[SE] no whisk, no reward

Now the ashes of tomorrow sing your sad song

Remi doesn't resist as Ronin takes the coffee from his hands, the warmth of the mug replaced by the far more satisfying heat of his husband's touch. He lets himself relax fully into the embrace, blanket and all, as though the fabric might be strong enough to shield them both from whatever the world might want to throw at them. His sea-glass eyes flutter shut as Ronin's lips meet his, and for a moment, everything narrows to just this—the press of their mouths, the way Ronin's hand feels so steady against his skin, and the unspoken vows that pass between them in the quiet; it's you, for me. It isn't just affection or comfort; it’s an anchor, a reminder of all the ways they've rebuilt themselves and each other over the years.

Pulling back just slightly, Remi’s lips curve into a soft, boyish smile, though his expression is tinged with a touch of mischief. "Careful husband," he murmurs, his voice low and warm, words brushing against Ronin's lips. "If you start agreeing with me too much, I might start to get used to it."

Remi shifts slightly, not pulling away entirely but angling his head to rest in the crook of Ronin’s neck instead. His fingers begin their lazy patterns again, this time venturing further, drawing small, looping shapes down Ronin’s spine as though committing every inch of him to memory despite how he probably knew his husband's body better than his own by now.

"Please tell me that other than waiting for your bread to rise, we don't have any plans for today?"

the lullaby

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)