RONIN
the white knight
Ronin's senses scatter into little more than immediate pleasure and touch and the effort of remembering to breathe. To be in literally two places at once but joined with Remi at the same time is both maddening and blissful, and whilst he might be the one who has caught the Bastion between two versions of himself, there's no denying who is in control here. "Fuck me," he whispers, clasping his cheek to draw him back in for a kiss he barely has the breath to give.
His hips are already rolling beneath Remi, as if to encourage that fraying of control, to inch them towards oblivion with little more than the coaxing of his body. And if that isn't enough, his projection is already taking matters into his own hands, fingers grasping hard enough to bruise, hips snapping roughly forward in a rhythm that's utterly unsustainable. "Remi - gods--"
His hips are already rolling beneath Remi, as if to encourage that fraying of control, to inch them towards oblivion with little more than the coaxing of his body. And if that isn't enough, his projection is already taking matters into his own hands, fingers grasping hard enough to bruise, hips snapping roughly forward in a rhythm that's utterly unsustainable. "Remi - gods--"
i'll get over it
i just gotta be dramatic first
i just gotta be dramatic first
