i wish I could say I am a light that never goes out.
but i flicker from time to time
but i flicker from time to time
Remi grins, his expression all fond mischief as his fingers curl loosely into the fabric of Ronin’s shirt, the dull thud beneath his palm echoing both through skin, his wedding ring, and through bond. He doesn’t say anything about it—doesn’t need to. The way his lashes lower, the way his smile turns almost reverent for a breath, says everything.
"If you do feel like going a bit wild," he whispers, sly and soft at once, "you know I won’t be the least bit upset about it." His voice dips into something suggestive and teasing.
True to expectation, feathers unfurl like instinct in response to Ronin’s touch: soft, downy at the nape of his neck, longer and white as they trail down his spine. Remi doesn’t bother to hide the shiver that follows. When the Knight mumbles enough, Remi just laughs, brushing the tip of his nose against Ronin’s in an affectionate little bump.
Then he draws back slightly, brows raised, squinting as if in deep concentration. "Mmm," he hums with mock seriousness. "No one’ll recognize you without all the scars. I might even have to reintroduce myself." His grin tugs crooked, playful, before softening into something smaller, more honest. "I think I liked my body best back when I was just an alchemist. When I was only a hawk and a lion." He tilts his head, considering, eyes flicking to Ronin with a sudden spark. "Do you think the limits of magic bend in Mort’s halls?" he wonders aloud. "Because I really did like being able to dissolve your clothes into flower petals."
As if to prove the point, he reaches out and touches the front of Ronin’s shirt. Nothing happens, of course. The shirt remains maddeningly intact. Remi sighs with the long-suffering drama of a man robbed of his most treasured party trick. "Siiigh," he laments, shaking his head.
"If you do feel like going a bit wild," he whispers, sly and soft at once, "you know I won’t be the least bit upset about it." His voice dips into something suggestive and teasing.
True to expectation, feathers unfurl like instinct in response to Ronin’s touch: soft, downy at the nape of his neck, longer and white as they trail down his spine. Remi doesn’t bother to hide the shiver that follows. When the Knight mumbles enough, Remi just laughs, brushing the tip of his nose against Ronin’s in an affectionate little bump.
Then he draws back slightly, brows raised, squinting as if in deep concentration. "Mmm," he hums with mock seriousness. "No one’ll recognize you without all the scars. I might even have to reintroduce myself." His grin tugs crooked, playful, before softening into something smaller, more honest. "I think I liked my body best back when I was just an alchemist. When I was only a hawk and a lion." He tilts his head, considering, eyes flicking to Ronin with a sudden spark. "Do you think the limits of magic bend in Mort’s halls?" he wonders aloud. "Because I really did like being able to dissolve your clothes into flower petals."
As if to prove the point, he reaches out and touches the front of Ronin’s shirt. Nothing happens, of course. The shirt remains maddeningly intact. Remi sighs with the long-suffering drama of a man robbed of his most treasured party trick. "Siiigh," he laments, shaking his head.
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.
