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between this is always a pleasant song
Grooming is an important part of many species' rituals. It keeps them clean, healthy, and content. And a good bath? It can change the whole tone of a day from terrible to relaxed and blissful.
But nudity is sometimes viewed as a weakness - and it is almost always sexualized - so bathing is often kept a private matter. If you do share these moments with someone, they're almost always a significant other or a sexual partner.
Like you're doing now.
Whether it be after a battle or after sex, after a bad day, or just to get some peace and quiet, the two of you are going to get clean. Be sure to help each other out with that, won't you? After all, there are places on the back that just can't be reached...
it's the intimate bathing meme. you know how this works! feel free to post top levels as you'd like!
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when they used to travel together, xiao xingchen always felt like he could read song lan. it was one of the many little joys between them, their bond so unbelievably strong, so true, that it would just take a sideways glance to have a conversation. he could tell when song lan was feeling uncomfortable, prickly--could step between him and whoever tried to reach out to touch him, no matter who they were, easily insert himself as a protection, a barrier. as a friend. on the mountain, friends had been few and far between, and no one--not before, and certainly not since--could ever fill the void that song lan's departure left. he never tried to fill it or patch it over. he just let it exist, as empty as his eyes.
right now, he can't even begin to parse what song lan is feeling. xiao xingchen isn't even sure if he's allowed to consider it.
(after all, the guilt of xue yang was irreplaceable, unsolvable. the eyes that xiao xingchen gave his best friend wouldn't even begin to make up for what, inevitably, had been his fault. always his fault. this, now, too. )
in this inn room, xiao xingchen's senses pick up on many things. he can hear the soft sound of the water stilling across the room, of song lan's barest motion, the sound of floorboards creaking from across the hall as patrons make their way through the hallway. though he sees nothing, his senses have sharpened, now quite used to the life he's given himself, and he centers himself with them the best he can.
how strange, how normal, this almost feels. xiao xingchen stays still, hands laced on his chest, fingertips tapping against his knuckles, the motion repetitive. it's something to focus on, instead of the boulder he's called his heart since everything came to light. the words lift from his chest; they soften, again, low, like an ember flickering in a dying flame. ]
...Neither do I. [ is what he chooses, the phrasing lamer than he wants. he tries to choose what he says with purpose, but xiao xingchen feels lost. it's not big enough--there's no phrasing that even comes to match where he wants to start. instead, he says: ] Would you bring me my outer robe?
[ a lame excuse. it's a terrible excuse. what is he doing? ]
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He can almost feel the weight of Xingchen’s thoughts. The silence between them is a deep chasm, a sort of stifling miasma that taints any sense of comfort they might find in their reunion. While Song Lan also felt the pain of Xingchen’s loss, he had to recover before his friend’s master would let him leave. And since then he’s been searching, he’s been hoping…
In some moments, it feels like it used to, just the two of them trying to clean up and find comfort in some tatty inn with tasteless food and watered-down tea. But he sensed snippets of guilt, his own and Xiao Xingchen’s. There is so much to be said and yet, neither want to broach the subject.
After brushing the creases from Xingchen’s robe, Song Lan finally pads toward the bath. He slips beyond the screen, catching only a glimpse of pale skin dotted with sweat and water before he politely looks away. He knows Xingchen can’t be finished, it hasn’t been long enough. The water is still steaming. ))
Xingchen.
(( The word is soft, reverent as a prayer. He wants to say more than I’ve brought your robe, but his throat feels tight and dry and his voice small. After a moment, he finally manages to start again. ))
Xingchen… I am sorry.
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it sticks in xiao xingchen's ribs more than any sword ever could, twists barbed wire around his heart and gives a squeeze. not because xiao xingchen won't accept it, but more so because it's stunning. zichen is sorry? zichen?
he might have guessed for anger, festering and old. fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice? shame on xiao xingchen, who is, as far as he's concerned, an idiot. how he let xue yang trick him for so long is frustrating and upsetting, and the thoughts of the kindnesses that he showed someone who ruined so many things make him ache with regrets and an anger he doesn't often feel. song lan had every right to be angry with him then, and xiao xingchen has done nothing but betray him again.
and he's sorry?
a strange, not quite huff of a laugh escapes him. it's more incredulous than anything, and even half submerged, he sits up, the water rippling with the movement as his hands grab for the edge of the tub. ] What-- [ he starts, too, and sounds wrung out, breathless and incredulous (and a part of him, so fond, so unbelievably fond, his song lan so kind and caring and - ) ] --what could you possibly have to be sorry for?
