From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
On the contrary - Ronin is all chaos and need in this moment, relishing the beat of the rain soaking into their clothes and the heat of his husband’s body taut against his own. He takes his sweet time in his exploration of Remi’s kiss, in the flick of his tongue and the softness of his lips, his fingers pressing into the small of the other man’s back in response to the moan he draws out of him.
The sound of his name said in that way is as much a torture as it is bliss, his cock twitching at the prospect of hearing it again (and again, louder), echoing into the night. ”Gods, touch me,” he half growls, his free hand thinking for perhaps a second about unbuttoning Remi’s shirt, before he gives up and simply rips the buttons loose, exposing scarred flesh to the rain, to Ronin’s calloused hands, to his mouth and teeth.
Maybe it's the downpour that drives Remi's heart rate, he can't be sure. All he knows is that the press of Ronin's body against his, the friction a torturous rush of sensation, is nearly too much. Eyes closed though they are, he can feel himself reeling in Ronin's grasp. The desperation of needing (but not wanting) space, claws at his neck, curls his toes, and steals his sanity. He is dizzy and crazed with it, fingernails pressing tightly into his palms. The Star is a gods-damn beacon for wandering eyes in the darkness as well as Remi's cock. Home, they need to get—
—Remi's hand raises to Ronin's jaw before his mind fully registered the words. His thumb strong along the Star's jawline and his fingers curled in his hair, the Alchemist erases the soft kisses of a moment ago with lips pressed with hasty need. The moan previously held is held no longer, and though it almost kills him to do so, Remi's free-hand reaches for Ronin's waist, pressing them together as full as is possible with wet clothing between them. The flash of tension that his caged-erection sends makes his hands tremble as buttons are torn free from his shirt.
Awkwardly Remi tries to shrug out of his shirt while managing to keep his hands and lips on Ronin. He can't of course, and in a fumbling gesture of which many young men are familiar, the Alchemist pulls back only long enough to remove the offending layer of clothing. He does this as if Ronin might change his mind in the interim or perhaps disappear altogether. Hands relieved of Ronin, now they seek to strip the Star of his own top layer of clothing with fingers made shaky by the cold and unfettered desire.
THE ALCHEMIST
i’ve been chasin the storm of a lovesick lonely lie
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
It likely hasn’t escaped Remi’s notice that Ronin gives not one single fuck about who might see them in the current moment. He cares for nothing save the man in his arms, the touch of his skin, the way he’s fucking serenading the night with Ronin’s name. He stills, at least, at the strong hand upon his jaw, a mania rising within him the likes of which he can only compare to the madness of Longnight.
Except now it’s pleasure and not agony that threatens on all sides, Ronin groaning into fevered kisses as their bodies press together, as Remi trembles and peels himself away. It leaves Ronin adrift, half-dreaming, his blue eyes hungrily roaming over the other man. Then Remi’s moving forward again and he lets him fumble for the Star’s shirt; eventually, Ronin’s hands come up to cover his husband’s, warm against cold, steadying, guiding. Maybe it’s the sense of almost panic he’s getting from Remi, but either way it lends him a sliver of patience.
”We have all night,” he whispers, not that he’s planning to waste more time. ”I’m home. I’m not going away again.” Shrugging out of his shirt to let it drop to the ground, Ronin pulls Remi to him, promptly falling back - and onto the expanse of waiting cloud that has come to break their fall.
Looking up as if startled to hear a voice amidst the thunder of the storm and their heartbeats, Remi blinks in surprise as rain trails down his cheeks and clumps his eyelashes together. The falling shirt doesn't make the sound Remi thought it might; it makes no sound in fact, so swallowed up by the downpour are the two of them. Pulling in a breath to say something, feathers flourish throughout the Alchemist's wet curls as he's tugged forward and seemingly down. Panic rises in Remi's mind as he realizes that Ronin's legs aren't bending and they're sure to hit the ground at an unhappy angle if——but instead of a flat fall and air knocked from his lungs, it's just Ronin beneath him.
The moan that escapes his lips then sends ripples across his face: his eyebrows raise and fall as if punctuating unsaid words, his lips tremble as his eyelids squeeze shut. Shirtless now, the muscles of his arms reveal his tension as Remi holds himself aloft over the Star, cradled below him on a cloud.
"Gods, I need you.." Remi whispers, rain falling from his lips onto Ronin's bare chest and the scar there that is a mirror of Remi's own. His torso flinches slightly as his muscles remain taught and under control for the moment. "..if you are going to take us home.." Because if Remi allows himself to bridge the gap between them, his willpower will be well and truly gone.
THE ALCHEMIST
i’ve been chasin the storm of a lovesick lonely lie
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
They’re already moving, the rain stinging against Ronin’s skin as the downpour grows more harsh, as lightning flashes and thunder rolls across the sky. It’s the perfect sort of weather to swallow up other sounds, like moans of ecstasy and gasps of pleasure, and the Star gazes up at his husband as if he hasn’t seen him in centuries. He reaches up, a hand snaking between them so he can smooth wet curls out of Remi’s face, his breath leaving in a shuddering sigh at the whispered voice on the wind.
