maybe this is us for now

RONIN

Ronin runs.

There is no dawn yet, only the vague way that the colours in the forest change without it actually getting any lighter.

And Ronin runs.

He's stripped to the waist and he's already been out in the woods long enough to break a sweat, which is saying something given the levels of endurance between he and Remi by now. Still, it's highly likely that he's running hotter than usual (he's not questioning it) and that probably plays a part. That, and his instincts are on fire to tell him the lay of the land all around; although he's not shifted, when he leaps he clears a fallen tree as though its nothing, hitting the foliage without breaking stride.

Something has ignited with him to feel the leaves whipping across his bare arms, to feel a burning in his lungs and a tension in his limbs that nothing but hard exercise will quench. So he runs, knowing that a monster is hot on his heels. Knowing he's smarter, if not necessarily faster, in this forest.

soft spoken with a broken jaw
we step outside, but not to brawl

REMI

Remi does not run.

Remi stalks.

The closely coupled trees make it feel as if he's running far faster than he actually is, so quickly do the darkened trunks race by. The moss beneath his feet captures most of the sound he might make. Most of the sound Ronin might make as well. But it's the telltale whisper of branches against bare arms, the hushed inhales, the way the forest swells as Ronin leaps over a log that tug at something inside of Remi's stomach, even if his ears don't quite register the noise.

His instincts are heightened, senses on high alert, and gods if the feeling isn't nearly orgasmic. Every fibre of his being is intimately attuned to Ronin's movements, hidden as he is somewhere in the darkened woods. There is an almost repulsive confidence with which the Lullaby tracks his prey husband. He moves with none of the shaky energy that Ronin does, but instead jogs seemingly without hurry. It is easier to chase than be chased afterall. Ronin is doing all the work of picking out a path, Remi merely needs to follow it until it ends.

Who are you? They ask. Death?
Sometimes... I say. But not today

RONIN

Ronin moves with the forest like the beat of his feet against the ground are a match for the pulse of nature, his chest heaving, breath coming in steady pants that fog the air before him. Steam rolls from his form as he moves, the sweat evaporating in the crisp Leafchange pre-dawn, and distantly the sound of the woods drops away to something else. Something more, something that can sense the movements of a predator in spasms of adrenaline that cause gooseflesh to rise on the back of his neck.

With a huff of effort that has every part of him roaring in rebellion, the Star skids to an abrupt stop. He closes his eyes. He Listens.

And when he moves again it's an abrupt change in direction, the huntsman vaulting across a pit undoubtedly used for hunting by the Fae, his pace picking up once more until he finds what he's after. The trickle of water is nothing to the Stonesong in earnest, but this small branch of the river is enough for him to splash through, to trudge up and against the running current, disguising the sound of his movements, his scent, all of it.

soft spoken with a broken jaw
we step outside, but not to brawl

REMI

The beast who stalks the not-luxere through the woods is nothing like the man Ronin knows to be his husband. His teeth are jagged and uneven, his nose flattened with nostrils connected to nasal cavities far better at distinguishing scents. His back remains wingless as if this is a game within which he requires no advantage. No more so than he already has. Beneath curls which are more leonine mane than human hair, there are ears perked forward; he listens, and he calculates.

The splash of feet into the water catches the predator's attention, and though it is a clever tactic in theory, Ronin has not taken the time to cleanse himself of his human sweat and adrenaline fully. From the chest down he might smell now like rainwater and crispness, but the hair around his head still beads sweat and the steam that billows from his dark hair is a map the Lullaby can't help himself but to follow. Rather than splashing through the stream, the Lullaby pauses, cupping a handful of water and bringing it to his lips. No doubt Ronin hadn't given himself the time to drink, but then, that's what made him the hunted.

Picking up a jog again, scenting the brazen smell of fear and success on the breeze, the alchemist makes a calculated guess as to which way his husband is going to go. Arcing around that he might reach the near-luxere's destination without having to travel the same distance, more of Remi begins to unconsciously shift as his anticipation grows.

Who are you? They ask. Death?
Sometimes... I say. But not today

RONIN

It's true that Ronin has none of the experience that his husband does - not just for running, hunting and tuning himself to the instincts of his shift. He's only been attuned to a luxere for barely a year, and never in these circumstances. Still, through the thump of his heartbeat and the burn of muscles still needing more exertion, he's starting to get the idea. Pulling himself from the river, the huntsman breaks once more into a run, throat and chest tight from not having stopped for water.

His clothes are heavier, weighed down by water, and the wind on wet fabric creates an almost glacial cold that helps him to focus, that cools him a few degrees that he might think in reasonably straight lines. But his victory will be short lived, as his feet take him blazing through woods slowly beginning to gain colour as the dawn starts to inject light into the sky.

Unbeknownst to the Star, he's about to run headlong into his husband. And unlike Remi, Ronin is still all human, all flesh and muscle and sweat and blood.

soft spoken with a broken jaw
we step outside, but not to brawl

REMI

Remi's tongue has begun to grow barbs, and though the back of his throat is dry, he's begun to salivate. With a predatorily dark gaze, the Lullaby senses into the woods more than he sees into them. What part of his brain it is that is calculating, correcting, and guiding him forward, he has no idea. All he knows is that there is a seamless connection between what his morphed-nose smells, the tastes on his entirely unhuman tongue, and the sounds which ripple almost undistinguished on the breeze.

