the things we hold are always the first to go
Growling something that might have been an objection about Remi's sass that turned instead into a grumble of impatience instead, Ronin was putty in his husband's hands. He obliged without complaint as he was directed, his eyes slipping shut and his breath hitching in his chest at the long, hard length that slid between his thighs. He strained against the vines momentarily, wanting nothing more than to reach down, to wrap his hand about both of them and end this torture, but of course it was useless.
Instead, though, there was Remi - Remi pressed, soaking against his back, Remi nibbling at his ear, Remi's touch moving down, down... and then nothing.
Not one to whine, Ronin was still the picture of wild abandon. His cheeks flushed a deep pink, lips parted in a soft pant, erection full and thick and hard, he barely had the composure to moan Remi's name as clawed hands came to knead at his legs and his ass. "Please," he managed eventually, his voice a quiet echo in the rushing water. "I want you." It didn't matter where or how. His body demanded Remi in whatever way the alchemist wanted to give himself.
Instead, though, there was Remi - Remi pressed, soaking against his back, Remi nibbling at his ear, Remi's touch moving down, down... and then nothing.
Not one to whine, Ronin was still the picture of wild abandon. His cheeks flushed a deep pink, lips parted in a soft pant, erection full and thick and hard, he barely had the composure to moan Remi's name as clawed hands came to knead at his legs and his ass. "Please," he managed eventually, his voice a quiet echo in the rushing water. "I want you." It didn't matter where or how. His body demanded Remi in whatever way the alchemist wanted to give himself.
