[ to drag him to this party, to ply him with alcohol until the blood in his veins is somehow warmed, but more heated by the presence of them so near.
jiang cheng has stood in the peripherals this night, as he does, as he has been always. he has looked to the quick-footed fleeting figure of one and the silent, steadier presence of the other through the night, but never directly - never as this, cornered by the both of them, and jiang cheng reacts in the only way he has learned how to - he lights up against the teasing, against the touch of wei wuxian's hand sharply and brightly as solar flares, as the lashings of zidian.
he is not a gentle man, as lan wangji is. he is pieces of the boy he had been held together by iron and blood and lightning. he is the weathering to all their freshness, the wind to scatter the spring petals.
jiang cheng is not yet aware of his own heart; to think of not even one, but the both of them. he is not aware of the conversation that has happened, is happening, between his shixiong and the other. he is not aware of what had transpired between, but his gaze moves sharp and quick as any frightened wings of a bird may take itself to flight, upon the both of them, as wei wuxian walks - fearlessly, but he has always been fearless - his fingers up his chest, his throat, his face, to hold his chin between thumb and forefinger. jiang cheng can feel his face heat, as wei wuxian reaches his touch further still, to cradle his face.
he has never been kissed, has never kissed, and - ( you're one ) - the kiss that presses itself to his lips now is not at all how he could have imagined it to be. wei wuxian is not shy; he is not a reticent man, he is not as jiang cheng is - and it is a nervous thing, his own heart that beats, the blue of his chest faintly hidden. it is a shy and taciturn thing as it has been since they had been children - and impatient.
he closes his eyes tightly. his heart cannot find any excuses for his shixiong, to explain his actions to strangers. jiang cheng can feel -
feel, as if this is what he had been wanting. this is what he had wished for, perhaps, in the wilder, brighter days of their childhood. that this is the reason for his waiting. ]
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[ to drag him to this party, to ply him with alcohol until the blood in his veins is somehow warmed, but more heated by the presence of them so near.
jiang cheng has stood in the peripherals this night, as he does, as he has been always. he has looked to the quick-footed fleeting figure of one and the silent, steadier presence of the other through the night, but never directly - never as this, cornered by the both of them, and jiang cheng reacts in the only way he has learned how to - he lights up against the teasing, against the touch of wei wuxian's hand sharply and brightly as solar flares, as the lashings of zidian.
he is not a gentle man, as lan wangji is. he is pieces of the boy he had been held together by iron and blood and lightning. he is the weathering to all their freshness, the wind to scatter the spring petals.
jiang cheng is not yet aware of his own heart; to think of not even one, but the both of them. he is not aware of the conversation that has happened, is happening, between his shixiong and the other. he is not aware of what had transpired between, but his gaze moves sharp and quick as any frightened wings of a bird may take itself to flight, upon the both of them, as wei wuxian walks - fearlessly, but he has always been fearless - his fingers up his chest, his throat, his face, to hold his chin between thumb and forefinger. jiang cheng can feel his face heat, as wei wuxian reaches his touch further still, to cradle his face.
he has never been kissed, has never kissed, and - ( you're one ) - the kiss that presses itself to his lips now is not at all how he could have imagined it to be. wei wuxian is not shy; he is not a reticent man, he is not as jiang cheng is - and it is a nervous thing, his own heart that beats, the blue of his chest faintly hidden. it is a shy and taciturn thing as it has been since they had been children - and impatient.
he closes his eyes tightly. his heart cannot find any excuses for his shixiong, to explain his actions to strangers. jiang cheng can feel -
feel, as if this is what he had been wanting. this is what he had wished for, perhaps, in the wilder, brighter days of their childhood. that this is the reason for his waiting. ]