[ he can hear song lan close to him, the shifting of the floor under his feet. xiao xingchen can't see, but his senses are as clear and sharp as they've ever been, and his head tilts upwards towards where song lan is standing, to bring his face up like he could see if he tried hard enough. ] If there was anything - you reacted no differently than anyone should have, Zichen, there's nothing you should have to apologize for.
[ there's some intensity to the statement, a passion xiao xingchen exhibits most often when talking about the sect he wanted to build, his place of love and acceptance away from the politics of the rest of the cultivation world. he used to talk like the stars themselves could hear him, his clever hands moving with his vision for the future, with song lan, for hours and hours, in those simpler times.
the passion of it fades, though, and xiao xingchen's face turns back towards the water, away from song lan again, as the pinprick of a reminder comes through. guilt seeps in more than the hot water can wash away. he deflates. it's not quite visible, just a tenseness in his neck, his shoulders. ] ...I'm the one who should be apologizing.
[ even that feels flat. it's not enough. little gestures, little words, none of those make up for the chasm of feelings that xiao xingchen had long stopped trying to cross (because if he loved song lan, if he really, truly, loved him, then he had to respect the fact that he never wanted to see him again.)
the words come tumbling out anyway, and xiao xingchen's hands curl tight on the rim of the bathing barrel, squeezing against oak until he's white knuckled. ] I--with everything I have, Zichen. It makes up for nothing, but I-- I'm so, so sorry. You don't have to stay, if you don't want to.
[ xiao xingchen would never blame him, if he left. he didn't then. he wouldn't now. ]
Sorry this is so short :C
Some unnamed emotion surged up from his chest, bubbling over in its steadfast refusal to be ignored. It prompts Song Lan to reach out, for his shaking hands to drop the robe in favor of grasping Xingchen’s hands. He makes no move to pry them from the basin’s edge, but merely to touch, to reassure. ))
Xiao Xingchen,
(( His voice is low and severe, but breathless. ))
Now, as ever, I choose to beat your side. There is no other place for me in this world. Only with you.
omg no need to apologize... i told you i write novels don't feel like you gotta match ;__; <3
any sort of severity in his tone is only enough to shake xiao xingchen out of what was becoming a terrible, tight spiral of guilt. he's always been a bit cerebral, the type of person to reflect and think on his actions--as a true daozhang should be--and the paths those thoughts take him down are dark, twisted, and have no end in sight. words like could have and should have are inevitably useless, but he thinks them anyway, so frustrated with his own behaviors, his own stupidity.
but (and it's like things are normal again), song lan pulls him out of it again. his fingers are familiar, callouses he knows as well as he knows his own, from holding fuxue, from once or twice where he dared to let them touch, where they passed weapons or food or locked hands in spars that went from graceful to childish rolling around in the dirt. though he can't see, he turns his head towards it anyway, as if he could visualize, and instinctually, xiao xingchen's grip loosens, and he lets go of a breath he didn't know he was holding.
it comes out in a huff, not quite hysterical, but certainly surprised, almost a laugh. it's still hard to believe this is real, and song lan isn't making it any less unbelievable. the feelings well up in his chest, dangerous, full, threatening to overflow, and xiao xingchen takes a breath to gently push the tide back. he speaks up, soft, almost unsure in contrast to song lan's determination. ] Zichen...
[ it doesn't work; the wound at his eyes leaks, and he turns his head away, abruptly, moving to cover it the best he can. (it's futile. he is in fact, completely naked in this bathtub, something he has yet to properly consider. xiao xingchen is having a moment, here, and none of it is very thoughtful, or composed, or entirely daozhang like.) xiao xingchen huffs again, only frees one hand to reach up and put the heel of it underneath the silk bandage at his eyes, rubbing away a thin streak of red. ] ...I'm sorry. I keep apologizing, and I'm sorry for that too--I think I must be losing it.
