RONIN
It's like a fine rain - that's what Ronin decides, anyway, in the distant part of his mind where neurons are still firing enough to knit together coherent thought. The comedown after the near violence of their lovemaking is like the sort of rain that falls slowly and softly, clinging to your clothes and soaking you through before you've noticed. And it's such a strange, quaint image to get stuck on that the Huntsman finds himself smiling about it, his eyes half open, focused on the criss-cross of ceiling beams above and whether there are any rainclouds forming in the wood grain.
Calloused hands stroke down the valleys between Remi's shoulder blades and his still spread wings, Ronin humming a deep sigh into the air and letting his head thud back against the table. "Do you think the waterfall is glowing?" he asks in a voice made rough by the pleasure his husband has dragged from him. "Because if it isn't, we could always try again."
His laughter is a shaky thing, as exuberant as it is exhausted, and while his thighs and calves at asking not-so-politely for a readjustment, he has no intention of moving until both of them are good and ready.
Calloused hands stroke down the valleys between Remi's shoulder blades and his still spread wings, Ronin humming a deep sigh into the air and letting his head thud back against the table. "Do you think the waterfall is glowing?" he asks in a voice made rough by the pleasure his husband has dragged from him. "Because if it isn't, we could always try again."
His laughter is a shaky thing, as exuberant as it is exhausted, and while his thighs and calves at asking not-so-politely for a readjustment, he has no intention of moving until both of them are good and ready.
one more wish for you
