long shadows

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

The satisfaction that comes simply from being filled is a feeling that Remi has no name for. It's puzzle pieces slipped frictionlessly into place, a key that perfectly coaxes the tumblers of a lock, ice that cracks flawlessly out of a tray, but for all the flowery words in the world, there is just something about being fucked when it's exactly what you want.

Parting his lips to expel a gasp, Remi feels his ribcage expanding as if he's about to take flight. "Gods, Ronin." He mumbles, clenching his toes together. Wanting the Huntsman to both go slow and fast, Remi grips the casing around the mirror with happily frustrated fingers. There is an urgency that necessarily comes from fooling around in a bathroom, and now it rises like a hiccup in the back of the alchemist's throat as he shifts his hips forward and back to try and tease out a moan from the man behind him. "They'll be picturing us out there." He whispers menacingly. "Wondering who's fucking who. Or perhaps...dopo avermi visto entrare qui da solo, penseranno che mi sto toccando pensando a te?" Remi whispers, the meaning lost in the musical elegance of the travelling tongue.

remi

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)