[ you have my loyalty, my faith, my respect— don't you want my body too?
he does. he always has. he has always wanted each and any and all that wei wuxian would willingly grant to him, whether it be the rain of peonies, the brush of his hand. he had always wanted anything at all that wei wuxian would cast to him, whether it be the shape of his voice or the way his eyes would seek him. he had always wanted each and every part that wei wuxian would share with him, if only wei wuxian were willing to have him. if only if he desired him, without need to show gratitude— without need to say "thank you" or "i'm sorry" or anything at all.
and it is the impression of want, lan wangji's want, that pulls tight and warm between them. it is his love for wei wuxian, for his wei ying, that surges up to bank it. and for a moment, lan wangji's breathing falters beside his ear. it falters, as his palms trace out the softened angles of wei wuxian's body and wrap gentle about his waist. ( have you, he says with the ball of his thumbs against the rise of his hips. want you. and yet— ) ]
Wei Ying, [ he murmurs, both humid and close. it is felt, perhaps, more than heard as he presses lips to skin. it is felt, perhaps, more than heard as he mouths against the mark he's left, as he impresses upon him more like the bruised edges of magnolias under cleansing storms.
and as wei wuxian rocks, he hears him say it. he hears the pause between the word, his name. he hears it blend ( my lan zhan ) and it is difficult to suppress the shiver that cuts sharp through the center of his being ( again ). it is more difficult now, as his fingers tremble as he holds wei wuxian, as lan wangji grants to the counterweight of friction. and it is not for nervousness, it is not for strain that his hands do this— it is for the words that he speaks next, the pale of his eyes hazy as he pulls just slightly back, lips both reddened and wet. ]
What Wei Ying wants, [ he starts, the words quiet and rumbled things. his brow knits in some frustration, as if there is more that he could give if only— ] Only if you want.
[ if you will have me lingers just beneath. if you will have me, for myself. ]
no subject
he does. he always has. he has always wanted each and any and all that wei wuxian would willingly grant to him, whether it be the rain of peonies, the brush of his hand. he had always wanted anything at all that wei wuxian would cast to him, whether it be the shape of his voice or the way his eyes would seek him. he had always wanted each and every part that wei wuxian would share with him, if only wei wuxian were willing to have him. if only if he desired him, without need to show gratitude— without need to say "thank you" or "i'm sorry" or anything at all.
and it is the impression of want, lan wangji's want, that pulls tight and warm between them. it is his love for wei wuxian, for his wei ying, that surges up to bank it. and for a moment, lan wangji's breathing falters beside his ear. it falters, as his palms trace out the softened angles of wei wuxian's body and wrap gentle about his waist. ( have you, he says with the ball of his thumbs against the rise of his hips. want you. and yet— ) ]
Wei Ying, [ he murmurs, both humid and close. it is felt, perhaps, more than heard as he presses lips to skin. it is felt, perhaps, more than heard as he mouths against the mark he's left, as he impresses upon him more like the bruised edges of magnolias under cleansing storms.
and as wei wuxian rocks, he hears him say it. he hears the pause between the word, his name. he hears it blend ( my lan zhan ) and it is difficult to suppress the shiver that cuts sharp through the center of his being ( again ). it is more difficult now, as his fingers tremble as he holds wei wuxian, as lan wangji grants to the counterweight of friction. and it is not for nervousness, it is not for strain that his hands do this— it is for the words that he speaks next, the pale of his eyes hazy as he pulls just slightly back, lips both reddened and wet. ]
What Wei Ying wants, [ he starts, the words quiet and rumbled things. his brow knits in some frustration, as if there is more that he could give if only— ] Only if you want.
[ if you will have me lingers just beneath. if you will have me, for myself. ]