RONIN
”Mmn... happy bir’day.” Ronin’s voice was as rough as the cheek that scritched against his neck, not that he stirred or minded other than to bury his nose in the Alchemist’s curls and let out a sleepy sigh. The Star was stretched comfortably on his back, one arm tucked behind his head under the pillow, the other draped around his husband.
The fingers of light coming into the room painted stripes behind his closed eyes, and as Remi moved Ronin stole a glance at the waking world, at the piles of clothes, half finished paintings and other brick-a-brack left unattended. ”You sound like popcorn,” he mumbled sleepily into Remi’s hair, referring to the crack of his knee, though his fingertips had already begun to strum a pattern along the Alchemist’s lower back. (His knee was too far away so this would have to do).
The fingers of light coming into the room painted stripes behind his closed eyes, and as Remi moved Ronin stole a glance at the waking world, at the piles of clothes, half finished paintings and other brick-a-brack left unattended. ”You sound like popcorn,” he mumbled sleepily into Remi’s hair, referring to the crack of his knee, though his fingertips had already begun to strum a pattern along the Alchemist’s lower back. (His knee was too far away so this would have to do).
