maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane
'Yes Maeve?' The alchemist wonders with boyish naivety as if the fingers in his curls and her moans of encouragement didn't tell him all he needed to know. Letting his hands finally move down to her hips, without moving his tongue away from her, he drops his shoulder and adjusts her calves with his hands so that her legs could sit easily on either side of his neck. With that done, his palms are free to sink fully below her. In the beginning, she might have been lifting her hips enticingly toward him, but now she was his for the taking.
And take he would.
With the scruff on the sides of his cheeks acting as a bright contrast to the soft dance of his mouth against her, it's with a tongue that won't tire that he laps at her again and again. Fueled not only by the sounds made through parted lips but by the bright colour of her emotions as well, it's easy enough for an astute mind to calibrate his movements in time with whatever it was she was thinking of in the moment. Faster or slower, more or less pressure, even the tilt of her hips based on his own position: she only needed to have an errant feeling about it in order for him to trailblaze forward.
Spreading his wings up and around her as if belatedly wanting to preserve her modesty (though it wasn't that at all), it was a shame that the apartment didn't have mirrors on the ceiling (did it?) for the tableau of dark-haired madame upon a fur pelt, swathed in feathers with a demigod between her thighs, was a sight that Remi might have liked to take in for himself.
And take he would.
With the scruff on the sides of his cheeks acting as a bright contrast to the soft dance of his mouth against her, it's with a tongue that won't tire that he laps at her again and again. Fueled not only by the sounds made through parted lips but by the bright colour of her emotions as well, it's easy enough for an astute mind to calibrate his movements in time with whatever it was she was thinking of in the moment. Faster or slower, more or less pressure, even the tilt of her hips based on his own position: she only needed to have an errant feeling about it in order for him to trailblaze forward.
Spreading his wings up and around her as if belatedly wanting to preserve her modesty (though it wasn't that at all), it was a shame that the apartment didn't have mirrors on the ceiling (did it?) for the tableau of dark-haired madame upon a fur pelt, swathed in feathers with a demigod between her thighs, was a sight that Remi might have liked to take in for himself.
THE LULLABY
maybe it's a long gray game, but maybe that's a good thing
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.
