[ Many things happen very quickly, and suddenly Song Lan feels like a glacier in a hurricane. Frozen, unmoving, while the world crashes and breaks around him faster than it ever should.
His heart stops, when Xingchen's robes flutter down to a pile at the man's feet. How long did they wander together, and yet this is a sight left completely unseen? He doesn't even have the heart to look away - or, perhaps, he doesn't have the presence of mind to - though his grip slips from Xue Yang's neck, fingers gliding through his hair, instead. He remembers himself just in time to grip tightly, to pull a handful of hair taut in his fist, his own breath coming out in a shuddered release far too late. ]
Xingchen--
[ The word sounds like a plea, though it's impossible to tell if it's a plea to continue, or a plea to stop, and Song Lan at least is convinced it's the latter. But it falls on deaf ears, and a second later the world ceases to turn as he feels Xingchen's forehead against his - the man's face too close now to make out, though the white band takes up most of his vision anyway. His breath catches just a second early, his body anticipating even when his brain couldn't bear to, and then Xingchen's lips are on his.
It is difficult to describe how it feels to kiss someone you've longed for nearly your entire life, even more difficult to describe when you've been punishing yourself for your yearning nearly as long. He felt it like a tingle - a shudder - at first, spreading from his lips down to his finger tips, making his heart quiver in its wake. Then like fire spreading under his skin, making his fingers twitch and twist in Xue Yang's hair, accidentally tugging him closer almost against his will. He hasn't forgotten the other man is there - couldn't possibly forget - the image of him in Xingchen's lap would be burned into his mind forever. But for that brief moment, his existence was one Song Lan could tolerate, if not entirely enjoy.
Purely because the entire world was suddenly so much more tolerable.
The fantasy broke two heart beats later when Song Lan's brain finally managed to catch up to him. When he realised he could feel a breeze under his robes, his sash gone, and--
He grunted softly against Xingchen's mouth as he felt his arousal suddenly and deftly consumed with a wet, tight heat. He didn't need to see what was happening to know it - to know how Xue Yang had quickly discovered the lie behind his protest - the fact that his cock had laid closely protected under cloth to hide the shame that was his own arousal. His moment of blissful unawareness had given the man an easy opening to put his words to the lie, to display and mock his shame.
And it felt so good that it hurt.
His lips parted, sucking in a breath that tasted of nothing but Xingchen, everything very quickly far, far too overwhelming.
He needed to stop. He needed to push them both off. Family. This wasn't family, this was something perverted, something twisted, something dark that Xue Yang had managed to grow in Xingchen's heart and now was corrupting them both. He needed to stop this, he needed to save him, and yet--
And yet, all he could do was tighten his grip, groan at the back of his throat, and part his lips. ]
( he tries to find the places where he ends and song lan begins, but it's to no avail — sensation runs like lightning in the marrow of his bones, every molecule of his body reaching forward to kiss him, too. he's been blind long enough that he can't remember the exact curves of song lan's face, the bend of his cupid's bow like an archery mark saying here, here, here. sight goes but the feelings stay in place, old as any tree in a valley — song lan's goodness always stays stationary, his kindness, his infallible resilience.
and xiao xingchen is supposed to be perfect? he's muddied, stained with tar from the fact of his sins. fruit flies trail him where rotten morals have settled in the compost of his long deceased heart. song lan will always be better than him — braver, stronger.
he thinks maybe song lan has come to the same conclusion, gasping as he does against his mouth. xingchen truly couldn't blame him if he shoved off and chose, for the second time, never to see him again. pulling barely back, blind fingertips touch the height of his cheekbone, trailing the soft skin just beneath his eye. )
My Zichen. ( soft. a little scared. his brows are knit together, a frown set on his mouth. ) Have I offended you? I meant —
( he takes a step forward to envelop him, but jumps a little as his hip knocks the back of xue yang's head. what is he doing kneeling there? xingchen means to find out, soft fingers again sliding against the handsome curve of xue yang's throat, cupping up under his chin as he finds where his mouth connects. long, hard — hot — xingchen releases his own gasp as revelation sets into him, painting his cheeks in a fluster. )
Ah.
( swallowing thickly, he takes a hold of song lan at the root, about as gingerly as anyone has ever handled a cock — with worshipful intent, with a care found in handling flower petals and little else, and gently feeds it further into xue yang's mouth, stroking a thumb carefully over his lips. he ducks his head into song lan's shoulder, nuzzling his layers to the side so he can kiss his skin, inhaling his scent. )
You don't have to do anything. We'll take care of it. ( a shaky breath ) Hate me tomorrow, if you like. But — let me have just tonight, and be content.
[ even now, perhaps especially now, the daozhang are worlds apart from him. they have the luxury to consider things such as morals, perceived fall from grace in xingchen's case or not. xue yang's heart has always been a mass grave, an unspeakable tragedy for it to exist at all. if there is rot in xiao xingchen now, it is only because the decay in xue yang has taken hold, in that much he and song lan are in agreement.
and perhaps this is perverse, perhaps it is some wretched, twisted thing. xue yang would agree with that as well, because he has never known anything truly good. if he enjoys it, if he desires it, if he is able to have it, there must be something wrong. he could never have had xiao xingchen without the loss of the man's eyes, of his only love. he could have no part of song lan either without the death xue yang caused with his own two hands.
to have a single taste of this sweetness, xue yang had to drench all three of them in blood.
and still, he continues to drag them each under, with the relentlessness of someone who knows he cannot be saved, but does not want to go into the dark alone.
