RONIN
the darkstar
light is easy to love.
Ronin’s mind swims with Remi, the Star adrift and happily drowning in every touch, both real and imagined that his husband throws his way. That’s about when he realises that it must be the dream (and why it has taken so long, he puts purely down to the fact that Remi is so distracting), that the phantom hands and tongues and flesh are all down to the Lullaby and his beautifully filthy mind.
He wants to respond, but words fail him in the flush of emotion, the roar of arousal that thrums from the balls of his feet to the crown of his head. It’s all Ronin can do to gasp into their kiss as the layers between them finally diminish to nothing, allowing him to press himself flush against the alchemist - it’s a strange feeling, to be too warm in the middle of a blanket of snow, and his hands are already sliding beneath Remi’s thighs to arch him up off the ground, to grind against him.
All of me? He laughs breathlessly against the side of the other man’s neck, and imaginary hands of Ronin’s own begin to roam over his husband, squeezing and caressing his erection, pressing against his tongue, gripping his hips. Sure you can handle it in your dreams?
He wants to respond, but words fail him in the flush of emotion, the roar of arousal that thrums from the balls of his feet to the crown of his head. It’s all Ronin can do to gasp into their kiss as the layers between them finally diminish to nothing, allowing him to press himself flush against the alchemist - it’s a strange feeling, to be too warm in the middle of a blanket of snow, and his hands are already sliding beneath Remi’s thighs to arch him up off the ground, to grind against him.
All of me? He laughs breathlessly against the side of the other man’s neck, and imaginary hands of Ronin’s own begin to roam over his husband, squeezing and caressing his erection, pressing against his tongue, gripping his hips. Sure you can handle it in your dreams?
show me your darkness.
