CLOSED.

[laozu]

WHO: Ancient China Wuxia Crew ( Wei Wuxian laozu, Lan Wangji wangxian & Jiang Cheng sandu )
WHERE: Various locations.
WHEN: Various times.
WHAT: A catch-all log for literally everything so we don't spam.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Sexual content, discussions of suicide/suicidal ideation, physical violence, difficulties in communication, etc.

Comments

[sandu]

[ he seek to reassure him - wei wuxian's fingers find the soft skin of his waist beneath the clothing, warmed by the alcohol and the press of bodies, and jiang cheng feels the ripple of the other's emotion through him as clear as daylight - and his happiness is a palpable thing, like some sun-warmed patch of ground that jiang cheng now sits himself down upon. lan wangji's hand settles opposite, thumb pressing into hip under the rucked up clothing, fingers curling around the dip of his waist, and jiang cheng cannot think, cannot breathe, can only shiver caught between both of their hands, between the wall and the press of their bodies.

wei wuxian is an untameable creature, a bird set upon a breeze; he does things because he wants to, not because he is forced, and jiang cheng cannot help but admit - like this, pressed to the corner of this crowded room, their lips and their hands burning brands and staining him with their colors - that there is something beautiful about it. wei wuxian is something free and unrestrained and wild, and it has always made jiang cheng either catch his breath or else hold it to watch him - in surprise, in wonder, in something much like devotion that has him stay his fingers instead of reaching out, in moments like this.

touch me, he says, hold me, he demands, and jiang cheng, freed from the kisses, has to grit his teeth tightly to keep any small noises in that may escape - small, silent huffs of breath that he can't quite control, his breathing made shallow with the way wei wuxian presses up against him between his legs, pulling lan wangji close behind him. jiang cheng does not touch - though the grip on his festive jumper does not loosen, it is not bare skin, not the dip and curve of wei wuxian's body as he bends into his space like some young green plant. jiang cheng stays his hands - keeping them balled up into fists, pressed to the wall behind him.

he looks dishevelled - lips darkened and swollen, flushed across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, the back of his neck already feeling hot - and jiang cheng stares at the way wei wuxian steals back the kiss, shamelessly taking - what he wants, but what rightly belong to him. their emotions - for each other, for the kiss, for - everything, flow into him, washes against him in waves too quick and fast to understand, and jiang cheng almost expects to feel some kind of rejection when he reaches out, some sort of blockage that would say, this is it. that is as far as you can come.

his hand finds their faces. his thumb brushes against the soft skin of one, the strong lines of jaw of another. he does not quite skim the edge of their lips where they are joined together - he is not so shameless as his brother - but his eyes are wide, in surprise, in wonder. ]