in these trying times we're not trying

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

Her teeth against his skin has a low rumble of pleasure leaving his lips. For all the gentle restraint he's shown Maeve thus far, at his core Remi is still a predator, and not all of the scars on his body were put there by undesirable circumstances. However as her fingers trace one scar in particular, the alchemist tenses beneath her. There isn't enough room for him easily move his hands from where they've settled on her lower back, and so instead he just shakes his head stiffly. "Not that one." He whispers, his eyes suddenly hollow and full of anguish. The starburst on his sternum was the one he received the day his daughter died. The day she died in his arms, a rod of ice skewering them both all the way through, where now an angry mess of tissue remained. The moment might have been tending towards intimacy rather than pure lust, but even so, it wasn't the sort of thing the alchemist spoke of lightly, and so he just softly repeated, "Not that one." As if it were an apology.

The touch to his nipples has Remi relaxing, enjoying the bright flickering of sensation it sparked. "No, of course not." The steam from the water has begun to weigh down his curls and cause bits of sweat to bead across his forehead. "I could." He agrees, of taking control. Confused though he might be, it isn't as though Remi is inexperienced. Just unsure. "But I'm willing to follow your lead." Hands warm and made oily from the water press just on either side of Maeve's spine. Close as the bath forced them to be, it makes it difficult for the alchemist to do anything more than flaunt the curves of her lowerback.

THE LULLABY

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