My Sweetest Downfall [2/3]
anonymous
March 2 2010, 07:52:49 UTC
He braces his hands against his shoulders-he’s so big and strong, now, that the contact sends a jolt through Xue as he does so-and pushes her away, as though to get a clearer look of her.
“You’re not old, Jiejie,” Wen says, simply.
“Then don’t call me ‘Jiejie’,” she retorts, sticking her tongue out at him. “You’re making me feel like an old lady!”
He turns bright red, and averts his gaze. “F-fine.”
“Fine, what?” She prompts him with a sly smile.
“F-fine…X-xue.”
Her name sounds magical, said in his new, mature voice. Deep and gravely, the one syllable unlocks something that Xue had thought she’d long ago sacrificed. Impulsively, she reaches towards him and wraps her arms around his waist.
“Wen, it’s been so long,” she murmurs dreamily, her head against his chest.
“It has.” He cups her face in his hands and pulls her upwards, his prim, cold lips settling down firmly on hers.
The touch takes her breath away. A wave of memories crashes down on Xue’s mind-holding his hand while they ran through Yao’s gardens, combing through his hair in front of her long mirrors, hugging him tightly during a thunderstorm, kissing his forehead the day Arthur came to take him away.
Finally, he pulls away from her, blushing profusely. “I-I’ve been waiting to do that for twenty years,” he says, bashful.
Xue takes a step back, reexamining him. This is her little brother, after all, and she can’t quiet reconcile how she feels about that kiss. But her fingers brush gently across her lips, and her minds sorts through her feelings as her heart struggles to do the same. Finally, she laughs lightly.
“I’ve been around, you know,” she says with a smile, “Why did you have to wait so long?”
Wen looks back at her, and for the briefest second his straight line mouth turns upwards in a smile. And then he grabs her again and kisses her passionately, pouring a lifetime’s worth of emotion into the gesture.
Her knees go weak and she leans against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He places one hand on the small of her back and another runs gently through her long, dark hair.
She pulls away after a moment, smiling coyly at him. “My, my, Wen,” she says with a laugh, “where did you learn to kiss like that?”
He shrugs, pulling off his blazer with the motion. She blushes as he proceeds to unbutton and shed his over-starched shirt. His bare chest gleams in the noonday sun as he advances towards her. She takes a step back, tripping over the long hem of her skirts. He catches her by the wrist and pulls her towards him, kissing her cheek, her throat, her collarbone, all as he pulls her clothes away from her body and reveals the soft, magnolia petal skin underneath.
She allows her skirts to drop the ground as she reaches to undo the clasp of his belt. One of his hands slides up her thigh and caresses her skin, causing her to moan with pleasure. Her fingernails leave marks where they dig into his skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he pulls her down onto the ground. They lie for a moment, still in the freshly-cut grass, and then he reaches for her again. When he sheaths her, she gasps; not because it is unexpected, but because of how natural it feels. She cannot believe they’ve never done this before.
When he lies back, still for the moment, she reaches up to brush the hair gently away from his forehead.
Re: My Sweetest Downfall [3/3]
anonymous
March 2 2010, 07:53:27 UTC
They fall into an easy routine, after that. Every time the Security Council meets, Arthur brings Wen along. He waits for Xue’s signal, and then the two of them sneak away, finding an empty hotel room or a uninhabited couch somewhere to enjoy a few stolen minutes alone. He’s not allowed to go anywhere without Arthur’s permission, at first, but as the years roll by-they seem like days to immortals-his freedom grows closer and closer, and he travels, bringing her flowers and staying for tea.
- - -
Tonight, she is crying. They have met in London once again, and in Wen’s small room, cradled against him under his sheets, she sobs into his shoulder.
“My seat, Wen,” she says through her tears, her voice hitching on a sob, “they just took it away.”
He smoothes down her long, dark hair and gently kisses her brow. “It’s alright,” he says soothingly.
“No, it’s not!” she cries indignantly. “I’m supposed to be China!” Xue beats her hands against his bare chest in frustration.
He tilts his head quizzically. For all that he loves her, he’s never been quite assured that she is China. For his brother Yao remains fresh, and fond, in his memory. He decides silence is probably the best policy.
He reaches down, gently tracing his skilled fingers over the curve of her breasts, travelling down her stomach and finally between her thighs. She sighs, spreading her legs, and he embraces her, hard against the softness of her skin.
Wen is able to distract her for ten minutes, perhaps fifteen. She digs her fingers into his hair and kisses every inch of his face, while his hands continue to gently caress her body. Eventually, however, she pushes him away, gasping for breath.
