bone tired

bring back the water, let your ships roll in

Remi's fingers instinctively curled around Ronin's base, extending and stroking further, cupping and coaxing. It was ingrained deep in his nature to give, and give, and give, and despite his aching and (almost painful) need to be well and truly fucked, still his instinct was to please. For a moment as Ronin braced, the alchemist with his instinctive knowledge that he could overpower the hunter had to force himself to halt lest he simply dive headfirst into the motions that would coax Ronin to climax.

"Always." Came the breathless but immediate response, Ronin's own smile drawing a distracted but genuine one in return from the alchemist. As his back hit the wall, disoriented by his need for Ronin, surprise and then quickly delight flickered across his face as the guildmaster gripped the back of his thighs. He could make himself lighter with magic, but he didn't. Somewhere deep down he wanted Ronin's muscles to burn with the effort of his choice, wanted his body to sing out in every way it could. That didn't stop Remi from placing a palm against the wall for balance; a hand that quickly became a claw which dug into the wood anchoring his body tenuously against it.

"Please—" Remi implored, head lolling against the wall, overcome with the sensation of Ronin's body caging him, his taut erection somewhere below—too low—the feeling of being suspended and wanted and completely undone by love and gratitude and longing and—

"—fuck me."