[ fall. wei wuxian has always fallen, fell, falling, tumbling headlong into another trouble, another mischief, yet another self sacrifice until he was no more. a ghost. a memory. jiang cheng had lost more than a ghost, that day. he had waited without a hope of waiting, suspended in limbo, a cliff beneath his feet.
all he had wanted was -
the warmth of him. the weight of his body against his, the hair wound around his fingers. his gaze upturned to him, his voice calling his name.
they call him beautiful, but jiang cheng does not see it. he has never seen himself as such, being too conscious, always, of the cracks and the scars, the way he would always be outshines, outnumbered, hounded and tethered in the way they were not. wei wuxian is beautiful, he thinks. lan zhan, too, is beautiful, they are the same way lofty mountains touched by clouds and the sun are beautiful. they are as the breeze against willows and the way a river ripples under touch of fingers, is beautiful.
the flush makes itself known again, spreading hot beneath the touch of wei wuxian's hand. ]
Stop it, [ his voice is low, rough, and he does not know where quite to put his gaze. ]
[ his hands are on jiang cheng's face, his fingers finding the stray ends of his hair. it grows in exactly as he has always suspected it to, in whorls and ribbons of deep brown, like the healthiest roots of a long-lived tree. like the life-supporting mud of the riverbanks. wei wuxian rolls a lock of it between his fingers, feeling the soft texture of jiang cheng's hair - teasing it as he looks up at the man who has always, always been his sworn brother. his martial pair. the other half of the twin heroes they had so boldly proclaimed themselves to be in their wilder youth. ]
You grew up so handsome. I always knew you'd gather your wrinkles here. [ touching his finger between jiang cheng's brows, to make his point. ]
Whenever I look at you, my heart aches - it feels so warm, like when we used to gather our bedsheets and wait on the roof for the dawn to break and unthaw our chilled fingers and toes.
[ softly, he tugs on the hair in his fingers. he draws jiang cheng down, down into his space until their bodies are flush again and he can slot his hip between jiang cheng's thighs. he kisses the space between his brows, where his wrinkles are prone to gathering. he kisses jiang cheng, right afterwards, his mouth a coy litle thing - the slip of his lips barely the brush of a petal before he dives, with hunger, surging up hard against his shidi as he licks a playful stripe along his mouth and across his jaw. ]
Only you would say something so vulgar in the same fucking breath. [ the sharp edges of his words do not quite reach, do not even come close to cutting as jiang cheng frowns, his brows wrinkling against the press of the other's fingers and lips.
he had always, always had jiang cheng's best and his worst - as tender as he could be, as weak and vulnerable as he could be jiang cheng is also ruthless, he can be as heartless and miserly with his affections with his shixiong - in a way, it is still with some perception of a child, of some immaturity of a feeling not yet grown, of some part of him that glows green and wild against the press of their bodies as wei wuxian pulls him to himself.
the flush settles on the bridge of his nose, against the curved shell of his ears, and he pulls back a little - he looks scandalised, which is hilarious considering they are in the privacy of their room and there was no one else about the house - jiang cheng pulls himself up a little, shifting his weight so it does not settle so heavily upon the other, but he uses a free hand to smack wei wuxian. ]
You heard me, don't be purposefully obtuse right now.
[ shame on you, jiang cheng. don't make him repeat himself.
one of wei wuxian's hands wraps around the back of the other's neck, his fingers in the soft hair at the base of his skull and curled around his spine. he uses his position to keep jiang cheng from going far, from pulling back and potentially escaping. and then, he uses his hold on the other to brace himself, dragging jiang cheng bodily to the side and swap their positions once more. he mounts his shidi's waist again, pressing his shoulders down with his hands as he pushes his weight into him again.
he smarts, where he's been slapped. it stings in a way that brings the color to his throat and his face, the fever-bright light to his eyes. ]
I. Want. To fuck you.
[ he says it again, this time sharply. mouth finding jiang cheng's again, he licks a soft, heated stripe against his bottom lip and curls his weight in, hard, against the other's. when wei wuxian kisses him, it's messy and hungry, years of something left starved and fury-ridden and abandoned in a dark place sparking between them as he glows, bright and blue through his shirt when he touches jiang cheng, kisses him. ]
and jiang cheng - well, despite what he had to say for himself about it, the truth was that he has never been good at resisting, not when his shixiong was like this.
