in these trying times we're not trying

maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane

The tug against his curls might have been an encouragement, so it's only Maeve's voice that has him stilling against her. Head tilted back, she bends easily—the way her legs don't need to move saying much about her flexibility—and then she's kissing him.

For a moment he doesn't kiss her back, instead, letting his mind drift away into the pure feeling of it. Her lips are soft, unaccompanied by scruff or sunburn as Ronin's are. And unlike Isla, there is an unsurprising confidence here, a lack of hesitation that makes it all feel entirely different. Remi's strong fingers against her thighs hold her in place, and as he's tugged upward, he keeps his lips against her own until it forces his back to round and the need to breathe separates them.

Inhaling sharply, Remi blinks down at the crown of her head as she tugs his pants down around his ankles. Perhaps one of the few places on his body not interrupted by scars, Maeve will feel a note entirely chaste budding-erection against her as she presses herself against him. "I thought we were getting in together?" Remi wonders in a soft voice, his hands gliding down her body until he's forced to lean forward due to their height differences. There, should she let him, he'll wrap his fingers around her thighs once more to lift her up and against him. Maeve is a willowy thing to begin with, but in Remi's arms she's as light as a cloud. His wings flex slightly, curling around her back as if there was a second set of arms supporting her.

THE LULLABY

maybe it's a long gray game, but maybe that's a good thing