“What am I supposed to do, now?” she asks him dismally. Suddenly horror clutches her, and she turns frantically to him, eyes wide. “What if they make me go back? What will I do, Wen? I can’t go back to Gege, I just can’t-!” She is sobbing again, tears running hot and fast down her face.
He can’t fathom her emotions, when all he wants is to go back. He cannot understand why anyone would choose to leave Yao, why Xue is so horrified by the prospect of returning. All he can do is catch her face gently in his hands and kiss her lips; she tastes like salt and plums.
- - -
It is their thirtieth anniversary. She has brought him new clothes, Chinese style-a long red tunic lined in black; loose, full pants; and a wrist cuff made of pure jade.
“It’s about time you started acting Chinese again,” she says with a laugh. If she only knew.
Wen follows their normal routine to the letter: the simple but tasty meal of shrimp and rice, the gentle conversation over drinks, the earnest and sensual foreplay on her living room couch.
“I love you,” she says, not for the first time, when he has scooped her up in his arms and taken her into the bedroom. “So, so much.”
“I know,” Wen replies. He has returned her sentiments often enough, but today the world “love” tastes like sawdust on his tongue and he cannot pass it through his lips. Instead, he takes her gently, lifting her skirts and thrusting into her with passion and longing unlike anything she’s ever felt from him before.
“Wen…” she sighs out his name, and on her lips it sounds like a deep, soothing caress.
“Xue,” he responds, gently brushing back her hair as she snuggles close against him. She falls asleep lying against him, her lips turned upwards in a smile. He leaves before she awakes the next morning, gathering up his gifts and shutting the door slowly behind him.
And when she sees, on television, Arthur handing Wen back to Yao with dignity and stiffness, she breaks. Tears stream down her face as she curses him, and his non-existent ancestors, and the elder brother they both share.
“You,” she snarls, looking at Yao’s face through the screen, “you take everything from me.”
Re: My Sweetest Downfall [author's notes]
anonymous
March 2 2010, 07:56:11 UTC
→ I chose Taiwan's name to be "Xue" and Hong Kong's to be "Wen." The "Yen" they mention in the beginning is Vietnam. → The first scene takes place in about the 1960's; after the Chinese Civil War and during Britain's control of Hong Kong. → The second scene refers to 1971, when China's seat on the Security Council reverted to the People's Republic. → The last scene takes place in 1997, when Hong Kong was given back to China after fifty years.
Re: My Sweetest Downfall [author's notes]
anonymous
March 2 2010, 18:36:24 UTC
I really liked the diachronic structure you chose! It's not what one thinks of first when reading the prompt, but it works well. A note: Chinese titles go after the names, so it would be "Yen Jiejie", not "Jiejie Yen".
“You’re not old, Jiejie,” Wen says, simply.
“Then don’t call me ‘Jiejie’,” she retorts, sticking her tongue out at him. “You’re making me feel like an old lady!”
He turns bright red, and averts his gaze. “F-fine.”
“Fine, what?” She prompts him with a sly smile.
“F-fine…X-xue.”
Her name sounds magical, said in his new, mature voice. Deep and gravely, the one syllable unlocks something that Xue had thought she’d long ago sacrificed. Impulsively, she reaches towards him and wraps her arms around his waist.
“Wen, it’s been so long,” she murmurs dreamily, her head against his chest.
“It has.” He cups her face in his hands and pulls her upwards, his prim, cold lips settling down firmly on hers.
The touch takes her breath away. A wave of memories crashes down on Xue’s mind-holding his hand while they ran through Yao’s gardens, combing through his hair in front of her long mirrors, hugging him tightly during a thunderstorm, kissing his forehead the day Arthur came to take him away.
Finally, he pulls away from her, blushing profusely. “I-I’ve been waiting to do that for twenty years,” he says, bashful.
Xue takes a step back, reexamining him. This is her little brother, after all, and she can’t quiet reconcile how she feels about that kiss. But her fingers brush gently across her lips, and her minds sorts through her feelings as her heart struggles to do the same. Finally, she laughs lightly.
“I’ve been around, you know,” she says with a smile, “Why did you have to wait so long?”
Wen looks back at her, and for the briefest second his straight line mouth turns upwards in a smile. And then he grabs her again and kisses her passionately, pouring a lifetime’s worth of emotion into the gesture.
Her knees go weak and she leans against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He places one hand on the small of her back and another runs gently through her long, dark hair.
