you trace my lines, stirring my soul
Like the monstrous man-child that he could often be, the Alchemist wordlessly protests the drying off that Ronin offers, preferring instead to dampen their sheets with his writhing and deal with it later. Difficult as he might be about this, he's utterly pliant in Ronin's fingers as the huntsman draws him close, sinking into the colourful array of his husband's emotions as deeply as he does to their bed.
"This...isn't me asking us to have that conversation." Remi clarifies carefully. "Just...A thing I've been wondering at, from time to time." If it is a conversation he wants to bring up, it won't be started by a few mumbled words, naked, on a nimbus during a monsoon. (Actually, it very likely might be just like that, but even so, it will at least be a touch more intentional. Probably.).
"Promise me whatever we decide to do though, it will be our choice. Together." He doesn't need to ask this of course, already knowing the answer. But he wants to hear it, just as he wants to hear Ronin tell him he loves him until the end of their days.
"This...isn't me asking us to have that conversation." Remi clarifies carefully. "Just...A thing I've been wondering at, from time to time." If it is a conversation he wants to bring up, it won't be started by a few mumbled words, naked, on a nimbus during a monsoon. (Actually, it very likely might be just like that, but even so, it will at least be a touch more intentional. Probably.).
"Promise me whatever we decide to do though, it will be our choice. Together." He doesn't need to ask this of course, already knowing the answer. But he wants to hear it, just as he wants to hear Ronin tell him he loves him until the end of their days.
THE ALCHEMIST
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
