even my darkness shines for you
"Mm, it's not the show I'm worried about," Ronin assures his husband, smiling a kiss against the column of his throat. "You just have a habit of getting your claws out when you're excited. I didn't think the forest would appreciate any new scars from you." Tumbling into the grass after Remi, the Knight feels something like laughter threatening to rise up in his throat; for it to be this easy, still, after almost ten years, he almost wonders if they've accidentally made a deal with some spirit to be so happy.
The laughter fades into something fiery and insistent as the Bastion draws them together, Ronin bracing an arm over Remi's head and arching into every touch, every press of skin and gasp of breath. "Even after all this time?" he whispers, mischief in the words, though they are kissed no less reverently against the other man's neck. Letting his free hand slip down to grasp at Remi's outer thigh, anchoring his leg around his hips, to say that they've fucked in a multitude of ways and in more places than he can remember is nothing short of the truth.
And yet, gods, it always somehow feels brand new, like he's kissing the alchemist with the unruly crown of curls in the kitchen of a guildhall, not his husband of nearly a decade.
Moaning low in his throat as he shifts his knees and drives his hips forward, Ronin is slow and gentle as he brings them together, almost patient in his desire to feel every single inch of Remi come to life beneath his hands.
The laughter fades into something fiery and insistent as the Bastion draws them together, Ronin bracing an arm over Remi's head and arching into every touch, every press of skin and gasp of breath. "Even after all this time?" he whispers, mischief in the words, though they are kissed no less reverently against the other man's neck. Letting his free hand slip down to grasp at Remi's outer thigh, anchoring his leg around his hips, to say that they've fucked in a multitude of ways and in more places than he can remember is nothing short of the truth.
And yet, gods, it always somehow feels brand new, like he's kissing the alchemist with the unruly crown of curls in the kitchen of a guildhall, not his husband of nearly a decade.
Moaning low in his throat as he shifts his knees and drives his hips forward, Ronin is slow and gentle as he brings them together, almost patient in his desire to feel every single inch of Remi come to life beneath his hands.
the
WHITEKNIGHT
