long shadows

are you really going to talk about timing in times like these?

That the abrupt movement of the table against the floorboards has drawn a few looks from the fae lingering in the bar is not something either man will see as their lips crash together. Cupping one hand possessively against the side of Ronin's face and into his hairline, the other paws at the leather over the Huntsman's thigh as if Remi is weighing the ramifications of clawing it off of his husband right here and now. Who would angrier, the fae, or Safrin?

Dizzy with indecision—he could make his husband cum in his pants, he was sure, could demand that everyone leave the bar, could try to make his way outside?—the hand against his husband's cheek shivers as his mind grows saturated with images of hands clasping skin, of Ronin gripping him tightly, of the way his name sounded panted at the height of one of his husband's orgasms.

Nearly ready to climb into Ronin's lap for all the good his thoughts are doing him, Remi's lips and tongue work with growing fervour against his husband's. The looks the pair are granted from the patrons are no longer subtle, with some looking impressed and others annoyed. "The bathroom.." Remi suggests shakily, already concerned about being unable to stand and make it even that far.

remi

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)