[SE] the world can wait

RONIN

"Not even to themselves? Perhaps I need to take some lessons from you about how to be a real problem," Ronin says with a soft laugh, reaching out to brush his fingers across Remi's dimpled cheek. "And only kind of a turn on? You could have fooled me," he huffs, though there's a gentle flood of relief to hear as much - he knows he can be intense during Leafchange (and that's putting it mildly) so to hear that his behaviour hasn't tipped the scale from charming into annoying is good to hear.

Only seeming more entertained as Remi responds to his obnoxious slurping with glares and daintiness, as they set their mugs down, Ronin is already shifting to lay back among the blankets, even before the suggestion - nay, the permission - to check his husband for fading injuries. "I insist on it, in fact," he tells his husband, rolling abruptly to reverse their positions in bed. "Call it a first step in making the most of peace as well, yeah?"

With his eyes made all the more blue in the dim light as he retreats beneath the blankets, the Knight begins a very thorough examination of Remi's body. He lets his fingers and the palms of his hands trace familiar musculature and old scars, using his lips to count freckles and lingering in places likely to have been bruised by his possessive grip throughout the previous season.

"You'll let me know if I find a sore spot?" he asks, voice muffled as he peeps up at Remi from beneath the sheets, grinning.

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

REMI

Remi snorts, grinning as his curls brush against the pillow. "I could give you a masterclass at this point," he says, half proud and half exasperated with himself, as if being problematic were a trade he’d once apprenticed in. "Remember when I first got my lion shift?" he prompts with a laugh, raising his brows. "Vai had to throw me in a pit so I wouldn’t tear anyone’s head off. Not very considerate." The memory is sharp but softened with years, and he leans into the touch at his cheek with the kind of affection that hums all the way down his spine.

The eye-roll that follows is dramatic only because it’s meant to balance the obvious truth behind Remi's teasing. "It was more than kind of a turn on, and you know it," he admits with a long-suffering sigh, "but someone has to keep your ego in check heading into Deepfrost."

And then he’s on his back, the breath nudged out of him by warmth and weight and the sudden rearrangement of blankets. His grin tips crooked as he stretches, fingers slipping down the carved lines of Ronin’s side with the lazy reverence of someone who knows this body like home. "Mmm," he sighs, voice dipping low as his husband’s mouth trails its way across familiar territory. The muscle beneath his skin flinches and tightens in places Ronin already knows too well, and Remi’s hands curl into the sheets, resisting the pull to catch and redirect him. His eyes flutter half-lidded, lashes catching the light, and with a breathy, wicked smirk, he mutters, "I’m quite certain you’ll know if you find a spot that requires your attention."

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

RONIN

Thoughts of being considerate and checks to his ego are rapidly vanishing from Ronin's mind, alas, replaced by the warmth of Remi's skin and the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath the Knight's lips. His breath shivers out in response to the hands that strum along his sides, so familiar and yet brand new each and every time. Mouth curling into a sly smile, Ronin disappears beneath the blankets entirely, now, his attention drifting inexorably south.

Gentle hands, this time, linger against the Bastion's hips where Leafchange would have marked them as property, and he punctuates the apology with kisses to those fading bruises. "Am I getting any warmer?" he wonders with a rich laugh, tugging one of the blankets down enough to be able to level a mischievous grin up towards his husband, hair sleep tousled and impossibly messy, eyes softly molten already from the privilege of getting to have his hands all over Remi.

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

REMI

It never gets old, feeling Ronin this way. The shape of him in the dark.

Ronin might grin like a pirate and slurp coffee like a heathen, but there’s nothing crude in the way he worships. Nothing careless in the path his mouth takes down Remi’s body, lips catching against bone and bruise with all the solemnity of a vow. Beneath the blankets, Remi can only catch flickers—shadowed shifts in the fabric, the press of a shoulder here, the slow draw of a hand down his ribs there—but the man moving through those sheets is his in a way that time, war, gods, and children have only ever deepened.

It hits Remi like it always does, soft and sudden as a sucker punch to the ribs, just how much he loves this man. Not just the easy symmetry of Ronin’s face—though he knows every plane and edge of it like scripture—nor even the scars that have claimed swaths of his golden skin, drawn in by blades and monsters and all the times they didn’t think they’d make it through but somehow did. It's everything in him. His laugh. His warmth. His stupidly gentle hands ghosting over places they had once gripped hard enough to leave marks.

