there will be scrapes and sutures; viciousness and victory
Ronin doesn't have the sense to complain about the tentacle, even if he does end up wriggling a good deal more than he would have had it been a hand pulling down his pants. And regardless, his breath is stolen by Remi's lips and tongue pressing against his own, the Star fumbling with the buttons still trapping the alchemist in his own clothes. They've stopped having sex to race to the finish line these days, but in times like this there's a thrill to it, in needing to hurry lest the world interrupt them.
And as Ronin tosses the scraps of his clothing to one side, he's left looking up the length of his husband's body, streaked with mud and shimmering with the humidity that clings to them here. Despite the mix of shifts that inhabit their bodies, this is still as close to predatory as Ronin gets, even as his legs spread, as he hooks one of his calves around Remi's waist to drag him closer. "Gods--" he hisses, his pulse roaring in his ears, his gaze locking on eyes that might be the shallows of some tropical shore, sweet enough to drown in.
And as Ronin tosses the scraps of his clothing to one side, he's left looking up the length of his husband's body, streaked with mud and shimmering with the humidity that clings to them here. Despite the mix of shifts that inhabit their bodies, this is still as close to predatory as Ronin gets, even as his legs spread, as he hooks one of his calves around Remi's waist to drag him closer. "Gods--" he hisses, his pulse roaring in his ears, his gaze locking on eyes that might be the shallows of some tropical shore, sweet enough to drown in.
RONIN
