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

[wangxian]

[ wei wuxian's words touch at his ears, reddened and warmed. they brush against his skin, pin him willing and wanting as though the first and last time he had seen wei wuxian up upon the mountain— peonies tucked within his robes and the black of fabric around his eyes. and like this, with such endearments so sweet and shameless, wei wuxian had always wound the thread of lan wangji's own patience. and then, back then, he had been ashamed of what he had taken. lan wangji had been ashamed of what he had done. he had been ashamed, of all the years he left himself to pine. once upon a time, before the world licked clean the idle days with fire, he had been ashamed ( afraid? yes, that too ) of all the dreams that wei wuxian himself did venture in. and in that way, it has always been that lan wangji had kept himself tethered, kept himself tied.

and in that way, lan wangji had to remind himself: he would not be as his father, he would not take what was not his to hold, he would not impose. he would not bend too far the rules that had been carved into the stone. and yet—

wei wuxian coaxes him, riles him. he stokes the burning edge of lan wangji's attentions, as much as wei wuxian stokes what is now inevitable between them both. wei wuxian knows. lan wangji knows wei wuxian knows he knows. and yet, wei wuxian's fingers stroke along his hipbones. wei wuxian's fingers make fine work to size him up, to touch him where it is no one else has dared touch. and it is lan wangji's inhalations that go thinner still as wei wuxian marks along his throat with his mouth, presses in against him as much as lan wangji himself.

and it is a pause. it is with his teeth against wei wuxian's pulse, his tongue against the grey shadows that cut beneath wei wuxian's jaw, that lan wangji finally crowds. it is a momentary lapse in all that lan wangji is, a momentary hiccup in his restraint that leads a hand down to seize the errant hand that feels him up. and it is his fingers, over-warm, that encompass wei wuxian's wrist. and it is a directive tug, a returning shove ( measured, in that his other hand still cradles the hot dip of his spine ) that backs wei wuxian against the alley wall. it is a firmer motion, that keeps wei wuxian pinned between it and himself. and it is his knee, that nudges apart wei wuxian's legs to press his thigh up against him.

and for a pause, for a pause it is as though the surge of motion in him breaks as though water at a bank. his pale eyes, dark and fixed, clearing only long enough for lan wangji to seek the corner of wei wuxian's mouth. it is only that and the downward sweep of his lashes against wei wuxian's cheek, the way his voice comes from the throat that indicates what little there is left of all his waiting.

( and still, still— the hand that touches at wei wuxian's back skims along his spine, apologetic. ) ]

Here? [ it is a question, perhaps, that has dual meaning.

he grinds his thigh up between wei wuxian's, once. ]

[laozu]

Right here. Right there.

[ he breathes the words, lacing his fingers behind lan wangji's neck to better balance his weight. though not as strong as he was in his previous life, he is still stronger than the average human being ( never as strong as lan wangji, nor jiang cheng; one has always been stronger, the other has outclassed his new form given his age and training ). he is still able to rise on his toes as lan wangji's thigh pushes between his own, driving him up with a faint oh -- a sound that shivers from his throat and trickles down the length of his body.

no one has ever touched such a place, save for himself. his hands have been the only thing to know his body; his last life had ended without sharing such intimacy with anyone, regardless of rumor that had flown from sect to sect about his proclivities, about the women he surrounded himself with ( dead ) and the company he kept ( the wens, who surely must have pledged fealty to the great and terrible yiling laozu ). lan wangji is the first to touch him in such a way, and he finds that the sensation that hits him is warm. it feels like liquid, something molten and thick that pours down the back of his neck and pools low in his stomach. lower still, in his hips. ]

You're so handsome.

[ the sweep of lan wangji's lashes. the delicate slash of his stern mouth. the rough pads of his fingertips, from strumming the guqin's strings powerfully, for so long. ]

My, Lan Zhan. [ it sounds like, my lan zhan: ] Right here, right there. Right now.

[ he pushes his hips down, rocking them in small circles against his thigh. ]

You have my loyalty, my faith, my respect -- don't you want my body, too?

[wangxian]

[ 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. ]