RONIN
the dark star
Huffing out a grumble of anticipation as Remi's hand sneaks between his legs, Ronin needs no encouragement to leave bruising kisses against the side of the other man's neck. He's vaguely aware of their audience (and sorry, why the fuck isn't she leaving?), waving a hand their way as if to tell them to get going before he's consumed by Remi again. A shiver runs through him at the music that dances from his husband's lips, his hips rolling forward and against Remi's hand.
"And a lot more than that besides, I bet," he whispers, his fingers dancing down the Lullaby's chest. He wants more than anything to lose himself to this completely, to have Remi's hand around him, to have him straddled in the Huntsman's lap, but gods if the Celestine isn't distracting. "Our wagon," he mumbles, referring to the rickety little thing from Torchline. "Remember it? I do. Make it happen?"
"And a lot more than that besides, I bet," he whispers, his fingers dancing down the Lullaby's chest. He wants more than anything to lose himself to this completely, to have Remi's hand around him, to have him straddled in the Huntsman's lap, but gods if the Celestine isn't distracting. "Our wagon," he mumbles, referring to the rickety little thing from Torchline. "Remember it? I do. Make it happen?"
i'll get over it
i just gotta be dramatic first
i just gotta be dramatic first