Remi’s fingers curl in the blankets again, his back arching as warmth pools between his hips, the breath in his lungs going slow and thick. "You—" he tries, but his voice curls, low and trembling. What he wants to say is you ruin me or I love you or maybe just don’t stop, but all that comes out is a sound that doesn’t need words.

Ronin smells like coffee and bedsheets and stormlight, and when he reappears, his hair is a mess of darkness that Remi wants to tangle his fingers into. And his body, gods—broad and golden and scarred like a story etched in flesh—moves like he was made to cover Remi, to press him down and split him open in the same breath. "Getting warmer," he breathes with a shudder of laughter, seaglass eyes half-lidded and molten now with heat.

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

RONIN

The magic that crackles through his husband's veins is enough to have Ronin's breath catching, Remi's love cascading over him like the swell and break of a rogue wave out at sea, and if his hands pause in their worship, it's only so he can try to come to his senses. At least he's emerged from the blankets, however brief it might be, his smile one that's helplessly and devastatedly in love with the man beneath him.

"I don't know how you ever expect me to be able to concentrate around you," he admits with a soft laugh, leaning in to press his lips against Remi's scar-silvered chest, one arm braced against the bed to keep him from sagging upon the other man entirely - not that he believes either of them would complain about it.

But getting warmer, Remi says, and the Knight is as dilligent in his explorations as he is at any other job he tries his hand at, and so with another brief and parting kiss to the Bastion's sternum, he disappears once again. This time, evidently, he's much more focused in his destination, warm fingers brushing over his husband's hips and his mouth trailing hot, not-quite kisses between Remi's thighs.

One might expect him to pause or tease or otherwise prolong the pleasure they both know is coming (ha), but there's nothing quite like hearing Remi in the throes of ecstasy. And so with a hand curling firm fingers around the base of his cock, Ronin takes him slowly into his mouth, tongue hot and wicked and greedy.

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

REMI

The nerves beneath his skin are already alight, every inch of him strung taut from Ronin’s slow, reverent mapping. By the time the Knight descends again, Remi’s body is nothing but an instrument waiting for the next note. Heat coils tight in his gut, a low tremor of anticipation threading through his muscles.

When Ronin’s hand closes around him, it’s almost a relief; his hips arch up on instinct, need and relief mingling so completely they’re indistinguishable. A sound escapes him that isn’t words so much as it is a plea, a shiver, the slip of his husband’s name on a breath. "Ronin..." Remi's seaglass eyes flutter shut, head tipping back into the furs as his fingers claw lightly at them for anchor.

The other hand, though, can’t stay still. It hovers near where Ronin’s shoulder must be under the sheets, fidgeting, trembling, aching to reach down and thread into dark hair but holding off just long enough to feel the tease of his husband’s tongue curl around him. It’s hot, wet, wicked, and the Bastion’s moan roughens into something low and shaky, his hips rolling once more before he forces himself still.

Every muscle trembles under Ronin’s mouth; every heartbeat thuds louder. The world above the blanket blurs, narrowed to sensation, and in the warmth of his chest there’s that same quiet miracle as always: even here, even now, it’s still Ronin.

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

RONIN

His name from Remi's lips like this is something Ronin will hear whispered in his dreams that night, he's sure of it. Or perhaps he'll be reminded of it while waiting in line at the marketplace, or training in the arena they're going to build, forced to take a break lest the memory drive him to distraction. There's nothing sweeter than the sound of it right now though, and flooded as he is already with every emotion that ripples through his husband, Ronin almost has no choice but to give the Bastion everything they both want.

Forcing himself to relax, he takes Remi deeper into his mouth with every bob of his head, hands slipping beneath his thighs as if to encourage the reluctant rise of his hips. Don't be polite on my account, Ronin purrs into his husband's mind, his voice simultaneously honey sweet and rough with arousal. It wouldn't be the first time either of them has given in to the throes of pleasure, and they've both confessed to thoroughly enjoying it.