[ i choose to be at your side. the words echo again, and he gives song lan a smile, lips quirked at the corners. it's small and unsure, not so serene. a gentle breeze, scattered. ] Please excuse this behavior...I don't think I ever imagined you saying that in my wildest dreams, after --
[ he inhales. ] --After. [ and just lets the sentence finish their, in its finality. the fingers of his hand still covered by song lan's flex, softly, but it's not rejecting. in fact, he only loosens them to turn his hand upwards, the gesture so tender and soft, slowly opening his fingers, palm holding song lan's gently now in his own.
song lan is trembling. he can feel it, and xiao xingchen's heart aches for him. ] I didn't dare to ask for your forgiveness, let alone your company.
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Song Zichen took that time for granted, he knows that now. All those sleepless nights spent talking, tired mornings that saw them out on the road despite spending the whole night awake. There always seemed to be time. Later, in the future, tomorrow.
And then the future was gone. Tomorrow came and went, over and over again for three long years while Song Lan searched the land for his lost friend. Every day he mourned, he regretted the poisoned words he spat, and he hoped— oh, above all else, he hoped. He hoped to reclaim even some small piece of the past, to catch one last glimpse of his soulmate, to apologize for a moment of flared passion and pain.
But now they’re together again, Xiao Xingchen’s hand warm and alive beneath his. Not a ghost of a memory from a time that seemed an eternity ago. Real. Tears sting his eyes and he blinks quickly, dispelling them silently over his cheeks. ))
There is nothing to forgive.
(( His fingers curl around Xiao Xingchen’s in kind, gently squeezing. ))
There is nothing to forgive between us. Not now. Not ever.
(( He almost laughs when he realizes how ridiculous this emotional scene must look. It takes him but a moment to compose himself and he adds, ))
Xingchen, you’re still filthy.
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well, it doesn't matter. at this moment, xue yang is just an echo of the past, a ghost that will follow at their heels until all is said and done. inevitably they'll face him, and xiao xingchen won't be fooled again. not this time--not with song lan at his side. inevitably, they'll face him together.
xiao xingchen won't let song lan go again, and though he'll do so silently, he will earnestly, fullheartedly, give himself over to try and fix what he'd broken. if faced with the same question--his master looking at him near expressionless, "is this truly what you want, xiao xingchen?--he would answer "yes", a hundred times over. his sight was a small sacrifice. for his best friend, his other half, the most important and good person he's ever met, xiao xingchen would do anything.
slowly, the regret and guilt twisted up in his chest loosens, uncurling and leaving him feeling warm all over. he's unable to see song lan, can't pick up on if he's crying or not, but he's not much better--blood leaks from the old wounds at his eyelids, red tracing tracks down his face. it's an odd, unfortunate picture, but his mouth is curled up at the corners in a soft, unsteady smile as he uses song lan's grip against his hand to bring him home.
...however, his comment brings him back to reality, too, as their situation comes to light. he is in fact, still sitting in this bathtub, completely unclothed, crying tears of blood as he finally gets the chance to apologize to song lan. reaching up with his free hand, he touches his own cheeks; his fingertips come away wet.
he laughs. it's soft, a huff of a thing, a little hysterical, as he turns his head back towards where he knows song lan is. he looks a bit helpless with it, but the lightness of the moment after all that gravity is nice, and xiao xingchen can't stop the smile on his face from growing more. his shoulders shake, and then he's laughing, softly, but still there, enough that xiao xingchen's politeness takes over and he muffles it gently with that same, slightly bloodied hand, curling against his mouth. this is ridiculous. this is completely and utterly ridiculous. if song lan won't laugh, then xiao xingchen will, and be thankful for little mercies like being allowed to feel mirth. ] ...I am, aren't I? On that, I'll trust your judgement.
[ as he always has; that goes unsaid. ]
another shorty bc I'm tired
His hands tremble subtly. He swallows hard as he lays Xingchen’s arm back on the edge of the bath basin. ))
Is this alright?
