xiao is so catholic guilt coded like HEAR ME OUT okay he’s lived by such strict rules and discipline his entire life he’s regarded himself as a sinner and literally thinks of himself as the equivalent of bad luck or poison to mortals.
so, when he falls in love with you, when he gets close to you- indulges in whatever desires you’ve sprung from him, there is so much guilt. so many ways his hand tries to recoil from touching you. so many nerves in his body telling his brain to get. away. from. you.
he wants you, he wants you as much as he wants salvation. he knows that salvation, that redemption was never going to be in his cards. so, when the universe mischievously dealt you into his hand, he gripped onto you like you were his last life line. his final Hail Mary, that would somehow bring an end to this miserable existence of his.
you were a double edged sword. a rose so captivating he almost didn’t even feel the prickling thorns tightening around his throat— how could he when your fingers slid up against his chest, splaying his ribcage open wide for all to see. and he was helpless. helpless against this. helpless against you.
suddenly his tainted and stained soul was laid open bare, left to illustrate all the impure thoughts that have crept into his mind about you like a parasite that’s infected every corner of his brain for all to bear witness too and shriek in horror of.
the way you danced in his mind, it was the very embodiment of the devil’s temptation. but how could a devil’s hands feel so soft when they touched him? when they held him, caressed him, loved him in a way no one else had dared to before—
evil had laid its roots in him. all its thorny, spindly roots now festering inside of him. he cannot even think of salvation, he cannot even find it within himself to fight against the way your voice echos in his skull like a never ending drum. he begs, release him. release him from this desire, this sin— he is too weak a man to bear it.
your touch felt like a curse disguised as a blessing. and he couldn’t even blame you. it was him— he was the sinner, because as much as he knew it was wrong, he still leaned into your touch again, and again. he was wrong for enjoying it, for embracing the warmth your touch carried.
he couldn’t take it anymore. he begged, and he begged, the gods to save him. to help him. release him from this sin that buried itself into his soul.
not from the slaughter, no.
but for loving you.
and oh the guilt will cling to him like the stubborn dirt beneath his nails for the way he touched you, for how he tainted every curve of you with his calloused hands. for how his heart beat quickened when he heard your hitched breath as his hands travelled all over you— for how he reveled in glory from the way your body burned against his.
for every kiss he pressed against your skin was another sin against god, an abomination to the order of this world. and yet; he couldn’t stop his tongue from traveling down you, scoping out the most delicious flavors of you as he explored. your earlobe, your collarbone, your ribs, your spine, your hips— all of it now tainted because he dared to love you. because he dare question his own teachings and stray from the path of salvation.
