Lan Zhan aren't merely echoing the emptied well with himself. )
Right now, of how our qi feels, of what's changed it in this world, because it's felt more and more like something has. About those such as Anurr, what creeping evils can infest slow and deadly over time. On what we'll find after this journey, not only tomorrow's, about who we'll be when we're wed again to our world. About the electric, savage beauty of the storm outside. About wanting you, in all ways, and wanting these moments, this closeness. Enjoying when we speak, even without words. About a change to that talisman I've been working on lately, you know the one, and the altered flags for directing energies. Thoughts rattle in the cage of my mind, questions and puzzles, and those have the pleasure of tinkering towards solutions. Others won't before it's time.
( So much spoken, and he subsides, mouth drying, throat parched. There is more, if he allows his thoughts to spiral onto pathways further than his current intention. Not frightening nor saddening, no, he's not trapped in a quagmire undefeated. He feels, above all things, happy. )
I've always preferred staying up in the quiet dark, and waking to the loud light. Tonight, there's only that and the fact I would enjoy using the bed for activities harder on aging bodies out on dirt packed roads.
( His chuckling laugh rumbling through him, softer than the swollen moans of the wind outside, the deluge of rain, not quite seasonably early. He cares and caresses with his hand, long strokes, nails pressed down just enough for feeling. Dragging across, not catching on, tissue which sits jagged even decades after some fractured form of healing, loving this embrace. )
no subject
( The ease in lifting his chin, allowing access to his throat, this sweet intimacy which still unsettles the steady rhythm of his heart. He breathes in deep, slow, filling himself with the scent of Lan Zhan, layer and burning, skin to skin. Hair tickles and soothes in contact, his eyes half closing as words sink in, settling below the surface.
Does he look for handsome medicine? At times, yes. The wandering traces of his fingers over Lan Zhan's skin trace characters, lazy and slow. A name, especially: Lan Zhan, roadmap in his mind.
The storm outside renders his mind more calm. There's no immediate escape from his own heart demons. The urge to drown them into silence with alcohol is one he's struggled with internally for years, but neither does it pull on him now. Is there a lurking hurt? Is there an inherent desire for distraction, and this the opportunity? He breathes steady, his own qi following the touch of his fingers: easy sharing, and strange, feeling as if the depths of the ocean within Lan Zhan aren't merely echoing the emptied well with himself. )
Right now, of how our qi feels, of what's changed it in this world, because it's felt more and more like something has. About those such as Anurr, what creeping evils can infest slow and deadly over time. On what we'll find after this journey, not only tomorrow's, about who we'll be when we're wed again to our world. About the electric, savage beauty of the storm outside. About wanting you, in all ways, and wanting these moments, this closeness. Enjoying when we speak, even without words. About a change to that talisman I've been working on lately, you know the one, and the altered flags for directing energies. Thoughts rattle in the cage of my mind, questions and puzzles, and those have the pleasure of tinkering towards solutions. Others won't before it's time.
( So much spoken, and he subsides, mouth drying, throat parched. There is more, if he allows his thoughts to spiral onto pathways further than his current intention. Not frightening nor saddening, no, he's not trapped in a quagmire undefeated. He feels, above all things, happy. )
I've always preferred staying up in the quiet dark, and waking to the loud light. Tonight, there's only that and the fact I would enjoy using the bed for activities harder on aging bodies out on dirt packed roads.
( His chuckling laugh rumbling through him, softer than the swollen moans of the wind outside, the deluge of rain, not quite seasonably early. He cares and caresses with his hand, long strokes, nails pressed down just enough for feeling. Dragging across, not catching on, tissue which sits jagged even decades after some fractured form of healing, loving this embrace. )