jiang cheng was never good at pulling himself away from him, pulling away and then closer and closer still as if wei wuxian was at the centre of everything he was and is and will be. as if it had not killed the both of them to pull themselves apart in the first place, leaving jiang cheng feeling sound of limb but crippled in some quietening, inexplicable way.
restrained, yet wild where they touched - where they are touching, where wei wuxian's mouth presses against his, and jiang cheng curls his hands somewhere above the other's back, not quite touching, not quite pulling him in even as his mouth opens against the messy kiss.
being kissed by wei wuxian is not quite the same thing as far as kisses go, he is beginning to dimly realise now in his limited experience. it is something a little more desperate, with a little more clawing that leaves his guts feeling sore and aching, a little more angry. and it is still anger, of course - it is still, he is still, furious - ababdoned, lied to, left empty and aching in all the wrong places, yet he cannot bring himself to really batter wei wuxian with it. he is, perhaps maybe, afraid.
he frowns, as he kisses wei wuxian back - the tension trembling on his lashes as jiang cheng closes his eyes - and he finally, finally presses the pads of his fingers against the line of wei wuxian's back, the sinuous curve from his spine to his waist. ]
[ please, don't reject him in this moment, jiang cheng. the raw, untethered yearning he feels is a fragile thing. a shy thing, where wei wuxian should never be mollified by anything he elects to do. it is only because it is his shidi that he feels such hesitation even among the strong need to touch him ( kiss him hold his hand watch how darkly he flushes hear the sounds that he makes ). jiang cheng, like lan wangji, is entirely unique unto himself. the feelings he has for him are special, they belong to jiang cheng.
those feelings, complex and dark red, are what he gives to jiang cheng as they connect, as they glow blue together.
there is a quiet passion in there, a possessive and tooth-filled devotion that has not changed in intensity, though it had changed in form and function long, long ago. the flush of eagerness, of determination that lances through him is palpable through their connection and through the way that wei wuxian lunges in, pushing with his emotions and his body until he's shoved jiang cheng back among their scattered blankets and mattresses ( clearly it had not been lan wangji in charge of putting their bedthings away ) once more. he holds him there, fingers curling around the angle of his collarbone and the length of his neck
-- all at once, part of him desires to strangle the man underneath him --
the hands slide down, lower. he thumbs at jiang cheng's clothes, picking them apart the way he might pick the elements of a song. his focus is on his pants, taking hold of the waistband - pausing only one moment more, to determine the other's resolve. once determined, he proceeds regardless, his spine bending as he shifts his weight down to settle on jiang cheng's calves, mouth finding purchase in the slender line of skin he finds between the pants he is working on single-handedly opening and the shirt he has begun to push up to jiang cheng's throat with the other. ]
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no subject
all he had wanted was -
the warmth of him. the weight of his body against his, the hair wound around his fingers. his gaze upturned to him, his voice calling his name.
they call him beautiful, but jiang cheng does not see it. he has never seen himself as such, being too conscious, always, of the cracks and the scars, the way he would always be outshines, outnumbered, hounded and tethered in the way they were not. wei wuxian is beautiful, he thinks. lan zhan, too, is beautiful, they are the same way lofty mountains touched by clouds and the sun are beautiful. they are as the breeze against willows and the way a river ripples under touch of fingers, is beautiful.
the flush makes itself known again, spreading hot beneath the touch of wei wuxian's hand. ]
Stop it, [ his voice is low, rough, and he does not know where quite to put his gaze. ]
tags this on tablet
[ his hands are on jiang cheng's face, his fingers finding the stray ends of his hair. it grows in exactly as he has always suspected it to, in whorls and ribbons of deep brown, like the healthiest roots of a long-lived tree. like the life-supporting mud of the riverbanks. wei wuxian rolls a lock of it between his fingers, feeling the soft texture of jiang cheng's hair - teasing it as he looks up at the man who has always, always been his sworn brother. his martial pair. the other half of the twin heroes they had so boldly proclaimed themselves to be in their wilder youth. ]
You grew up so handsome. I always knew you'd gather your wrinkles here. [ touching his finger between jiang cheng's brows, to make his point. ]
Whenever I look at you, my heart aches - it feels so warm, like when we used to gather our bedsheets and wait on the roof for the dawn to break and unthaw our chilled fingers and toes.