She pulls away after a moment, smiling coyly at him. “My, my, Wen,” she says with a laugh, “where did you learn to kiss like that?”
He shrugs, pulling off his blazer with the motion. She blushes as he proceeds to unbutton and shed his over-starched shirt. His bare chest gleams in the noonday sun as he advances towards her. She takes a step back, tripping over the long hem of her skirts. He catches her by the wrist and pulls her towards him, kissing her cheek, her throat, her collarbone, all as he pulls her clothes away from her body and reveals the soft, magnolia petal skin underneath.
She allows her skirts to drop the ground as she reaches to undo the clasp of his belt. One of his hands slides up her thigh and caresses her skin, causing her to moan with pleasure. Her fingernails leave marks where they dig into his skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he pulls her down onto the ground. They lie for a moment, still in the freshly-cut grass, and then he reaches for her again. When he sheaths her, she gasps; not because it is unexpected, but because of how natural it feels. She cannot believe they’ve never done this before.
When he lies back, still for the moment, she reaches up to brush the hair gently away from his forehead.
“Wen?”
“Hmmm?”
“I love you, you know.”
“Because I’m your brother?”
“No. Because you’re you.”
- - -
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- - -
Tonight, she is crying. They have met in London once again, and in Wen’s small room, cradled against him under his sheets, she sobs into his shoulder.
“My seat, Wen,” she says through her tears, her voice hitching on a sob, “they just took it away.”
He smoothes down her long, dark hair and gently kisses her brow. “It’s alright,” he says soothingly.
“No, it’s not!” she cries indignantly. “I’m supposed to be China!” Xue beats her hands against his bare chest in frustration.
He tilts his head quizzically. For all that he loves her, he’s never been quite assured that she is China. For his brother Yao remains fresh, and fond, in his memory. He decides silence is probably the best policy.
He reaches down, gently tracing his skilled fingers over the curve of her breasts, travelling down her stomach and finally between her thighs. She sighs, spreading her legs, and he embraces her, hard against the softness of her skin.
Wen is able to distract her for ten minutes, perhaps fifteen. She digs her fingers into his hair and kisses every inch of his face, while his hands continue to gently caress her body. Eventually, however, she pushes him away, gasping for breath.
“What am I supposed to do, now?” she asks him dismally. Suddenly horror clutches her, and she turns frantically to him, eyes wide. “What if they make me go back? What will I do, Wen? I can’t go back to Gege, I just can’t-!” She is sobbing again, tears running hot and fast down her face.
He can’t fathom her emotions, when all he wants is to go back. He cannot understand why anyone would choose to leave Yao, why Xue is so horrified by the prospect of returning. All he can do is catch her face gently in his hands and kiss her lips; she tastes like salt and plums.
- - -
It is their thirtieth anniversary. She has brought him new clothes, Chinese style-a long red tunic lined in black; loose, full pants; and a wrist cuff made of pure jade.
“It’s about time you started acting Chinese again,” she says with a laugh. If she only knew.
Wen follows their normal routine to the letter: the simple but tasty meal of shrimp and rice, the gentle conversation over drinks, the earnest and sensual foreplay on her living room couch.
“I love you,” she says, not for the first time, when he has scooped her up in his arms and taken her into the bedroom. “So, so much.”
“I know,” Wen replies. He has returned her sentiments often enough, but today the world “love” tastes like sawdust on his tongue and he cannot pass it through his lips. Instead, he takes her gently, lifting her skirts and thrusting into her with passion and longing unlike anything she’s ever felt from him before.
“Wen…” she sighs out his name, and on her lips it sounds like a deep, soothing caress.
“Xue,” he responds, gently brushing back her hair as she snuggles close against him. She falls asleep lying against him, her lips turned upwards in a smile. He leaves before she awakes the next morning, gathering up his gifts and shutting the door slowly behind him.
And when she sees, on television, Arthur handing Wen back to Yao with dignity and stiffness, she breaks. Tears stream down her face as she curses him, and his non-existent ancestors, and the elder brother they both share.
“You,” she snarls, looking at Yao’s face through the screen, “you take everything from me.”
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→ The first scene takes place in about the 1960's; after the Chinese Civil War and during Britain's control of Hong Kong.
→ The second scene refers to 1971, when China's seat on the Security Council reverted to the People's Republic.
→ The last scene takes place in 1997, when Hong Kong was given back to China after fifty years.
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THANK YOU THANK YOU
This was so beautifully written, I love this pairing so much oh my god thank youuuu <3
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