RONIN
the darkstar
"Are you suggesting that we ought to have brought blushberry gin as an offering instead? Because I think I drank it all back in the hotsprings." And the rosy flush that sits high in Ronin's cheeks shows as much, but whatever effect the blushberries seemed to have on him previously is now mitigated by the alcohol. It explains the ease with which he sidles up behind Remi, the towel that sits low on his hips not fastened very securely at all (he doesn't give a fuck).
Still dewy with water and steam from the springs, he leans in to press a breathy kiss against the back of Remi's neck, his hands sneaking around his husband's waist to help hold the tea - or that's his excuse, anyway. "Careful," he murmurs about the stalagmite, steering them around it and towards the shrine.
Still dewy with water and steam from the springs, he leans in to press a breathy kiss against the back of Remi's neck, his hands sneaking around his husband's waist to help hold the tea - or that's his excuse, anyway. "Careful," he murmurs about the stalagmite, steering them around it and towards the shrine.
