REMI
Remi could easily throw off the fingers around his chin, though both he and the Star know it isn't physical strength that Ronin is attempting to tether the beast with now. Though he doesn't say the words, he thinks them loud enough that they scream through his fingertips, nearly scalding the alchemist's tongue. But no, it isn't heat that Remi feels, but blood; having bitten down hard enough to stop whatever words he might have said in response.
The real answer, was that he wasn't waiting for anything. He could kill Ronin easily, and part of him wanted to. Though, to frame it that way is misleading: the manticore in Remi wanted to kill. Never, not in his worst hours, could Remi ever want to kill Ronin. And it was that love that acted as a barrier now. What he was waiting for was a permission which would never come. Remi would slip his spirit from his body and let it die before he allowed himself to hurt the Star.
But gods if the hum of Ronin's pulse wasn't so loud he might be able to think—
—but what was there to think about, really?
Pushing up, momentarily perched astride the Star, Remi leans a hand over his shoulder and roughly tears off his shirt. His claws dig four parallel channels of red into his skin as he does so, the pain helping to distract himself from the siren's song of his husband's racing pulse. Falling forward again, Remi's lips crash against Ronin's in a kiss that can only be described as rough and primal. It is a kiss devoid of love, but only because it's pure passion that fuels the Lullaby's movements. With the hand not wet with his own blood, Remi's claws skip down the length of his husband's chest and stomach where they press beneath the line of his husband's pants.
The real answer, was that he wasn't waiting for anything. He could kill Ronin easily, and part of him wanted to. Though, to frame it that way is misleading: the manticore in Remi wanted to kill. Never, not in his worst hours, could Remi ever want to kill Ronin. And it was that love that acted as a barrier now. What he was waiting for was a permission which would never come. Remi would slip his spirit from his body and let it die before he allowed himself to hurt the Star.
But gods if the hum of Ronin's pulse wasn't so loud he might be able to think—
—but what was there to think about, really?
Pushing up, momentarily perched astride the Star, Remi leans a hand over his shoulder and roughly tears off his shirt. His claws dig four parallel channels of red into his skin as he does so, the pain helping to distract himself from the siren's song of his husband's racing pulse. Falling forward again, Remi's lips crash against Ronin's in a kiss that can only be described as rough and primal. It is a kiss devoid of love, but only because it's pure passion that fuels the Lullaby's movements. With the hand not wet with his own blood, Remi's claws skip down the length of his husband's chest and stomach where they press beneath the line of his husband's pants.
Who are you? They ask. Death?
Sometimes... I say. But not today
Sometimes... I say. But not today
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.
