even my darkness shines for you
"Ephemerality," Ronin repeats with a delighted raise of his brows that suggests he'd quite like to hear Remi say the word again but with his lips wrapped around his cock (and little does he know, he might have the chance very soon). "We'll judge it afterwards and then decide whether to give it to her," he agrees, his smile running away with him as he tosses the empty tubes of paint back into the basket. They are both artistically inclined enough, he thinks, for their daughter to believe they'd painted a mural, but not if there's a visible ass or balls print on it.
Very content to share his husband's warmth as he presses closer - not to mention to make obvious the arousal that these shenanigans have given rise to - Ronin manages a hissed "don't," before Remi seemingly has no choice but to finish his terrible wordplay, and the Knight groans into the apologetic kiss offered.
Thankfully, the Bastion's tongue is much more skilled than his wit would imply, and Ronin is almost reluctant to part from the other man, even if it's to let him descend between them. He watches through hooded eyes and on a shivery inhale as Remi takes him into his mouth, sunlight beaming against his husband's skin and casting the blues and golds he's painted with in hues that seem entirely different.
Threading his fingers through the back of Remi's curls and bracing his free hand on the Bastion's shoulder, this is not painting by anyone's standards, but Ronin isn't about to let him know.
Very content to share his husband's warmth as he presses closer - not to mention to make obvious the arousal that these shenanigans have given rise to - Ronin manages a hissed "don't," before Remi seemingly has no choice but to finish his terrible wordplay, and the Knight groans into the apologetic kiss offered.
Thankfully, the Bastion's tongue is much more skilled than his wit would imply, and Ronin is almost reluctant to part from the other man, even if it's to let him descend between them. He watches through hooded eyes and on a shivery inhale as Remi takes him into his mouth, sunlight beaming against his husband's skin and casting the blues and golds he's painted with in hues that seem entirely different.
Threading his fingers through the back of Remi's curls and bracing his free hand on the Bastion's shoulder, this is not painting by anyone's standards, but Ronin isn't about to let him know.
the
WHITEKNIGHT
