maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane
'Sorry.' Remi says with a laugh, pulling back a wing to avoid tickling her more. Her question has a thoughtful look coming over his features, flushed and boyish as they are. "I think..." He lets his eyes wash up toward hers, narrowed as if he might have some ability that let him find the answer within her. And as far as she knew, he just might. "The gardener, I think. Especially here. Protecting, nurturing. Enjoy the fruits of your labour...being able to offer them as gifts..." He shrugs lightly as she fits herself against him, fingers tracing scars that no longer hurt. Remi would be quite content to simply just lay here like this, on the rug, talking about tattoos and metaphors for each of them. But...that, he realized, was perhaps starting to answer to the question Maeve had asked him so long ago.
Still, he does as is wordlessly instructed of him. Rolling onto his back, he waits, apprehensively almost, to see what it is she might have planned. Had she plunged his tongue between her thighs again, he'd have complied without a second thought. But Remi doesn't need to reach between his own legs to feel he isn't aroused as most men would be having had the tour of Maeve as he just has.
Still, he does as is wordlessly instructed of him. Rolling onto his back, he waits, apprehensively almost, to see what it is she might have planned. Had she plunged his tongue between her thighs again, he'd have complied without a second thought. But Remi doesn't need to reach between his own legs to feel he isn't aroused as most men would be having had the tour of Maeve as he just has.
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.
