the things we hold are always the first to go
"I don't think so. A day or two before, probably, but never this long," Ronin murmurs, pressing himself both into and away from the heels of Remi's questing hands, humming his delight at the attention. As it's suggested that he knock on wood, though, of course he reaches between them where the most obvious wood is available for knocking. (Gently, of course, he isn't a monster).
Groaning as he's forced to sit up, his dark hair impossibly tousled from days of bedhead, Ronin stifles a wide yawn behind his hand and thanks himself(?) for the coffee he's passed. Dismissing the projection with a pulse of willpower, he makes himself comfortable in the mess of covers and closes his eyes to savour a very well earned drink.
"I want to fuck you," he admits, the words murmured over the rim of his coffee mug. "And then maybe I want to talk about it. But I'm not sure I'm capable of either until I finish this." He smirks.
Groaning as he's forced to sit up, his dark hair impossibly tousled from days of bedhead, Ronin stifles a wide yawn behind his hand and thanks himself(?) for the coffee he's passed. Dismissing the projection with a pulse of willpower, he makes himself comfortable in the mess of covers and closes his eyes to savour a very well earned drink.
"I want to fuck you," he admits, the words murmured over the rim of his coffee mug. "And then maybe I want to talk about it. But I'm not sure I'm capable of either until I finish this." He smirks.
