( Wei Wuxian blinks at the touch of heavy lotus bud to his nose, going near crossed eyed with the effort of focus on the bud and then blinking to look beyond it, up the proffered arm, to Lan Zhan with his particular expression. He smiles in spite of himself, a huff of laughter and the warmth that rises up from his empty core to suffuse the whole of his chest. Yes, he knows what Lan Zhan does now, but the point to it all is that he wishes to do so, cares to coax and cajole and does so in a means that runs contrary to what once was most obvious, most logical, to the young man formed in Gusu Lan.
He became a man tempered by the world, where rules and reading and logic couldn't define or provide clear division to what is and is not the better and worst of the world. So much subjectivity is difficult to swallow.
Not bound by pride, though once he knows he probably would have been, he reaches for the lotus pod with both hands. Forgetting for that moment the lack of waistband, thus the robes gently resettle to his sides, and more of the humid breezes off the water stir them, coax them from their overlap, send them billowing to his sides. All the better that only Lan Zhan stands before him now, because he'd be flashing anyone else unintentionally and with his hands full of his husband's gift of seed. )
Who owns these waters?
( He asks, lips quirked, even as he allows that to be his tacit acceptance: you may carry me on his back, which makes for awkward eating of the lotus later, but regardless. Compromise. )
and so they go off grid unless you tracked them down
( Wei Wuxian blinks at the touch of heavy lotus bud to his nose, going near crossed eyed with the effort of focus on the bud and then blinking to look beyond it, up the proffered arm, to Lan Zhan with his particular expression. He smiles in spite of himself, a huff of laughter and the warmth that rises up from his empty core to suffuse the whole of his chest. Yes, he knows what Lan Zhan does now, but the point to it all is that he wishes to do so, cares to coax and cajole and does so in a means that runs contrary to what once was most obvious, most logical, to the young man formed in Gusu Lan.
He became a man tempered by the world, where rules and reading and logic couldn't define or provide clear division to what is and is not the better and worst of the world. So much subjectivity is difficult to swallow.
Not bound by pride, though once he knows he probably would have been, he reaches for the lotus pod with both hands. Forgetting for that moment the lack of waistband, thus the robes gently resettle to his sides, and more of the humid breezes off the water stir them, coax them from their overlap, send them billowing to his sides. All the better that only Lan Zhan stands before him now, because he'd be flashing anyone else unintentionally and with his hands full of his husband's gift of seed. )
Who owns these waters?
( He asks, lips quirked, even as he allows that to be his tacit acceptance: you may carry me on his back, which makes for awkward eating of the lotus later, but regardless. Compromise. )