( He should expect by now this thrumming awareness, the heat and inevitability of awareness that comes with his husband's touch. He's yet surprised, grounded in the press of an open mouth against his, in the sudden, stark remembrance of his own grounded form, warmed and anchored by Lan Zhan's want. There's a powerful lifeline caught between their chests, and the echoes of pain soften, quiet.
There are always too many children, as soon as there is one. That the righteous world still didn't acknowledge this perhaps sang the song of his bloodied conviction, but at least now, at least twenty years in the refining, does he trust in the faith and steady nature of this man: one to agree with actions, not simply passify with words.
He nods, allowing the concern that follows in suggestions of staying, of going, of retiring to chambers where the stench might try fail to penetrate him fully. Speared through or not, they are each other's accompaniment. His flute finds the give of his waistband, his hand the stretch of skin and bone and strength and heat of Lan Zhan's hand. Held, then tugged as he steps forward, as the day crashes over them in sounds and brightness.
May the waters carry only good will further: may they be cleansed of the gluttony of pain purchased power. )
Lan Zhan, where won't we walk together? Have your conversation. I'm curious what words she'll weave to the succinct beauty of your own.
( Another smile, yet given in sincerity: belief and trust, delivered in kind. That he's launched them into motion, claiming their way back while hand in hand, lacing fingers between fingers, lacking shame for the desire to keep anchored to his soul mate's sky cloaked warmth, goes without saying.
It's as they approach the monster of the monastery yet again that glimpses of the women who live there flashes between trunks, that mouths stretch to accommodate teeth too long and pointed, lips blood red, then again little but the chapped redness of lips exposed to a world at such elevation with no soft excess.
no subject
( He should expect by now this thrumming awareness, the heat and inevitability of awareness that comes with his husband's touch. He's yet surprised, grounded in the press of an open mouth against his, in the sudden, stark remembrance of his own grounded form, warmed and anchored by Lan Zhan's want. There's a powerful lifeline caught between their chests, and the echoes of pain soften, quiet.
There are always too many children, as soon as there is one. That the righteous world still didn't acknowledge this perhaps sang the song of his bloodied conviction, but at least now, at least twenty years in the refining, does he trust in the faith and steady nature of this man: one to agree with actions, not simply passify with words.
He nods, allowing the concern that follows in suggestions of staying, of going, of retiring to chambers where the stench might try fail to penetrate him fully. Speared through or not, they are each other's accompaniment. His flute finds the give of his waistband, his hand the stretch of skin and bone and strength and heat of Lan Zhan's hand. Held, then tugged as he steps forward, as the day crashes over them in sounds and brightness.
May the waters carry only good will further: may they be cleansed of the gluttony of pain purchased power. )
Lan Zhan, where won't we walk together? Have your conversation. I'm curious what words she'll weave to the succinct beauty of your own.
( Another smile, yet given in sincerity: belief and trust, delivered in kind. That he's launched them into motion, claiming their way back while hand in hand, lacing fingers between fingers, lacking shame for the desire to keep anchored to his soul mate's sky cloaked warmth, goes without saying.
It's as they approach the monster of the monastery yet again that glimpses of the women who live there flashes between trunks, that mouths stretch to accommodate teeth too long and pointed, lips blood red, then again little but the chapped redness of lips exposed to a world at such elevation with no soft excess.
Near the monastery doors, he remarks: )
We should probably collect your cock first.