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maybe it's because xiao xingchen's been lonely, or maybe he's over emotional, or maybe his senses are just too strong, but even just the touch of song lan's fingertips sends a jolt of electricity down his arm. even the nubs of the cloth give him goosebumps.
he's supposed to respond. he does, a little breathlessly. ] Yes--yes. [ that's more than fine. this is beyond fine. this is stepping right back into uncharted territory, where they left off, before xue yang and baixue, to starlit nights and the promises of a sect (a home) created together. the implication, that they'd run it together, that they would cultivate-- well, that they'd cultivate together, like they'd always been.
he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, in a soft whoosh of air. ] ...Thank you, Zichen. [ and xiao xingchen shifts, just a little, leaning backwards, and tipping his chin up, baring a little more skin, his dark hair shifting away and towards the water itself. don't stop, it says, because he's too much of a coward to say so. ]
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Now that apologies have been made and forgiveness granted… Well, the can never undo what’s been done, but they can move on from it. They’ve patched the wound and, with time, it will heal. But even so, it’s so easy to return to the halcyon days, to the breathless late-night musings, to dancing around the unspoken something that sparks in their air between them and leaves Song Lan feeling as if lightning struck the spot.
That why his hands shake and his breath stutters. A soft shuffle of robes accompanies his movement around the tub to settle behind Xingchen. Once more the cloth dips into the water, this time with a brush of long hair and the sleeve of a robe lightly against Xingchen’s exposed skin. Then the wet cloth moves across the back of his neck and shoulders. Slowly, gently. As if too much pressure would shatter the man in the bath. ))
I have missed you.
(( It’s barely more than a whisper. ))
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almost immediately, goosebumps crawl down his spine. the silk of his sleeve is an overdrive of sensation, and song lan's hair, and--
xiao xingchen reaches upwards, moving to pull his dark hair properly over his shoulders and out of song lan's way. he exhales, his shoulders drooping underneath the care of his touch. maybe he shouldn't be listening so much to song lan behind him: if his heart keeps beating this fast against his chest he might sooner drown him out. he's talking himself back into rational thoughts here. (song lan isn't the only one feeling like he's been struck by lightning. xiao xingchen can taste it in the air, the faint burnt feeling of something more powerful than he's ready to put to words.)
slowly, his head dips forward. the faint touch feels nice; xiao xingchen tries to focus on that instead of every other haywire emotion thundering in his bloodstream, playing a tune on his ribcage. he listens instead for the sound of song lan's breathing, to try and link them together, to find a state beyond teetering over the edge of a cliff of something.
as he counts (inhale, and exhale) he doesn't hear a breath. he hears i have missed you, instead, and something in xiao xingchen snaps.
he turns his head, the best he can, even though he can't see him, and blurts-- ] Join me. [ in a way that completely escapes any sense of logic or propriety, a sudden burst of intense emotion actualized. instead of letting this simmer, it's taking the bridge that's been thrown across the chasm between them in a running leap, because xiao xingchen's already ruined this once. what is the worst that could possibly happen?
(admittedly, the moment it comes out of his mouth, his cheeks color. it has nothing to do with the heat of the water, and everything to do with he just said that out loud.
none the less, he stands by it, mouth opening to say something again and then closing, stubborn in the admittance and refusing to back down, even if it was impulsive.) ]
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It wasn’t until after Xingchen was gone that Song Lan realized those feelings he held for the other man were more than just affection. Only after the hole formed in hi life where Xiao Xingchen used to be did he realize the depth of his love. Yes, he had always considered Xingchen a fated friend, but then he realized soulmate was the apt word.
The seconds stretch long and still Song Lan hasn’t moved. His heart beats hard, swift as a rabbit’s, and he finally remembers to breathe. Very carefully, he lays the washcloth over the lip of the bath basin. It isn’t like either of them to speak needlessly and so Zichen can only take the invitation at face value. When has Xingchen ever spoken words he did not mean?
The soft rustle of fabric lasts longer this time as layer after layer of robes are loosed and slide free. The dark outermost layer, the dark robe, the white underrobe, and finally he stands in naught but undergarments, face flushed as if he were already in the hot water. A deep breath begins the final question: ))
Are you certain?
