i've hidden all my fears in a book for only my eyes to see
Remi arches instinctively into Ronin’s grip, the Bastion all taut muscle and flushed skin, chasing every movement like it might be his last. His heels dig against the small of Ronin’s back as his legs wrap tighter around the Knight’s waist, pulling him close again with something feral behind the motion. "Don’t stop," he gasps, his voice raw, half-wrecked already, despising the meagre distance Ronin had put between them.
But when Ronin’s hand closes around his cock, the sound Remi makes is closer to a sob than a moan, the line between pleasure and desperation drawn so fine it might not exist at all. His fingers claw at the earth beside them, hips rolling up, greedy and wild for the friction that was stolen and now half-returned.
Every stroke pulls another gasp from him, every thrust honed into the sharp edge of pleasure. Remi is all instinct now, chasing every motion with a kind of single-minded desperation, as if the only thing in the world worth focusing on is Ronin and the way their bodies fit together. His hands map his husband's thighs, gripping hard when the pressure hits just right, grounding himself in skin and muscle and the heat between them.
"Keep going," he pants again, the words half a command and half a prayer. "Fuck—don’t stop—" His voice is hoarse with want, with love, with everything he's never been able to put into words and doesn't need to now—not when Ronin is already giving it back tenfold with every breath, every touch.
But when Ronin’s hand closes around his cock, the sound Remi makes is closer to a sob than a moan, the line between pleasure and desperation drawn so fine it might not exist at all. His fingers claw at the earth beside them, hips rolling up, greedy and wild for the friction that was stolen and now half-returned.
Every stroke pulls another gasp from him, every thrust honed into the sharp edge of pleasure. Remi is all instinct now, chasing every motion with a kind of single-minded desperation, as if the only thing in the world worth focusing on is Ronin and the way their bodies fit together. His hands map his husband's thighs, gripping hard when the pressure hits just right, grounding himself in skin and muscle and the heat between them.
"Keep going," he pants again, the words half a command and half a prayer. "Fuck—don’t stop—" His voice is hoarse with want, with love, with everything he's never been able to put into words and doesn't need to now—not when Ronin is already giving it back tenfold with every breath, every touch.
THE
BASTION
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
