in these trying times we're not trying

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

Remi hums of note of satisfaction against her as the dam breaks. She quivers against him, and he's all too content to hold onto her as she trembles her way back down to sanity. If his back will be bruised from her heels digging into him, or even his neck from her thighs, he thinks little of it just now. Fighting to catch his own breath after having to filter it between what would feel best for her, Remi too feels himself relax and loosen as she does.

Her praise has him smirking between her thighs as he softly lowers his shoulders so that her legs can fall off of him, and he can gently set her lower back down. With lips well moistened from his ministrations, Remi kisses the inside of her thigh as he moves from beneath them, letting them settle however is most comfortable. Stretching his wings back so that he can come and rest on his side next to her, Remi props the side of his head up on one of his palms, looking over her. Stretching out a wing so that his flight feathers can trickle along that tattoo that threatens to swallow one of her breasts, his pale eyes flicker up to hers. "Which are you? The flower? The snake? The gardener?"

THE LULLABY

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