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this is neither of those things. so, no, xiao xingchen certainly does not regret his suggestion. he's startled at himself in a passing sort of way for saying it so suddenly, and certainly embarrassed--his ears have started to turn red now to add to his cheeks, and the flush blotching cutely down his neck--but he doesn't regret it.
listening to the sound of him taking off his clothes (song lan is taking off his clothes, this should not be exciting considering the fact that they've shared beds in inns together millions of times but in that same detached way it is), xiao xingchen gently pushes himself forward in the bath. they're both grown, though xiao xingchen knows he's more delicate than his friend, and it won't be an easy fit, but that doesn't -- there's nothing wrong with that, either.
he feels... odd. not bad. just a bit..off-kilter. his world's gone topsy turvy in the past few days, and this is the first piece of genuinely warm, positive (confusing?) emotion it feels like he's had in ages. xiao xingchen's heart is hammering and he ends up ducking his head, finding a piece of his own hair with his fingers to give him something to fiddle with while he's trying not to chicken out and change his mind at the last second. back turned to him again, he's left plenty of space for song lan to join him. ] ...If you are.
[ he's always checking his boundaries. he used to know them better--he knew song lan's familiarity with his touch was a special thing, and could always tell when to linger and when not to, but it's been years and this is a special thing in and of it's own right. this is a whole lot of touching, bathing or not. so he'll check in one last time, too. he might vibrate out of this plane of existence after all at this rate. no backing down now.
(he wonders if song lan is as embarrassed as he is. what his expression looks like right now. it would be nice to be able to see.) ]
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I am.
(( His eyes are fixed on Xingchen, moving over his pale skin and following the droplets of water that trickle back into the bath. Just beneath the water he can discern the rest of his torso and the way he folds is legs to make room for another grown man. The sight is enough to leave him breathless while sending a pang of arousal jolting through his body.
Zichen swallows hard and discards the last of his undergarments, and climbs carefully into the bath. Water sloshes over the side as he sinks in with a quiet sigh. It’s still hot enough to steam and turn the skin it touches a pale pink. Once he settles, he reaches out gingerly the ghost his fingers along Xingchen’s spine )).
Turn around.
(( The words are barely more than a breathless whisper. But then he adds, ))
It will be more comfortable if you sit astride me.
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it's selfish, but he really does wish he could see. he wishes he could read song lan's expression, instead of just his tone, his movements. he's left anticipating, not quite breath held, but focusing in on the water moving and the sudden presence of a body, behind him. song lan's sigh, separated from the splashing of the water. that's that--this is just the true closeness of two friends, isn't it? it's completely normal. if you had told xiao xingchen many years ago this was happening, he might have laughed. (or, he might not have been all that surprised: they were, after all, the most intimate of friends.)
the fingers down his spine feel like they leave ripples of their own, some kind of spiritual energy; the hair on the back of his neck stands up, and xiao xingchen's entire attention is focused on the pads of song lan's fingertips. to turn around is crossing a completely different border of "intimate friend", and while he's never once been tempted by any sort of worldly desire, this is -- something on an entirely different level. his hands pause where they had been toying with his hair, and there's a beat of silence. ]
--Alright. [ he breathes out in response, nodding to steel himself as much as to agree with the notion. song lan does make a good point, and there's zero resistance to the idea of being closer (not to mention, sitting like this, it must be cramped; song lan's legs are awfully long.)
alright. alright!! this is happening. carefully, xiao xingchen pushes himself up to his knees; the water catches in his long hair and weighs it down, covering his back from view save for the pale crescents visible at his shoulders. it's a bit of awkward manuevering, as his hand slides across the inside of the barrel to make sure he doesn't disrupt song lan too much. all in all, it's not a graceful process for someone who has always been completely graceful, and finally, he stops touching oak and his hand finds song lan's arm instead.
familiar. his skin's warm, soft. xiao xingchen's fingers curl, and as carefully as he can in the small space, he uses song lan's arm to push himself upwards better. still, even with good hearing--these finely cultivated senses--he could probably use a little help, and he offers song lan a small, sheepish smile from where he's facing him at least. ] I'll make no promises to not send us both crashing to the ground.