His prey is close now.

The part of his mind making him such an expert tracker is also the part blocking out Ronin's face, replacing it with something without dimension. That part of his mind thinks of the Star as an animal to be ravaged, to be torn into with teeth and claws. It excites him, this thought of pressing warm and thundering flesh into the earth, of smelling the irresistible mixture of blood and soil, made bright by the rising sun.

The flash of bare skin, still tanned from a year in Torchline ignites Remi's pace and sets his heart racing. Without sound or vocal warning, the beastly Lullaby races across the woods toward the huntsman. With feelings entirely blended, Remi wanting to feel Ronin beneath him, to press him into the ground but not in the same ways his instincts do, the alchemist lunges. He aims a hand for Ronin's shoulder, wanting to shove him against a tree, or, should the Star try and bolt, to trip him onto the soft mossy ground. Either way, it will hopefully be with clawed hands that he pins Ronin there, digging his claws either into the bark on either side of the Star's shoulders, or into the thick loam.

Who are you? They ask. Death?
Sometimes... I say. But not today

RONIN

His blue eyes flick towards where the beast explodes out of the undergrowth, and he's fast enough to see him coming, but not fast enough to get out of the way. Still, Ronin tries; he lunges forward in a burst of speed that has every nerve ending feeling electric, that has a soft ruff of fur starting to trickle down the back of his neck, before Remi has him. The speed of both men means that they don't just trip and fall - they hit the ground and tumble, the thump of the ground driving the air from Ronin's lungs.

He's still gasping when the Lullaby ends up pinning him, Ronin's back arched, his heart thundering quick enough that he's certain that Remi will hear it as well as feel it in his wedding ring. Something shudders through him, some grotesque mix of disgust at being caught and wanting to do it again, and a soft moan leaves his throat - a throat he exposes willingly to the alchemist quite without realising he's done it. "You got me," he pants, the words barely audible in the morning air.

soft spoken with a broken jaw
we step outside, but not to brawl

REMI

Predators haven't the luxury of recoiling from pain. Not when what might be their next meal is within reach. So even as his shoulder knocks against a tree and his knee juts unhappily against a rock, even as his breath is similarly thrust from his lungs, Remi doesn't relent. That Ronin arches himself upward once they come to a stop is met by the press of Remi's hips as he not so subtly tries to force the Star all the way to the ground. Any amount of resistance is too delicious to resist stomping out, so with his hands on either side of the Star's shoulders, Remi releases the plank he's been more less holding to add pressure against the Star's bare chest as he snarls down at his husband.

At his prey.

Chest heaving, the pain in his knee and shoulder exquisite and bright, Remi's body still surges with adrenaline. For a luxere, this is where it all ends. At having been caught. For a manticore though, this is just the beginning. The release comes only with the letting of blood, with the arrival of death. Like being on the brink of orgasm when someone calls a halt, Remi wavers back and forth between humanity and a primal need that becomes horribly skewed in one direction as Ronin raises his chin, exposing his throat.

Looking down with trembling lips that don't quite hide the rows of teeth behind, Remi breathes shallow and thundering breaths as his eyes wash over the thin layer of skin which covers Ronin's jugular. The blood sings to him, pounding in his ears and sending his own blood rushing south where it adds extra pressure against the Star's futile resistance. He has no words with which to respond to his prey. You got me, Ronin had said. Only...Remi had always known he would.

That wasn't what he wanted.

Who are you? They ask. Death?
Sometimes... I say. But not today

RONIN

There's resistance at this final gambit, as the soldier fights with the luxere. The stag has been felled by the manticore, fair and square, but the Star's soul is more rebellious than that. Ronin can't hide his gasp of sudden pleasure at the friction between them, as Remi drops his weight further, and with eyes suddenly dark and dilated, he gazes up at the Lullaby. He sees it, the predator above him, waiting and considering and choosing the best parts of him to feast upon first.

But he sees his husband too, and there's that surge of lust again that has his hips arcing up off the mossy ground, that has his hand snaking up between them to try and grip hold of the alchemist's chin. "Remi." Ronin's voice is barely beyond a growl, and he nearly says it. He's nearly stupid enough to let the words slip out: what are you waiting for?

Balancing the scales is more important than giving into the beast, though, and so Ronin hedges his bets with words that are no less true, but much less provocative. "I love you."

soft spoken with a broken jaw
we step outside, but not to brawl

REMI

Remi could easily throw off the fingers around his chin, though both he and the Star know it isn't physical strength that Ronin is attempting to tether the beast with now. Though he doesn't say the words, he thinks them loud enough that they scream through his fingertips, nearly scalding the alchemist's tongue. But no, it isn't heat that Remi feels, but blood; having bitten down hard enough to stop whatever words he might have said in response.

