in these trying times we're not trying

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

This time the alchemist doesn't play stupid. Instead, he all but growls, letting the vibration of the sound travel against her as he continues his ministrations with a doubled effort. He doesn't let himself get hasty with it though. Maeve isn't some runaway horse frantically dodging potholes down a back lane; she's a thoroughbred, well-toned to run this race, and there's no need to go in for the spur or whip now. He can feel her rising need, the shaky sort of panic that comes with being so close but knowing that any asshole with weak hand-muscles or a lazy tongue might ruin it. So it is that Remi does his best to stay on the side of frustration that has her tugging at his curls, instead of tensing her belly to beat him there before he ruins it.

"Cum, then." He commands, a smile on his lips that she'll no doubt feel. Gripping her hips in his hands, Remi pulls in a deep breath to ensure that there needn't be any further interruptions on his part until he's pressed her towards the peak of her orgasm and let her fall in a flurry of his feathers to the other side.

THE LULLABY

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