and on to the glory at my right hand
It has been hell, waiting outside the Kraai. Ronin feels it, because of course he does, and as the heartbeat on his finger spikes and spikes again, he's almost walking into the bar before he can stop himself. Scales have armoured his neck and shoulders and it's with hands tipped with talons that he's folded his arms tightly across his chest. No one makes small talk with him. No one asks him for anything.
Head down, jaw clenched, the Huntsman absolutely shouldn't be feeling jealous about this. Because there's nothing to feel jealous about, especially not with Neron fucking Launceleyn. And yet, the more time passes, the stronger the urge to kick down the door of the Kraai and manhandle his husband out of the snake pit becomes.
In fact, his feet are already moving, Ronin straightening up from the icy wall of the establishment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Gods, come on," he hisses under his breath, wanting to be calmer than he feels and failing miserably.
Head down, jaw clenched, the Huntsman absolutely shouldn't be feeling jealous about this. Because there's nothing to feel jealous about, especially not with Neron fucking Launceleyn. And yet, the more time passes, the stronger the urge to kick down the door of the Kraai and manhandle his husband out of the snake pit becomes.
In fact, his feet are already moving, Ronin straightening up from the icy wall of the establishment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Gods, come on," he hisses under his breath, wanting to be calmer than he feels and failing miserably.
ronin