”We’re here,” he says absently, reaching out without breaking Remi’s stare to fumble open the window they’d conveniently paused next to. Leaning up, as if to encourage Remi to sidle into the bedroom, he nuzzles against his husband’s cheek. ”Have me,” he whispers, his voice gruff with need, made more raw by the chaos of the storm.
The storm can swallow up only what Remi lets it have; devouring the sounds Ronin makes—that they make between them—as much as he does his husband's lips. His fingers wander between the semi-tangible cloud and Ronin's lower back, rain-slick fingers grasping for purchase. There both is and isn't a surface for his knees to dig into as he leans astride the Star, but it is a frustratingly sweet problem to have. For now, Remi is fixated only on the heat between them in places still bound by fabric, with little attention for the journey they are on.
Reaching out a distracted hand to grasp at their window (left open, the rain allowed in to water the plants at the base of the window), Remi pulls himself into the room. Slipping on said plants and knocking one over, the Alchemist growls something in the back of his throat as he reaches for the impossibly handsome blue-eyed man hovering outside.
THE ALCHEMIST
i’ve been chasin the storm of a lovesick lonely lie
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Even at this point in time, with the heat between them building like a fever, Ronin still cannot stop the smile that spreads across his face at Remi’s grumbling annoyance. The plant will stay knocked over, and Ronin will barely stop himself from kicking another over as he’s helped inside by his husband, feet hitting the floor at last. Home. Safe.
There’s hardly any distance between them, but Ronin practically prowls across the room to close it, his fingers tangling in the back of Remi’s hair as he leans in for another hungry kiss. But there’s no impatience now, in the dance of his tongue and the press of wet skin, his other hand already reaching down to loosen Remi’s belt and relieve some of the pressure that’s built up between them.
He manages to unbutton his pants, too, before he’s walking them back towards the bed. Guiding Remi’s shoulders to sit him down, Ronin wastes no time in climbing astride him, his touch running over the scars and well muscled definitions of the Alchemist’s back.
There is an expectant and demanding smile that tugs at the corners of Remi's lips as he waits for Ronin to enter, and then to come. Wings threaten to spread from his shoulder blades in great wide swells; something about the movement seems fitting, but Remi gives no mind to it. Neither he nor Ronin need extra limbs, he's more than content with them how they are.
Eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head as his eyelashes fall, the only restraint practiced on Remi's part now is not awaking the rest of the house with shouts of Ronin's name followed by various demands and body parts. Without realizing he's done it, the Alchemist's hips have obediently moved forward to better allow Ronin's fingers to undo his belt. Though he's done this a thousand times now, Remi finds himself utterly undone—his mind entirely lost and carried away—by Ronin's lips and tongue against his. It's a battle of flesh he never wants to win, a dance he knows by heart.
Sitting down, his gaze raised for just a moment as Ronin lowers himself, the Alchemist hisses out a note of frustration to feel the Star so close but seemingly still so far. His back arched beneath his husband's wandering fingers, Remi's own hands mirror the movements on Ronin's skin while his tongue and teeth speak silent curses and praises against Ronin's stomach and the scars thereupon.
THE ALCHEMIST
i’ve been chasin the storm of a lovesick lonely lie
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
It doesn’t even bother Ronin if they awaken the whole damned house. Apologies can be made in the morning, but right now is all about Remi and nothing more. It swamps his body and mind both, as if the sensations are an antidote to a poison that still lingers after his time in the grounds. His lips part in a moan at the Alchemist’s hands and lips against him; Ronin makes a good show at self-restraint, but there’s no doubt that his husband drives him wild, his fingers sliding into wet curls as if concerned that Remi might just stop.
”Fuck,” he whispers on a shaky exhale. Ronin’s blood is up, and the arousal from the lighthouse is now an exquisite ache deep in his loins; his pulse is a steady pounding against Remi’s finger, and the darkness split by occasional flashes of lightning paints pictures behind his eyes of bodies entwined, of things they might yet do.
Tightening his grip in Remi’s hair, he tilts the other man’s head back to capture his mouth in a kiss that begs for more, humming a note of need and grinding his hips teasingly against him.
The smell of the damp soil spread on the ground now mixing with the scent of rain nearly makes Remi laugh. It reminds him of early days in Torchline, a conversation had by a stolen wagon when the question of what—or who—would be had for breakfast*. He doesn't though, instead smiling against Ronin's lips and dragging his had back just enough that the Star will have to reach for him. It's a strange thing to savour something that seems limitless, but still Remi hangs on every touch, taking nothing for granted.
The pull of his curls coaxes a hungry growl from his throat; a rumble more leonine than man. Since Ronin has already thoughtfully removed his own pants and because sad as it is for the Star, Remi is still the stronger of the two, it is with a needy snarl that Remi hooks a hand beneath one of Ronin's legs while the other supports his back. Rising and twisting to plant Ronin on their bed, Remi quickly drops to his knees heedless of the spilled soil and water.