Humming around the hard length of his cock, Ronin draws back just enough to swat at the blankets to drag them down, as if unable to continue without seeing the pleasure on the other man's face.

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

REMI

The sound that escapes him in response to Ronin’s voice in his mind is low and raw, closer to a growl than a moan, all heat and no shame. Remi’s hand finds the back of his husband’s head, his fingers threading into the tousled dark curls he loves to tug when Ronin’s mouth is around him like this. The hold is gentle at first, but the longer Ronin stays down, the harder it is to resist the urge to guide him, hips twitching upward in time with each stroke of his tongue.

Then the blankets are dragged down, the air shockingly cool against his flushed skin, and Remi's breath stutters into a hiss. His thighs tense in Ronin’s grip, his back arching faintly, and the contrast only makes everything worse. Or better. It isn’t desperation. Not yet. But gods, it’s getting close.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice thick with pleasure, with warning. The hand in Ronin’s hair tightens, not to pull but to ground himself, to anchor the spiralling tension in his belly before it tips over. "Ronin—" His husband’s name is an exhale of everything that’s burning through him now, each nerve ending lit up like flares beneath that hungry mouth. "If you want to be fucked this morning, you'd better stop now."

And he means it. Because if Ronin keeps going—if he stays greedy and slow and perfect—Remi isn’t sure he’ll be able to do anything but come undone beneath his tongue.

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

RONIN

For a moment Ronin wonders whether he does want to be fucked this morning - and he does, let's not get things twisted - more than he wants to keep hearing Remi serenade him. The fingers that tighten in his hair are both warning and encouragement, and it takes a surprising amount of effort for him to draw back with a final, wicked flick of his tongue against the head of his husband's cock.

"You always have the most wonderful things to say to me," he purrs, voice pitched low and playful, and as he shifts reluctantly up the length of Remi's body, his own arousal will become painfully apparent pinned between them. Still, Ronin moves as slow as the creep of ice along the Northaven during Deepfrost, unhurried in his affections, and when his lips find Remi's his kiss is deep and sweet and passionate, his fingers threading through sleep-tousled curls as if to keep the other man held close.

"Fuck me slow," he mumbles against Remi's lips, though he knows it won't matter what pace they pick - he likely won't last very long this morning.

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

REMI

The effort it takes not to push Ronin’s head back down is written in the curl of Remi’s toes against the furs, a tremor running up his thighs like a held breath. His hand slips instead to the curve of Ronin’s neck, fingers brushing over muscles and scar tissue, then down the broad slope of his shoulder, ghosting down the strong line of his back as his husband crawls back up the length of him.

By the time Ronin reaches his lips, Remi’s hand has already found the hard curve of his ass, a palm cupping and pressing as he returns the kiss with a low, hungry sound that trembles through his chest. His hips shift upward in a slow grind, teasing the friction between them, and the soft flush that spills through him at Ronin’s words is garnet-dark and impossible to hide. He nods, a small, deliberate movement, and his voice is a rasp against the Knight’s mouth. "Turn over."

Helping Ronin ease out of his underwear in the process, Remi slides with him, arranging the Knight against him in as the little spoon’s curve. Moving to tilt their hips just so, they end up half on their sides, half against the mattress, with Remi’s chest pressed warmly to his husband’s back. He bends to press a kiss just below Ronin’s ear, a sound like a promise slipping shakily from his throat as he shifts his hips, lining himself up. His hand slides to the inside of Ronin’s hip, fingers curling there in a silent cue as he pushes forward, slow and steady, easing his cock into the man he’s holding, all while simultaneously pulling Ronin back into him.

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

RONIN

"How could I say no?" Ronin's words are quietly mumbled against Remi's lips, heat flooding his cheeks as the other man's arousal and impatience bleed into him everywhere they touch, throwing fuel on a fire that's already well out of control. Easily manoeuvered under his husband's skilled touch, they move together as if the morning has been choreographed and practiced right down to the last detail. That alone is enough to have Ronin near senseless with want; to be known so completely, so intimately by another person isn't something he'll ever take for granted.

