REMI
The words spill against his skin like flame, and Remi shudders as if scorched, his name reborn in Ronin's voice with such aching reverence that it leaves his breath stuttering and his restraint crumbling. Gods, to be loved like this, to feel it—all of it—wrapped against him, tethered by the pulse of his husband’s heartbeat thrumming hard against the inside of his wrist, makes everything inside him seize and burn.
Thrusting harder now, Remi still keeps himself reined in, his rhythm far from the brutal, punishing pace they both know he could unleash if he let himself go. This isn’t that. This is deliberate, a tension stretched out like warm taffy between them, unhurried and all-encompassing. He’s determined to pull both their climaxes over them slow and complete—not like a bucket of water upturned too fast, not violent or all-at-once—but like a blanket being drawn up over their shoulders, their ears, tucking them together in the heat of it. The kind of slowness that devours, that leaves them shaking not because it rushed to the end, but because it refused to. Because it made them feel every second.
Every shift presses Remi harder into the curve of his husband’s spine. The sweat between them makes their skin slide just enough to leave Remi wild with sensation, and he buries his face into Ronin’s neck as if breathing him in will ground him. "Cum for me," he rasps, voice low and full of hoarse desperation, the last threads of control fraying in his hands. And as he angles his hips to reach deeper, his grip tightening around Ronin’s cock with each stroke, his own climax begins to crest—hot and dizzying—curling at the base of his spine and dragging him forward like gravity itself. A broken moan tears from his lips, his whole body taut with the effort of holding back even a second longer, needing to feel Ronin come apart around him before surrendering to the same shattering end.
Thrusting harder now, Remi still keeps himself reined in, his rhythm far from the brutal, punishing pace they both know he could unleash if he let himself go. This isn’t that. This is deliberate, a tension stretched out like warm taffy between them, unhurried and all-encompassing. He’s determined to pull both their climaxes over them slow and complete—not like a bucket of water upturned too fast, not violent or all-at-once—but like a blanket being drawn up over their shoulders, their ears, tucking them together in the heat of it. The kind of slowness that devours, that leaves them shaking not because it rushed to the end, but because it refused to. Because it made them feel every second.
Every shift presses Remi harder into the curve of his husband’s spine. The sweat between them makes their skin slide just enough to leave Remi wild with sensation, and he buries his face into Ronin’s neck as if breathing him in will ground him. "Cum for me," he rasps, voice low and full of hoarse desperation, the last threads of control fraying in his hands. And as he angles his hips to reach deeper, his grip tightening around Ronin’s cock with each stroke, his own climax begins to crest—hot and dizzying—curling at the base of his spine and dragging him forward like gravity itself. A broken moan tears from his lips, his whole body taut with the effort of holding back even a second longer, needing to feel Ronin come apart around him before surrendering to the same shattering end.
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.
