Wei Ying sits on the side of the tub, one leg bent up and the other dangling, as he watches Lan Zhan undress.
"Come here," he commands, though it's not much of a command. He rises to meet his captive, already reaching for his collar so that he can remove it for the bath.
His fingers flick at the discarded clothing, removing all sweat and grime and incinerating it with a clench of his fingers, leaving the clothes fresh and flawless. Power comes so easily to him in this place, though it has such limitations. Resentful energy creates and modifies things at a whim, but he cannot summon either meat or liquor. The taint of resentment lingers on everything he creates, but to taste it evokes a very particular kind of horror. Demonic energy grows his crops and warms his halls, but its applications are relatively few in comparison to the easy, showy resentful energy that built his palace.
He watches as Lan Zhan scrubs himself. He's beautiful, especially with his hair loose like this. Wei Ying wants to touch, so he reaches out and combs his fingers gently through that dark hair, admiring.
This guest room has not been used before, and while it looks very usable, it lacks practical essentials like soap. Wei Wuxian supplies it with another flick of his fingers, and reaches for the slick black gel that he uses as shampoo. It's unsettlingly slimy, but it leaves his hair soft and shining, so he can overlook the eeriness of it. "Wet your hair," he murmurs.
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"Come here," he commands, though it's not much of a command. He rises to meet his captive, already reaching for his collar so that he can remove it for the bath.
His fingers flick at the discarded clothing, removing all sweat and grime and incinerating it with a clench of his fingers, leaving the clothes fresh and flawless. Power comes so easily to him in this place, though it has such limitations. Resentful energy creates and modifies things at a whim, but he cannot summon either meat or liquor. The taint of resentment lingers on everything he creates, but to taste it evokes a very particular kind of horror. Demonic energy grows his crops and warms his halls, but its applications are relatively few in comparison to the easy, showy resentful energy that built his palace.
He watches as Lan Zhan scrubs himself. He's beautiful, especially with his hair loose like this. Wei Ying wants to touch, so he reaches out and combs his fingers gently through that dark hair, admiring.
This guest room has not been used before, and while it looks very usable, it lacks practical essentials like soap. Wei Wuxian supplies it with another flick of his fingers, and reaches for the slick black gel that he uses as shampoo. It's unsettlingly slimy, but it leaves his hair soft and shining, so he can overlook the eeriness of it. "Wet your hair," he murmurs.