[ it's almost a tease, a gentle rib at himself. xiao xingchen gives a small squeeze to song lan's bicep, a wordless if you wouldn't mind helping, because he doesn't need to say such things out loud. ]
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This is truly the sort of person one would imagine to be near the immortal Baoshan Sanren: ethereal, otherworldly, a man who looks as if he may have descended from the Heavens. That’s when his heart stutters and his pulse quickens. Warmth that has nothing to do with the bath fills his chest, spreading over his skin, and forming a churning knot low in his belly. Zichen reaches out gingerly to lay his hands on Xiao Xingchen’s waist beneath the water to better guide him. ))
I trust you implicitly.
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at this very moment, he's understanding every maxim about temptation and want. but this sort of thing is paired with what has to be love. xiao xingchen knows of that for sure (on his own end anyway.) he'll do his best to try and focus on finding some normalcy and enjoy the little things about this instead of going absolutely, completely bonkers over how it feels like every point of contact between them has been electrified.
focus on things like song lan's voice. he thought he'd never hear it again, let alone saying such kind things, and it brings a smile to xiao xingchen's face again, ducking his head gently at the admission as almost bashful. a part of him that still hurts replies you shouldn't, but he keeps those self-depreciating thoughts off to the side and instead says, softly- ] And I you.
[ it's implying a little more when song lan's hands touch his waist, maybe, but xiao xingchen doesn't say anything to prove otherwise. his hands feel nice and familiar, and carefully, using this steadying force, he puts his other hand against the rim of the tub and settles, unfolding his legs to sit in his lap.
it's definitely a new feeling, but there's absolutely nothing bad about it. the water's warm on his exhausted muscles, and zichen's body is solid and warm too, familiar. the hand still resting on his arm drifts upwards, up the length of song lan's bicep, until his fingers spread out against his shoulder, curling tips against the supple skin and muscle, using it to ground himself.
the other comes up to tuck a lock of his own hair behind his own ear. he's a little embarrassed. ] ...there.
[ i want to kiss you, he thinks, for not the first, second, third, hundredth time. xiao xingchen won't say it, even like this, even when it's close. ] ...perhaps this was a bit silly. [ with a small huff of a laugh--it's sweet and teasing, almost breathless with the bubbly warmth of it all. happier thoughts, like this situation they've found themselves in. it's hard to feel too awkward with someone who might as well be the other half of your soul.
he hopes, vaguely, that zichen can't hear how hard his heart is beating. or feel it, with how tightly they've become pressed together. xiao xingchen certainly feels it. ]
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Zichen knows this, has always known it since they day they became friends. Hearing it now, in this context, it takes his breath away. As does every brush of wet fingertips against his arm. He’s hyperaware of the other man’s thighs against his, his own hand on the gentle curve of his hip. Individually, all of these touches are nothing extraordinary, but together, combined with the heat of the bath and the small space… Well, Zichen can’t help the way it makes his pulse speed up.
Once Xingchen settles, there’s a span of silence— awkward, yes, but also filled with possibility. Every what-if he’s ever thought could fill that silence. What if I kiss him? What if I tell him? What-if, what-if, what-if. What if it ruins everything? Always the final question and the one that holds him at bay.
Finally, Xingchen’s voice breaks the quiet too full of steam and Song Lan huffs out a breath of a laugh. He cants his head, eyes following the way either water or sweat rolls down Xingchen’s throat. In his cultivation robes, he’s ethereal, untouchable. But like this, he’s simply a man like any other— except that he’s the man Song Lan has and always will consider his soulmate.
At length, he reaches a hand up to brush the backs of his fingers lightly against Xingchen’s cheek. ))
Perhaps not.