when xiao xingchen discovers his little act of rebellion, he lets out a muffled laugh, a low rumble where his lips are wrapped prettily around his prize. then he takes song lan's cock in deeper, down to the base, swallowing as it hits the back of his throat with practiced ease. he pulls back slow, then bobs his head down again— there's a tease in his mind, playful words he would otherwise speak, but.
he knows he's not welcome here, not truly. better to be a means to an end, to give xiao xingchen some small gift in return for all he's taken away. ]
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His heart stops, when Xingchen's robes flutter down to a pile at the man's feet. How long did they wander together, and yet this is a sight left completely unseen? He doesn't even have the heart to look away - or, perhaps, he doesn't have the presence of mind to - though his grip slips from Xue Yang's neck, fingers gliding through his hair, instead. He remembers himself just in time to grip tightly, to pull a handful of hair taut in his fist, his own breath coming out in a shuddered release far too late. ]
Xingchen--
[ The word sounds like a plea, though it's impossible to tell if it's a plea to continue, or a plea to stop, and Song Lan at least is convinced it's the latter. But it falls on deaf ears, and a second later the world ceases to turn as he feels Xingchen's forehead against his - the man's face too close now to make out, though the white band takes up most of his vision anyway. His breath catches just a second early, his body anticipating even when his brain couldn't bear to, and then Xingchen's lips are on his.
It is difficult to describe how it feels to kiss someone you've longed for nearly your entire life, even more difficult to describe when you've been punishing yourself for your yearning nearly as long. He felt it like a tingle - a shudder - at first, spreading from his lips down to his finger tips, making his heart quiver in its wake. Then like fire spreading under his skin, making his fingers twitch and twist in Xue Yang's hair, accidentally tugging him closer almost against his will. He hasn't forgotten the other man is there - couldn't possibly forget - the image of him in Xingchen's lap would be burned into his mind forever. But for that brief moment, his existence was one Song Lan could tolerate, if not entirely enjoy.
Purely because the entire world was suddenly so much more tolerable.
The fantasy broke two heart beats later when Song Lan's brain finally managed to catch up to him. When he realised he could feel a breeze under his robes, his sash gone, and--
He grunted softly against Xingchen's mouth as he felt his arousal suddenly and deftly consumed with a wet, tight heat. He didn't need to see what was happening to know it - to know how Xue Yang had quickly discovered the lie behind his protest - the fact that his cock had laid closely protected under cloth to hide the shame that was his own arousal. His moment of blissful unawareness had given the man an easy opening to put his words to the lie, to display and mock his shame.
And it felt so good that it hurt.
His lips parted, sucking in a breath that tasted of nothing but Xingchen, everything very quickly far, far too overwhelming.
He needed to stop. He needed to push them both off. Family. This wasn't family, this was something perverted, something twisted, something dark that Xue Yang had managed to grow in Xingchen's heart and now was corrupting them both. He needed to stop this, he needed to save him, and yet--
And yet, all he could do was tighten his grip, groan at the back of his throat, and part his lips. ]
no subject
and xiao xingchen is supposed to be perfect? he's muddied, stained with tar from the fact of his sins. fruit flies trail him where rotten morals have settled in the compost of his long deceased heart. song lan will always be better than him — braver, stronger.
he thinks maybe song lan has come to the same conclusion, gasping as he does against his mouth. xingchen truly couldn't blame him if he shoved off and chose, for the second time, never to see him again. pulling barely back, blind fingertips touch the height of his cheekbone, trailing the soft skin just beneath his eye. )
My Zichen. ( soft. a little scared. his brows are knit together, a frown set on his mouth. ) Have I offended you? I meant —
( he takes a step forward to envelop him, but jumps a little as his hip knocks the back of xue yang's head. what is he doing kneeling there? xingchen means to find out, soft fingers again sliding against the handsome curve of xue yang's throat, cupping up under his chin as he finds where his mouth connects. long, hard — hot — xingchen releases his own gasp as revelation sets into him, painting his cheeks in a fluster. )
Ah.
( swallowing thickly, he takes a hold of song lan at the root, about as gingerly as anyone has ever handled a cock — with worshipful intent, with a care found in handling flower petals and little else, and gently feeds it further into xue yang's mouth, stroking a thumb carefully over his lips. he ducks his head into song lan's shoulder, nuzzling his layers to the side so he can kiss his skin, inhaling his scent. )
You don't have to do anything. We'll take care of it. ( a shaky breath ) Hate me tomorrow, if you like. But — let me have just tonight, and be content.
no subject
and perhaps this is perverse, perhaps it is some wretched, twisted thing. xue yang would agree with that as well, because he has never known anything truly good. if he enjoys it, if he desires it, if he is able to have it, there must be something wrong. he could never have had xiao xingchen without the loss of the man's eyes, of his only love. he could have no part of song lan either without the death xue yang caused with his own two hands.
to have a single taste of this sweetness, xue yang had to drench all three of them in blood.
and still, he continues to drag them each under, with the relentlessness of someone who knows he cannot be saved, but does not want to go into the dark alone.
when xiao xingchen discovers his little act of rebellion, he lets out a muffled laugh, a low rumble where his lips are wrapped prettily around his prize. then he takes song lan's cock in deeper, down to the base, swallowing as it hits the back of his throat with practiced ease. he pulls back slow, then bobs his head down again— there's a tease in his mind, playful words he would otherwise speak, but.
he knows he's not welcome here, not truly. better to be a means to an end, to give xiao xingchen some small gift in return for all he's taken away. ]