"You—." He whispers from beneath Ronin's legs, with eyes primal and dark with lust. His teeth graze down the inside of Ronin's knee, while the hand not still placed on the small of his back grows claws that pull at the thin material of his underwear to loosen them entirely from the Star's body. "—are everything I will ever want." Remi finishes, pressing himself properly between his husband's legs that his tongue might ever so lightly tease the head of his cock.
*fuck, we were making Hannibal references a year ago without knowing??
THE ALCHEMIST
i’ve been chasin the storm of a lovesick lonely lie
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
It’s the dance of predator and prey within Remi that Ronin loves best; not knowing whether he’s going to hear a gasping moan or a warning rumble in the midst of their passions, it sets him on fire with lust. Indeed, what may sometimes be considered competitive is this time a welcome display of strength, Ronin’s breath hitching as he’s moved so effortlessly until their roles are reversed. To want and be wanted, watch Remi through hooded blue eyes as he settles between his legs - Ronin isn’t complaining.
Far from it, in fact; no sooner is the tension relieved as Remi finally frees his erection when he’s winding him up all over again. ”Ah—!” The Star braces a hand against his husband’s shoulder, eyes slipping shut at the prick of claws against his inner thighs, at the flick of a hot tongue against the rock hard length of him. Lips parting, Ronin tilts his head back, unsure if he’s trying to catch his breath or if he’s just lost in what’s happening.
"What was that?" Remi asks, the wickedness of his smile cradling the words as he pulls himself to breathe. No sooner has he, then he's drinking in a gulp of air, his lips covering his teeth protectively as he slides Ronin's length into his mouth. It takes concentration and thoughtfulness to remind his throat to relax, but he's more than happy to do it. Indeed, he moans his enthusiasm, his hands emphatically adding to his motions. He wanted to feel Ronin's fingers shaky on his shoulder, be corralled by the Star's legs as he both begged for more and pleaded for less.
A posture of worship could hardly be used to describe Remi's current position, though he could absolutely understand why such a thing couldn't be done at Safrin's shrine or anywhere near it: Remi had Ronin in every way Safrin wanted, but couldn't. The Star's thoughts were clear (or even if they weren't, they were his own at the very least), and the only tricks up the Alchemist's sleeves were ones the Star would enjoy even when he recalled them the morning after.
Lathering spit against his husband's erection for later endeavors, the Alchemist lowers one of his hands to his own pants, still uncomfortably tight around his waist despite the loosening of his belt. Fumbling and then undoing them all together, Remi lets his tongue glide up Ronin's shaft one last time before moving up the length of his husband's torso. "I want you, Ronin.." Whispered words against the drumbeat of the storm outside. Sweat or water kept Remi's curls against his head as his back arched, hips grinding against his husband's, dealing out maddening pressure and promises of pleasures to come.
THE ALCHEMIST
i’ve been chasin the storm of a lovesick lonely lie
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
His fingers spasm against Remi’s shoulder, sliding up and into the back of wet curls at the hot pressure of a mouth devouring him. Remi asks, wicked and hungry, and so Ronin repeats himself, moaning a note of pleasure that compliments the sounds of enthusiasm from between his legs. His free hand tangles in the blankets, gripping them tightly as if they might help him hang onto his senses, not that it does any good, and he has to stop from shifting his hips, from arching into the sensation.
This is definitely not something for Safrin’s shrine - because this is not for her. This is for the man that Ronin does worship, wholly and without rhyme or reason, a man whose name forms breathlessly on his lips as he begs either for mercy or for release. And as Remi drags himself up the length of his torso, the hunter stutters out a gasp and locks his legs around the Alchemist to pull him closer, to keep up the delicious and agonising pressure between them.
”Tell me how,” he grates out, blue eyes wild in the flickering light of the storm. Does Remi want to have or be had? Does he want on top, or beneath, or behind, or swinging from the fucking ceiling? Ronin is game.
Anatomy such as it is between the two, there is no way for the pair to both have and be had simultaneously. Not in conventional imaginings, anyways. So it is that Remi has to actually force his mind to come up with an answer to Ronin's question: fill, or be filled? Take, or be taken? He both wants to wrap his arms around the Star, driving himself into the furthest depths of him, as much as he wants to be covered completely by him, utterly submissive.
"Completely." Remi decides at last, the word nearly uncomprehensible so distracted is he by the feeling of Ronin's legs locked around him. It is only the promise of better things to come that lets Remi disengage from his place above his lover. No sooner has he lifted himself away, in the process of moving to lay next to the Star, then he feels a shudder roll through his body that makes his teeth clench together. There's a moment where no part of him is pressed against Ronin and the entirety of him screams out at this injustice. As soon as his hips find the support of the mattress, Remi reaches out for Ronin's right arm, tugging him to the side that they might fit back together again. Tilting his chin up, his back pressed against Ronin's torso, Remi releases Ronin's hand that it might slip low to his husband's hip.
"Ronin.." It isn't his husband's name so much as it's a plea. Take me, fuck me, love me forever.
THE ALCHEMIST
i’ve been chasin the storm of a lovesick lonely lie
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
