RONIN
the darkstar
light is easy to love.
"Was," Ronin has the audacity to agree, a crooked smile on his lips that just about manages to stay there when he's gazing down at Remi, flushed and dramatically offended and grasping his cock. "Now there's a good looking Italian in my bed." Ha ha, get it? Shut up Ronin. Honestly, though, as things proceed, the level of care and attention paid to things like the mechanic's comfort levels and consent have more than heat flooding through his belly, and it's with cheeks that are quickly flushing pink that Ronin's head tilts back to feel himself guided into Remi's mouth.
It is different, in ways that are both too subtle and too obvious for him to properly articulate. The one similarity, of course, is that it feels fucking good, and the musician between his legs is good at it, too. A breath shudders out of him, Ronin steeling himself to keep his hips from thrusting up, to stop his hand from plunging in to the back of soft curls to press down. In the end, one hand grasps the headboard behind him, the other fluttering along the back of Remi's neck.
"Tuilleadh." It slips out before he can translate it, a breathless request for more.
It is different, in ways that are both too subtle and too obvious for him to properly articulate. The one similarity, of course, is that it feels fucking good, and the musician between his legs is good at it, too. A breath shudders out of him, Ronin steeling himself to keep his hips from thrusting up, to stop his hand from plunging in to the back of soft curls to press down. In the end, one hand grasps the headboard behind him, the other fluttering along the back of Remi's neck.
"Tuilleadh." It slips out before he can translate it, a breathless request for more.
show me your darkness.