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xiao xingchen can't see song lan's expression, but he can feel him watching him. a part of him wants to shy away out of embarrassment, almost unused to the attention, but it's song lan and xiao xingchen trusts him beyond all belief, beyond anything. the fact that he returns the favor (still, even after--even after this) that they're still here, together, maybe even closer than they've ever been, is still beyond his wildest dreams. he shifts, hyperaware of the touch of their skin together, the slide that comes when he moves even the tiniest bit, and when song lan reaches to touch him, he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
it's so soft it gives him goosebumps. so tender, xiao xingchen melts.
his smile lifts, more and more, eyebrows knitting together until his expression, even blind, is sappy and warm, as soft as soft can be. xiao xingchen has never been the type to hide his warmth or kindness, and here is no different. he tilts his head into song lan's gentle fingers, and the palm of his hand rises, sliding up song lan's warm wrist, to wrap around the outside of his hand, and he squeezes, softly, reassurance. whether it's for himself or zichen is yet to be seen. ]
Perhaps not. [ xiao xingchen repeats, softly, just loud enough to be heard in the quiet of this inn room, where they might have finally found a bit of peace. he is so lucky, to be here, with song lan, to be safe. as a pair of consistent travelers, xiao xingchen's best home was always by this person's side.
he turns his face and summons his bravery. cheeks warmed by the heat of the bath and his own, softly flustered intentions, he tilts his head towards the fingers against his cheek--now brushing his mouth--and presses the softest, most featherlight kiss to his knuckles. his voice drops again, nearly hesitant. ] Zichen...perhaps not.
[ a repeat, there, hollow compared to what he wants to say. how does he quantify how he feels about song zichen? after this, this great and beautiful kindness, his forgiveness, his care, the tenderness in his touch. it's too big for his chest. is this how his shijie felt, coming down from the mountain and falling head over heels, enough to have a family? nothing about this closeness is really that silly (aside from the fact that they're both too big for this tub.)
never once has xiao xingchen regretted his decision, and this--this is the kind of (great, big, perfect, heavenly) thing is worth facing tragedy for. ]
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He lifts his free hand from the water, trailing his fingers lightly, oh-so-lightly, up the length of Xingchen’s arm. Fingertips brush over the mixture of water and sweat dampening his skin, imagining what it might be like to taste. Up, up, over his forearm, along the firm curve of his bicep, to the sharp turn of his shoulder. Slowly, gently exploring the continent of his skin. Oh, how he could spend his life traveling the length of Xingchen’s body night after night. Mapping out the terrain like some adventurer.
But Song Lan doesn’t stop there. Those tender fingers continue along, following the line of his collar bone inward, where he presses his hand over the center of his dearest companion’s chest, splaying his fingers over soft, wet skin. He shifts slightly beneath Xingchen, doing his best to ignore the heat pooling low in his belly, bringing a certain part of him to life. He shifts to lean in, closing the slight distance between them to brush his lips against the corner of Xingchen’s mouth. ))
24 comments later................................ the kiss icon
and though he'd tried to move on -- for song lan's sake, because he would have understood intimately if his closest, dearest friend hated his guts, because xiao xingchen hated his own guts just a little for the horrible things song lan was put through -- he couldn't. a bright moon shining lonely in a sky that used to be filled with stars.
but here, they have a second chance. suddenly (even if they're on the run, it's no different than before) - suddenly he and zichen have each other again, like nothing and everything has changed all at once. for the first time in a while, xiao xingchen feels an utter, complete clarity.
his heartbeat ratchets up when song lan's fingers touch his skin. goosebumps rise underneath his fingertips, and he exhales, soft, shaky, keeps his hand curled against song lan's other, still pressed to his cheek. xiao xingchen rises with him just a little, the oxygen filling his lungs as he seems to follow his fingers, then back out again. he thinks, please, more when he stops, tries to visualize, imagine his expression, cool and smooth, light in his eyes, and his fingers curl tighter against song lan's when his mouth just brushes the corner of his. it leaves behind a spark.
xiao xingchen has wasted enough time. his chest heaves with the force of the breath he sucks in, heart aching, and his other arm comes off of the rim of the tub to grab for song lan's cheek. he misses the perfect angle, just a little too high so his fingertips brush his brow, but ever quick to adjust, xiao xingchen moves to cup his cheek properly, and just like that, the dam breaks.
he turns his head to the side, and for the first time, for something that feels so much like finally xiao xingchen kisses song lan, and wraps his fingers around his other hand to squeeze, and tight. to say, i'm here. to say, you're here.
to say, i love you, i love you, i love you. ]