I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes
Ronin shouldn't find it attractive, that in the monstrous tangle of limbs and tentacles and claws lies his husband, but gods if he can't help himself. Especially here in their subconscious where things like darkness and light, like right and wrong can become so gorgeously blurred that it barely matters any more. For the Huntsman's part, at least, he longs to feel the burning in muscles that haven't been stressed for what feels like years; to taste sweat and blood and have his lungs burn with the effort.
And again, because of the miracle of a dream, he's more than capable of giving himself that much. And so as foul creatures fall and turn their porch slick with greasy blood, Ronin finds himself weary and at ease, loving the way the axe begins to feel heavier in his arms, the way he's forced to huff out a few breaths as he dodges back from one of the monsters. Covered in gore and ichor might be a strange way of expressing grief, but it wouldn't be the first time for either man.
And again, because of the miracle of a dream, he's more than capable of giving himself that much. And so as foul creatures fall and turn their porch slick with greasy blood, Ronin finds himself weary and at ease, loving the way the axe begins to feel heavier in his arms, the way he's forced to huff out a few breaths as he dodges back from one of the monsters. Covered in gore and ichor might be a strange way of expressing grief, but it wouldn't be the first time for either man.
RONIN
