RONIN
the darkstar
light is easy to love.
"Mm, you know. Maybe someone hotter, or more famous, or maybe multiple people," Ronin reasons, though he's talking mostly on autopilot by now. It's difficult to concentrate when most of his focus is on the taske of whiskey and smoke on Remi's lips, and when he's just pulled his shirt over his head. There isn't really a me too to give in response to you're hot, but he hopes he manages to show it well enough in the way his hands roam along Remi's sides and up his chest, as if to trace every line of each of his tattoos.
"You, obviously," he says with the hint of a smirk, reaching up to pull his own t-shirt over his head, hissing in a breath as he can finally feel the hot press of skin against his own. "I thought maybe I could warm us up, and you could show me some of what I'm missing." And in terms of a warm-up, his hands are already teasing at the buttons on Bandcamp's jeans, his lips trailing down over his chest until he can sink to his knees before him. "How's that sound?"
"You, obviously," he says with the hint of a smirk, reaching up to pull his own t-shirt over his head, hissing in a breath as he can finally feel the hot press of skin against his own. "I thought maybe I could warm us up, and you could show me some of what I'm missing." And in terms of a warm-up, his hands are already teasing at the buttons on Bandcamp's jeans, his lips trailing down over his chest until he can sink to his knees before him. "How's that sound?"
show me your darkness.
