REMI
The nerves beneath his skin are already alight, every inch of him strung taut from Ronin’s slow, reverent mapping. By the time the Knight descends again, Remi’s body is nothing but an instrument waiting for the next note. Heat coils tight in his gut, a low tremor of anticipation threading through his muscles.
When Ronin’s hand closes around him, it’s almost a relief; his hips arch up on instinct, need and relief mingling so completely they’re indistinguishable. A sound escapes him that isn’t words so much as it is a plea, a shiver, the slip of his husband’s name on a breath. "Ronin..." Remi's seaglass eyes flutter shut, head tipping back into the furs as his fingers claw lightly at them for anchor.
The other hand, though, can’t stay still. It hovers near where Ronin’s shoulder must be under the sheets, fidgeting, trembling, aching to reach down and thread into dark hair but holding off just long enough to feel the tease of his husband’s tongue curl around him. It’s hot, wet, wicked, and the Bastion’s moan roughens into something low and shaky, his hips rolling once more before he forces himself still.
Every muscle trembles under Ronin’s mouth; every heartbeat thuds louder. The world above the blanket blurs, narrowed to sensation, and in the warmth of his chest there’s that same quiet miracle as always: even here, even now, it’s still Ronin.
When Ronin’s hand closes around him, it’s almost a relief; his hips arch up on instinct, need and relief mingling so completely they’re indistinguishable. A sound escapes him that isn’t words so much as it is a plea, a shiver, the slip of his husband’s name on a breath. "Ronin..." Remi's seaglass eyes flutter shut, head tipping back into the furs as his fingers claw lightly at them for anchor.
The other hand, though, can’t stay still. It hovers near where Ronin’s shoulder must be under the sheets, fidgeting, trembling, aching to reach down and thread into dark hair but holding off just long enough to feel the tease of his husband’s tongue curl around him. It’s hot, wet, wicked, and the Bastion’s moan roughens into something low and shaky, his hips rolling once more before he forces himself still.
Every muscle trembles under Ronin’s mouth; every heartbeat thuds louder. The world above the blanket blurs, narrowed to sensation, and in the warmth of his chest there’s that same quiet miracle as always: even here, even now, it’s still Ronin.
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.
