( And how many places, littered like wilted flowers on his path? His mouth, a soured moue, tightens to a half-stitched line broken by crepuscular inhalations. He has walked a world whole, hunting down the shadows of this man, seeking to fix and impart his lover's justice.
He lets himself fleetingly drown, nose submerged to catch Wei Ying's scent where his pulse flutters and undulates his jugular, where he livens. )
Dozens of brothels, tea houses, the castles of concubines. ( At times practising different arts; more often than not, the same. What little of Hanguang-Jun's reputation survived the war minimally scathed might have tasted a long death of tears and ripping in the maws of idle, unforgiving gossips, He travelled, yes. And found — ) Often, homes to regret. Violence, abandon.
( Abuse of the mind, of the flesh, of etiquettes and politics. Women forced to embrace the theft of their intimacy, to forego the gift of their bodies. To share themselves for the benefit of their consumers.
An exorcist has a place in this willow world, where women wed melancholy and endless despair, and so often their unborn children weep unheard for starless nights. He lets that understanding linger between them, settling like a lazy cat into the fit of Wei Ying's hands on his back, in the spaces where his husband is settling his affection. )
I would like to kiss you. ( He has done so, at great and inexorable length. Still, does again, lips coarse and fleeting when they catch Wei Ying's mouth, his cheek after. ) After our next assignment — ( And this is not what Wei Ying asks, not what he is disposed to. Still, once more. ) I would like to settle for a season. Half or whole. In a small house, if you will have so. You. Me. Peace.
( The easy, syrupy respite they've never had that so often suits marital confinement in the wake of fresh weddings. Nearly two decades late. )
no subject
( And how many places, littered like wilted flowers on his path? His mouth, a soured moue, tightens to a half-stitched line broken by crepuscular inhalations. He has walked a world whole, hunting down the shadows of this man, seeking to fix and impart his lover's justice.
He lets himself fleetingly drown, nose submerged to catch Wei Ying's scent where his pulse flutters and undulates his jugular, where he livens. )
Dozens of brothels, tea houses, the castles of concubines. ( At times practising different arts; more often than not, the same. What little of Hanguang-Jun's reputation survived the war minimally scathed might have tasted a long death of tears and ripping in the maws of idle, unforgiving gossips, He travelled, yes. And found — ) Often, homes to regret. Violence, abandon.
( Abuse of the mind, of the flesh, of etiquettes and politics. Women forced to embrace the theft of their intimacy, to forego the gift of their bodies. To share themselves for the benefit of their consumers.
An exorcist has a place in this willow world, where women wed melancholy and endless despair, and so often their unborn children weep unheard for starless nights. He lets that understanding linger between them, settling like a lazy cat into the fit of Wei Ying's hands on his back, in the spaces where his husband is settling his affection. )
I would like to kiss you. ( He has done so, at great and inexorable length. Still, does again, lips coarse and fleeting when they catch Wei Ying's mouth, his cheek after. ) After our next assignment — ( And this is not what Wei Ying asks, not what he is disposed to. Still, once more. ) I would like to settle for a season. Half or whole. In a small house, if you will have so. You. Me. Peace.
( The easy, syrupy respite they've never had that so often suits marital confinement in the wake of fresh weddings. Nearly two decades late. )