the baffled king composing hallelujah
As Remi's hips arch up, Ronin's hand moves to grasp against his husband's forearm, fighting to find purchase lest he be fucked all the way off the sleigh accidentally. (Which would be hilarious, and would make for one hell of an anecdote, but still).
"More," he hisses into the cold night, his head tipping back and his hips rolling in a rhythm that's absolutely unsustainable. Already, with his breath clouding the air and his fingertips going numb, it feels like a rush towards the finish line.
"Gods, fuck me," he almost begs, feeling something akin to euphoria mounting in the base of his spine and the back of his throat, as if the pleasure he feels now is nothing compared to what Remi might wring out of him if he puts his mind (and body) to it.
"More," he hisses into the cold night, his head tipping back and his hips rolling in a rhythm that's absolutely unsustainable. Already, with his breath clouding the air and his fingertips going numb, it feels like a rush towards the finish line.
"Gods, fuck me," he almost begs, feeling something akin to euphoria mounting in the base of his spine and the back of his throat, as if the pleasure he feels now is nothing compared to what Remi might wring out of him if he puts his mind (and body) to it.