[ softly, he tugs on the hair in his fingers. he draws jiang cheng down, down into his space until their bodies are flush again and he can slot his hip between jiang cheng's thighs. he kisses the space between his brows, where his wrinkles are prone to gathering. he kisses jiang cheng, right afterwards, his mouth a coy litle thing - the slip of his lips barely the brush of a petal before he dives, with hunger, surging up hard against his shidi as he licks a playful stripe along his mouth and across his jaw. ]
A'Cheng, I want to fuck you.
tags this in view of public
he had always, always had jiang cheng's best and his worst - as tender as he could be, as weak and vulnerable as he could be jiang cheng is also ruthless, he can be as heartless and miserly with his affections with his shixiong - in a way, it is still with some perception of a child, of some immaturity of a feeling not yet grown, of some part of him that glows green and wild against the press of their bodies as wei wuxian pulls him to himself.
the flush settles on the bridge of his nose, against the curved shell of his ears, and he pulls back a little - he looks scandalised, which is hilarious considering they are in the privacy of their room and there was no one else about the house - jiang cheng pulls himself up a little, shifting his weight so it does not settle so heavily upon the other, but he uses a free hand to smack wei wuxian. ]
What the hell are you saying?
no subject
[ shame on you, jiang cheng. don't make him repeat himself.
one of wei wuxian's hands wraps around the back of the other's neck, his fingers in the soft hair at the base of his skull and curled around his spine. he uses his position to keep jiang cheng from going far, from pulling back and potentially escaping. and then, he uses his hold on the other to brace himself, dragging jiang cheng bodily to the side and swap their positions once more. he mounts his shidi's waist again, pressing his shoulders down with his hands as he pushes his weight into him again.
he smarts, where he's been slapped. it stings in a way that brings the color to his throat and his face, the fever-bright light to his eyes. ]
I. Want. To fuck you.
[ he says it again, this time sharply. mouth finding jiang cheng's again, he licks a soft, heated stripe against his bottom lip and curls his weight in, hard, against the other's. when wei wuxian kisses him, it's messy and hungry, years of something left starved and fury-ridden and abandoned in a dark place sparking between them as he glows, bright and blue through his shirt when he touches jiang cheng, kisses him. ]
Let me.
no subject
and jiang cheng - well, despite what he had to say for himself about it, the truth was that he has never been good at resisting, not when his shixiong was like this.
jiang cheng was never good at pulling himself away from him, pulling away and then closer and closer still as if wei wuxian was at the centre of everything he was and is and will be. as if it had not killed the both of them to pull themselves apart in the first place, leaving jiang cheng feeling sound of limb but crippled in some quietening, inexplicable way.
restrained, yet wild where they touched - where they are touching, where wei wuxian's mouth presses against his, and jiang cheng curls his hands somewhere above the other's back, not quite touching, not quite pulling him in even as his mouth opens against the messy kiss.
being kissed by wei wuxian is not quite the same thing as far as kisses go, he is beginning to dimly realise now in his limited experience. it is something a little more desperate, with a little more clawing that leaves his guts feeling sore and aching, a little more angry. and it is still anger, of course - it is still, he is still, furious - ababdoned, lied to, left empty and aching in all the wrong places, yet he cannot bring himself to really batter wei wuxian with it. he is, perhaps maybe, afraid.
he frowns, as he kisses wei wuxian back - the tension trembling on his lashes as jiang cheng closes his eyes - and he finally, finally presses the pads of his fingers against the line of wei wuxian's back, the sinuous curve from his spine to his waist. ]
no subject
those feelings, complex and dark red, are what he gives to jiang cheng as they connect, as they glow blue together.
there is a quiet passion in there, a possessive and tooth-filled devotion that has not changed in intensity, though it had changed in form and function long, long ago. the flush of eagerness, of determination that lances through him is palpable through their connection and through the way that wei wuxian lunges in, pushing with his emotions and his body until he's shoved jiang cheng back among their scattered blankets and mattresses ( clearly it had not been lan wangji in charge of putting their bedthings away ) once more. he holds him there, fingers curling around the angle of his collarbone and the length of his neck
-- all at once, part of him desires to strangle the man underneath him --
the hands slide down, lower. he thumbs at jiang cheng's clothes, picking them apart the way he might pick the elements of a song. his focus is on his pants, taking hold of the waistband - pausing only one moment more, to determine the other's resolve. once determined, he proceeds regardless, his spine bending as he shifts his weight down to settle on jiang cheng's calves, mouth finding purchase in the slender line of skin he finds between the pants he is working on single-handedly opening and the shirt he has begun to push up to jiang cheng's throat with the other. ]