i’m your preacher and you’re my god

wild in the silence; no way to make it right

There's something maddening about their combined strength, and that somehow it still isn't enough to pin down the pleasure they are both striving for. But it's the slow burn of Remi's muscles, the bulge of his bicep braced against Ronin's fingers, the weakness of his knees, that is explosive. Testosterone is one word for it. Utter perfection might be another.

Whatever attempts at hushed articulations the Alchemist had made thus far were thrown out the open window as Ronin's fingers closed around the base of his cock. Moaning loudly and arching himself up to press the side of his cheek against Ronin's, Remi's lips wrapped around his husband's name over and over again in breathless encouragement. As the Star's hips matched the pulse of his hand, Remi's fingers dug hard enough into the wood of the headboard to splinter it, his fist thumping it against the wall as his body followed the pace set by the Star.

The build of Remi's orgasm starts in the base of his spine, tugged at by invisible strings attached to his husband's driving cock. The song is next picked up (surprisingly) in the balls of his feet, where whispers of the same melody echo as faint as the rain outside. Unknowingly the Alchemist curls his toes against the too-faint sensation, but it has no effect. Behind his sternum the rhythm expands, filling his lungs in a way reminiscent of his wings unfurling. Next the feeling falls to his inner thighs as they burn. Finally, his orgasm resonates up to the back of his throat where it parts his lips and stifles his breath.

"Ronin!" He moans almost frantically, as the feeling drops down to the base of his cock and the bundle of nerves so expertly riled by his husband.

THE ALCHEMIST

i’ve been chasin the storm of a lovesick lonely lie