The real answer, was that he wasn't waiting for anything. He could kill Ronin easily, and part of him wanted to. Though, to frame it that way is misleading: the manticore in Remi wanted to kill. Never, not in his worst hours, could Remi ever want to kill Ronin. And it was that love that acted as a barrier now. What he was waiting for was a permission which would never come. Remi would slip his spirit from his body and let it die before he allowed himself to hurt the Star.

But gods if the hum of Ronin's pulse wasn't so loud he might be able to think—

—but what was there to think about, really?

Pushing up, momentarily perched astride the Star, Remi leans a hand over his shoulder and roughly tears off his shirt. His claws dig four parallel channels of red into his skin as he does so, the pain helping to distract himself from the siren's song of his husband's racing pulse. Falling forward again, Remi's lips crash against Ronin's in a kiss that can only be described as rough and primal. It is a kiss devoid of love, but only because it's pure passion that fuels the Lullaby's movements. With the hand not wet with his own blood, Remi's claws skip down the length of his husband's chest and stomach where they press beneath the line of his husband's pants.

Who are you? They ask. Death?
Sometimes... I say. But not today

RONIN

In a breathless moment the alchemist has surged up and away from him, leaving parts of Ronin relieved and other parts furious. It's only the removal of his husband's shirt that lets him know Remi has no intention of stopping (or, gods forbid, leaving), and he meets the kiss that comes crashing down onto his lips with equal passion. It's a fight that continues now that the more obvious chase has concluded, all teeth and tongue and an unfair amount of fabric between them.

But Remi reduces that by degrees, leaving Ronin moaning into his mouth as claws sneak beneath his belt line, and his fingers chase up the length of the manticore's back in turn. The fingers of one hand eventually find themselves buried in curls, the other fighting for space between their bodies so he might unbutton Remi's pants. There's a tether between them that promises no (serious) harm, forged out of love and trust. But this isn't about love right now - this is just gratification.

soft spoken with a broken jaw
we step outside, but not to brawl

REMI

What Ronin makes of the fresh blood he'll find beneath his fingers as they trail up Remi's back is of no concern for the Lullaby at this moment. Indeed, Remi's movements are almost frantic in their hastiness, seeking out Ronin's skin as if there is some ticking clock on this moment that must be beaten. What happens when the clock ticks down, is anyone's guess: Does Remi resort back into the monstrous beast, intent on tearing Ronin's throat out? Or does he simply miss the tide which will pull him out to release and relief, freeing him from the flood of desperate desire, and leaving him dissatisfied and restless?

Raising his hips that his husband might unbutton his pants, the Lullaby sighs with a strange sort of relief as his fingers tighten around the base of Ronin's cock. It's the right sort of tether he needs, a way toward a release that doesn't involve disembowelment or blood.

Using his free hand to help remove his own pants, the Lullaby kicks them off, relishing the feeling of the cool moss against his legs, before going to work on removing Ronin's.

Who are you? They ask. Death?
Sometimes... I say. But not today

RONIN

Remi sighs his relief and Ronin hisses in a breath at the fingers that close around him. He's already rock hard, his frustration evident in the arc of his hips and the way his tongue and teeth fight for dominance in their kisses. The alchemist's pants are removed in record time, and Ronin's enthusiasm to join the Lullaby means he's not far behind in that regard. With bloody fingers and a gruff moan tearing from his throat, he drowns in the heat of Remi's skin pressing against his own, blood and sweat mingling arousal with predatory need.

Astride him as his husband is, Ronin's hands glide up the length of Remi's thighs, grasping the firm muscles of his ass as if to urge him on. The huntsman's senses are still attuned sharply to the feel of the ground beneath him, to the way Remi has him pinned, to the sounds of the waking forest and the scent of copper and morning dew. It thrums through him in a way that leaves him drowning in wanton lust, and he bucks against the feel of Remi's hand, desperate for more.

soft spoken with a broken jaw
we step outside, but not to brawl

REMI

Despite how his hips want to fight against it, Remi moves himself off of Ronin to join the huntsman in the soil and the moss. Roughly, though not unkindly (kindness not a thing the alchemist is capable of just now), he shoves Ronin's shoulder forward to force the Star onto his side. Remi's body blankets the huntsman's back as he presses himself against Ronin, the alchemist seeming all the larger as his wings fan out and upward. Curling an arm between Ronin's neck and his shoulder, Remi's fingers splay possessively across his husband's chest, as the Lullaby's other hand moves to adjust his husband's hips.

Mine: It's the resounding chorus of Remi's movements, screamed in different intonations and pitches. With a growl the alchemist presses himself inside of the Star, his feet now padded and clawed, digging into the ground for purchase. One leg he moves  over Ronin's, twisting his foot as if to better leverage Ronin's body to satisfy his own need.

There are no kisses trailed across the huntsman's shoulder, no moans of adoration or love. There is only Remi's half-open lips and the slight press of teeth against the side of Ronin's neck, the alchemist's grunts as his hips begin a rhythm not meant to last long, and the smell of sweat, and fear, and early morning dew.

Who are you? They ask. Death?
Sometimes... I say. But not today