the things we hold are always the first to go
Flagrantly handsy was absolutely everything that Ronin wanted, needed, and then some. The scent of home; of Remi, of woodsmoke and ink, of spiced wine and steel... it all washed over Ronin, working its gentle fingers into his tired bones and pulling him, anchoring him to the here and the now. The door closed again with a distant thud; consumed as he was by the mouth on his own, and the deft and guiding touch pulling him further inside, Ronin had barely noticed he'd shut it.
"It's good to be back," he said through a stolen breath, regarding Remi in the soft twilight of snow through the windows even as his stumbling feet took them towards the bathroom. He tripped once or twice, though on what he didn't know; stray clothing or items left strewn about in his absence, perhaps. They wasn't nearly as interesting as Remi's boyishly handsome smile, or his wandering hands, or his warm body, and Ronin inched through the bathroom door while trying to struggle out of clothes that were really better off burnt.
"It's good to be back," he said through a stolen breath, regarding Remi in the soft twilight of snow through the windows even as his stumbling feet took them towards the bathroom. He tripped once or twice, though on what he didn't know; stray clothing or items left strewn about in his absence, perhaps. They wasn't nearly as interesting as Remi's boyishly handsome smile, or his wandering hands, or his warm body, and Ronin inched through the bathroom door while trying to struggle out of clothes that were really better off burnt.
