I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes
"I thought this was the gift," Ronin murmurs, leaning in to speak the words against his husband's soft curls with the casual familiarity of years behind the gesture. "You know," he continues, "we gift everyone with our presence. Then you get a party - which still makes no sense to me, by the way, because you're antisocial at the best of times - and my present is that I behave myself." He winks. "Mostly."
Pressing a kiss to Remi's hair before straightening up, he squeezes the other man's fingers in return and looks on at the tents, the food, the music, and already his free hand itches with the need to hold a drink. Ronin, of course, is dressed impeccably in a suit the colour of the ocean at twilight, seaglass cufflinks glittering against his jacket sleeves, his tie silvered with embroidery that, if it catches the right light, looks suspiciously like tentacles. A spray of downy hawk feathers decorates his lapel, coiled lovingly in copper and silver to keep them together, and though he's tempering it down, already the radiant glow within him threatens to spill further illumination across the sand.
His lips part to speak again just in time for Remi to steal the words with a kiss, and Ronin's hand is already reaching for him when the Bastion steps away. His jaw feathers and he shoves the gesture into his pocket to stave away any unreasonable behaviour, instead raising a curious brow to watch the delicate pulse from Mort's lantern spark the air. "What...?"
Pressing a kiss to Remi's hair before straightening up, he squeezes the other man's fingers in return and looks on at the tents, the food, the music, and already his free hand itches with the need to hold a drink. Ronin, of course, is dressed impeccably in a suit the colour of the ocean at twilight, seaglass cufflinks glittering against his jacket sleeves, his tie silvered with embroidery that, if it catches the right light, looks suspiciously like tentacles. A spray of downy hawk feathers decorates his lapel, coiled lovingly in copper and silver to keep them together, and though he's tempering it down, already the radiant glow within him threatens to spill further illumination across the sand.
His lips part to speak again just in time for Remi to steal the words with a kiss, and Ronin's hand is already reaching for him when the Bastion steps away. His jaw feathers and he shoves the gesture into his pocket to stave away any unreasonable behaviour, instead raising a curious brow to watch the delicate pulse from Mort's lantern spark the air. "What...?"
RONIN
