REMI
Remi snorts, grinning as his curls brush against the pillow. "I could give you a masterclass at this point," he says, half proud and half exasperated with himself, as if being problematic were a trade he’d once apprenticed in. "Remember when I first got my lion shift?" he prompts with a laugh, raising his brows. "Vai had to throw me in a pit so I wouldn’t tear anyone’s head off. Not very considerate." The memory is sharp but softened with years, and he leans into the touch at his cheek with the kind of affection that hums all the way down his spine.
The eye-roll that follows is dramatic only because it’s meant to balance the obvious truth behind Remi's teasing. "It was more than kind of a turn on, and you know it," he admits with a long-suffering sigh, "but someone has to keep your ego in check heading into Deepfrost."
And then he’s on his back, the breath nudged out of him by warmth and weight and the sudden rearrangement of blankets. His grin tips crooked as he stretches, fingers slipping down the carved lines of Ronin’s side with the lazy reverence of someone who knows this body like home. "Mmm," he sighs, voice dipping low as his husband’s mouth trails its way across familiar territory. The muscle beneath his skin flinches and tightens in places Ronin already knows too well, and Remi’s hands curl into the sheets, resisting the pull to catch and redirect him. His eyes flutter half-lidded, lashes catching the light, and with a breathy, wicked smirk, he mutters, "I’m quite certain you’ll know if you find a spot that requires your attention."
The eye-roll that follows is dramatic only because it’s meant to balance the obvious truth behind Remi's teasing. "It was more than kind of a turn on, and you know it," he admits with a long-suffering sigh, "but someone has to keep your ego in check heading into Deepfrost."
And then he’s on his back, the breath nudged out of him by warmth and weight and the sudden rearrangement of blankets. His grin tips crooked as he stretches, fingers slipping down the carved lines of Ronin’s side with the lazy reverence of someone who knows this body like home. "Mmm," he sighs, voice dipping low as his husband’s mouth trails its way across familiar territory. The muscle beneath his skin flinches and tightens in places Ronin already knows too well, and Remi’s hands curl into the sheets, resisting the pull to catch and redirect him. His eyes flutter half-lidded, lashes catching the light, and with a breathy, wicked smirk, he mutters, "I’m quite certain you’ll know if you find a spot that requires your attention."
Who are you? They ask. Death?
Sometimes... I say. But not today
Sometimes... I say. But not today
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.