Melting back into Remi's chest, the Knight turns his head just enough to be able to glance at his husband out of the corner of his eye, though he'll be able to feel the thunder of his heartbeat and the flex of his fingers even if he can't see his expression. "I want you," he whispers - an affirmation that feels both entirely unnecessary and not at the same time - before his voice tapers off into a rough moan as the other man's hips slide forward.

Dropping his hand to rest it over Remi's, it's with something close to relief that he lets himself relax, head tipping back against the Bastion's shoulder, lips parting to sip in a soft breath. "You feel even better than you taste," Ronin whispers, the slightest hint of mischief in his voice as his hips grind slowly backward.

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

REMI

Remi grins against Ronin’s shoulder, the curve of it all wicked teeth and aching affection. "You could try," he murmurs, his voice low and thick, "but you know that’d end in something very not slow." A gentle warning and a dare wrapped in silk, laced with the tension he’s barely containing now that he’s buried so deep, now that Ronin is arching into him like he was made for this.

The Knight’s whispered want floods through him like another heartbeat, fierce and bright and impossible to ignore. Remi’s arm tightens beneath Ronin’s neck, curling back to press his palm across the strong slope of his husband’s chest. His other hand holds steady to Ronin’s hip, guiding him back in time with the slow grind of his own body, twisting at the waist to chase deeper friction, fuller pressure, anything that might drag more of those breathless, needy sounds from Ronin’s lips.

When he finally lets go of the Knight’s hip, it’s only to wrap his hand around the base of Ronin’s cock, his palm hot and calloused, the grip steady as his thrusts remain slow—deliberate in a way that dares madness, that makes endurance feel like danger. Bowing his head, Remi presses his mouth to the crest of Ronin’s shoulder, teeth catching softly on skin already kissed red. "Gods, I wish I could fuck you like this all morning," he breathes, the words dragged from his chest like a confession.

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

RONIN

"Oh?" Ronin laughs breathlessly, as if he doesn't know all too well the consequences of playing coy with his husband when they've been winding each other up like this. "Maybe later I'll feel like not slow--" For now though, evidently, this is everything he could want and then some, the Knight's words cutting off into a low moan at a particularly deep thrust of Remi's hips.

It's the sort of sex that shouldn't drive him as wild as it does, but the almost gentle movement of his husband's body has him wanting to plunge tight fingers into Remi's curls or to sink his teeth into the soft column of his throat. It's maddening, more akin to love than fucking, but Ronin finds himself undone by it each and every time. "Why can't you?" he whispers, grinning. "You got - fuck - somewhere you need to be...?"

Then Remi's clever fingers grip his cock and Ronin's hips flinch forward in something close to desperation. "More," he urges, not afraid to beg if it comes to it, not even after all this time.

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

REMI

Remi’s restraint is visible only in the measured roll of his hips; everywhere else it’s spilling out of him in ragged breath against Ronin’s shoulder, fingers flexing hard where they’re splayed across his chest. It takes everything in him not to flip the Knight over and pin him to the mattress, and every slow thrust feels like a wire drawn tighter, about to snap.

Ronin’s question has him sucking in a sharp breath against his husband’s neck. "Gods, no—there’s nowhere," he grits out, voice thick and low. "I just—" his hand presses harder over Ronin’s heart, "I can’t last with how good you feel. And I’m too impatient to wait. I want you to come like this—right here—close." His words dissolve into a groan, the sound trembling through his teeth as his hips roll forward.

When Ronin urges him on, Remi’s control frays. His thighs tremble with each grind of his hips, not from strain but from the sheer intensity of sensation building like a wave just out of reach. The muscles in his stomach tighten, fluttering beneath Ronin’s back with every slick stroke of his hand. Where his chest presses to Ronin’s spine, his heart beats so hard it feels like it might bruise them both, a syncopated rhythm of need he can’t quite control. His lips, parted against the curve of Ronin’s shoulder, shift between kisses and barely-contained groans, as though even his mouth doesn’t know whether to worship or devour. And the lower he sinks into that rhythm—hips bucking in quiet desperation, cock pulsing where it’s buried deep—the more the line between giving and taking disappears entirely.

"Gods, I love you like this," he murmurs against his skin, the words both confession and plea. For all of Leafchange Ronin had been the storm; now, with Deepfrost softening the Knight, Remi is wild with need to be the one wrapping around him and taking.

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