are you really going to talk about timing in times like these?
"I'll kill anyone who dares." Remi sings sweetly as he tips his head back against Ronin's shoulder, his hips rolling easily with his husband's motions like they're both well-seasoned sailors easily able to walk across a rolling and shifting sea. It occurs to him somewhere in the back of his mind—as it often does—just how closely related violence and passion are in Remi's mind. As Ronin grips the base of his cock, feathers trickle down Remi's spine; in the back of his thoughts, he can hear wood splintering as he imagines shoving Ronin back hard enough to break through the door behind them, can feel phantom pain as talons rake down his skin, and can imagine with absolute certainty what blood tinged with sweat would feel like beneath his fingers.
Rolling his head forward, what Remi sees is a rather disappointing sight if only because it's just...him, mostly. In another iteration of this, he might have repositioned them, might have begged Ronin for his duplicate to make an appearance, or he might have tugged them into a dream where he could replicate a thousand Ronin's. Already (blissfully)(regretfully) far too close, Remi just shakes his head. "Gods Ronin, please." He moans. Every thrust showers brief sparks in the pit of Remi's stomach, like bits of flint struck over and over above kindling. It would take, he knew, but gods if the rollercoaster between the flash and darkness wasn't something that both consumed him with pleasure and threatened to drive him mad.
"Ro—" The words stutter on Remi's tongue before one of Ronin's thrusts seem to knock the air from Remi's lungs—and thus the words—entirely away. Wings itch to spread from the Lullaby's back as nearly every muscle in his body tenses. Reaching down to cover Ronin's hand with his own, the alchemist cums with pheonix fire and starlight flashing through his body chasing him up, up, up—and the deep blue of Ronin's eyes threatening to drown him in their depths on the way down.
Rolling his head forward, what Remi sees is a rather disappointing sight if only because it's just...him, mostly. In another iteration of this, he might have repositioned them, might have begged Ronin for his duplicate to make an appearance, or he might have tugged them into a dream where he could replicate a thousand Ronin's. Already (blissfully)(regretfully) far too close, Remi just shakes his head. "Gods Ronin, please." He moans. Every thrust showers brief sparks in the pit of Remi's stomach, like bits of flint struck over and over above kindling. It would take, he knew, but gods if the rollercoaster between the flash and darkness wasn't something that both consumed him with pleasure and threatened to drive him mad.
"Ro—" The words stutter on Remi's tongue before one of Ronin's thrusts seem to knock the air from Remi's lungs—and thus the words—entirely away. Wings itch to spread from the Lullaby's back as nearly every muscle in his body tenses. Reaching down to cover Ronin's hand with his own, the alchemist cums with pheonix fire and starlight flashing through his body chasing him up, up, up—and the deep blue of Ronin's eyes threatening to drown him in their depths on the way down.
remi
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.
