xparrot | Sunday Snippet: Guardian

Things are stressful but overall okay here for now. Like everyone we're operating on a "could be worse" basis, and yeah, things could be a lot worse for us.

In a more traditional whine (just like old times!), March is almost over, and I've managed to write every day so far -- my tally last night was a measly 155 words, I've only broken 1,000 twice this month, and it's frustrating as hell (I've done NaNo more than once, for pity's sake!). And there was just a Guardian exchange that I didn't sign up for, in large part because I'm so uncertain about my words now and the particular format of the exchange unduly stressed me out; but I do work better on deadlines, more often than not, and with a recipient to not let down -- responsibility is a good motivator...

...So I'm dealing with the stress and self-doubt by working on fic that I know no one will read -- okay, that's not totally true, my lovely and kind

naye is reading it! But I wouldn't read it, for all I want to write it (it's Shen Wei/other, pre-Kunlun, a prequel to the Dixing pon farr fic that's not even h/c, basically just all angst?)

He's unprepared, when Hei Pao Shi moves--as fast as he would in battle, crossing the last distance between them. He twists Xia Zhi around in one head-spinning motion, grasping his wrist and bending his arm back to pin him in place. The table edge digs into his stomach, and Xia Zhi gulps in a breath, tries to steady his sudden tremor--he came for this; he should have been ready for it.

Though Hei Pao Shi isn't yet pressing against him. His arm isn't even braced, yet Xia Zhi cannot move against it. The hand around Xia Zhi's wrist is sweat-damp but firm, so tight a grip that Xia Zhi's fingers are going numb. Hei Pao Shi's breathing, this close, is a little fast, too shallow, but even.

"This will not be easy," Hei Pao Shi says. His voice is no louder than before, but there is a tension in it now, the sharp and quiet threat of a blade against the throat. "I do not intend to hurt you--but I cannot promise that I won't."

Xia Zhi cannot move--trying to push back, to free his wrist, is as futile as trying to lift a mountain. "And you," Hei Pao Shi continues, "must remember what I will not--you must stay focused, and adamant against me, or it will all be for nothing."

Xia Zhi holds himself still, works up the spit to wet to his dry tongue, to keep his voice from cracking. "I can," he says. "I will."

Hei Pao Shi lets him go.