whiskey, smoke and aces high

It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses,
So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses

Lost in it all as he is, Remi is only vaguely aware that Ronin has moved. There is a tickle of annoyance in the back of his skull—"jesus it's like thirty more seconds and then you can fuck off out of here" he wants to say—when he feels fingertips against his shoulder that continue down one arm. It's the first—and only, thank you—time that his fingers have faltered on the keys, and though he fucking hates the early mornings and the rabbit food, god if he isn't suddenly happy that the day before at the gym had been arm-day.

Turning slowly into the feeling of lips against his jawline, Remi's fingers are able to still map out the remaining chords with ease, as his eyes have the nerve to seek out Ronin's with a look of soft confusion. What is confusing about having brought an attractive man home, peppering him with liquor, and then playing him a love song only to find him trying to slide into first base, even I don't know. Neither does Remi.

Entirely undone by Ronin's presence, despite the way he subtly turns into the man next to him, his fingers continue to gently coax out the remaining chords. "I wasn't—" He begins, and unless Ronin does something about it, Remi is going to finish that sentence with done playing yet.

ThE RoCkStAr