the baffled king composing hallelujah
"Mmhm," Ronin agrees, his weariness overtaken by the heat in his bones that needs zero kindling from his husband's hands. Leaning appreciatively into the touch, the Huntsman rolls over to draw Remi over the top of him like a blanket, letting his fingers trace gentle patterns along his shoulder blades and his ribs. "I was thinking that as well," he says, the words mumbled into the Lullaby's bare shoulder. "I was thinking of setting her up her own space. In the woods, or the village."
Kissing his neck, he has to bring it up before he talks himself out of it. "Probably room in the houseboat for the twins to sleep though," he says. "If we move some things. Maybe hammocks? It's up to you."
But then Remi has seen Isla and jumped off a bridge about it, and he doesn't seem particularly ripped to pieces by it all. Which is either a very good sign, or a very bad one. "Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, peeping up at the other man.
Kissing his neck, he has to bring it up before he talks himself out of it. "Probably room in the houseboat for the twins to sleep though," he says. "If we move some things. Maybe hammocks? It's up to you."
But then Remi has seen Isla and jumped off a bridge about it, and he doesn't seem particularly ripped to pieces by it all. Which is either a very good sign, or a very bad one. "Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, peeping up at the other man.
