there will be scrapes and sutures; viciousness and victory
The only thing to hold onto here is Remi, given the mudslick ground beneath them and the way the tangled branches of the swamp curl overhead, too far for his fingers to grasp them. And hold onto him Ronin does, his fingers buried tightly in damp and muddy curls while his other hand curls around a wing joint, relishing the feel of feathers and flesh alike. It's all consuming, the feel of Remi all around him in every way possible, and it does the unheard of for a moment - it robs Ronin of his words.
As the Lullaby finds his rhythm, however mismatched it might be to the pace of his mouth, the Star is left to serenade him to whatever creatures in the Feverlands are unfortunate enough to be listening. "What, on the floor in the mud?" he manages after what feels like an eternity, a small, lopsided smile on his lips that quickly fades into a gasp of mounting pleasure.
"Don't stop--" he warns, his legs hitching Remi closer if possible, as if encouraging him to go faster and harder, wanting to be the other man's undoing.
As the Lullaby finds his rhythm, however mismatched it might be to the pace of his mouth, the Star is left to serenade him to whatever creatures in the Feverlands are unfortunate enough to be listening. "What, on the floor in the mud?" he manages after what feels like an eternity, a small, lopsided smile on his lips that quickly fades into a gasp of mounting pleasure.
"Don't stop--" he warns, his legs hitching Remi closer if possible, as if encouraging him to go faster and harder, wanting to be the other man's undoing.
RONIN
