i only feel you

there will be scrapes and sutures; viciousness and victory

Ronin doesn't like to be so hyperbolic as to describe something as perfect, but it's a difficult thing to avoid at times like this. A lazy morning, their bodies sunkissed and warm and hopelessly entwined, the soft hush of a waterfall in the distance the only evidence of other life around... it's as close to it as they can get, he thinks. And so, toes in the surf, the Huntsman responds with little more than a breathless smile to feel the delicious pressure of Remi's hips, simultaneously wishing they were even closer and also wanting to carve this moment into his memories forever.

"I thought you'd never ask," he whispers, braced easily over the Lullaby and leaning in to satisfy his demand without question. There's nothing rushed about his kiss, the part of his lips, the press of his tongue, and one hand frees itself to glide down the warm ladder of the other man's ribcage, aiming to sweep beneath his hips and thigh to anchor them together more thoroughly.

As makeout sessions go, this one is the slow burn of two kindred spirits. There's no hurry, no frenetic passion, but somehow Ronin likes it all the more for it.

RONIN

i wish I could say I am a light that never goes out.
but i flicker from time to time

Indeed, sometimes it felt like he was silently screaming against his partner's mouth, or stringing together ill-formed curses in his desperation to communicate the heights of his pleasure. Now, though, Remi's tongue is as passionate but reserved, as hands brushing in a dark room. His lips move slowly against Ronin's, finishing the phrases sung by his husband's mouth, and interjecting softly with his own melodies. The words they form are sweet and uniquely accented; some bastardized language spoken only by the two of them, and only ever in moments like this.

Wanting both to sink into the feel of Ronin's fingers beneath his hips but also to rise up, Remi holds himself like a taught bowstring: his lower legs shivering with tension as he fights against the insistence of his lower half crash into Ronin's. There was always the odd wave on the beach even on the calmest days, wasn't there?

Breathing in deeply, Remi finds that rather than calming the runaway beating of his heart, that the air in his lungs served only to intensify the heat in his belly and the warm tension coursing through his thighs. Gods but you make this difficult. The Lullaby thinks, sounding breathless even though his mental voice didn't need to breathe.

there will be scrapes and sutures; viciousness and victory

I promise I'm not trying to make anything difficult, Ronin sings back into his husband's mind, having to force a moment to breathe between kisses, though there's nothing he'd rather do than devour the man before him. If he were more awake he might have said he didn't want to make anything hard, but not only would it be a terrible pun, it would be a lie as well.

Even so, as though sensing the tension quickly snapping through his husband's body, now it's Ronin's turn to try and coax it back through soft touches and slow kisses. It's a rare euphoria, to submit to pleasure rather than try to claw and fight and bruise their way towards it (as is their usual custom), and a morning like this one deserves that heady, overwhelming sort of ecstasy.

And so even while he's encouraging the tilt of Remi's hips and letting his hand drift south to adjust their positions, it's punctuated by the poetry he writes against the other man's tongue and the gentle movements of his body. There's no reason to rush, no reason to feel rushed.

RONIN

i wish I could say I am a light that never goes out.
but i flicker from time to time

I know, the Lullaby agrees. But that it's so effortless is part of what drives me crazy.

Though Remi had certainly softened quite a few of the edges that the war had made ragged, patience was still a trait that conflicted with nearly every shift he had. Even the raccoon in him which was meant to help soothe his more murdery shifts, was a creature of utter gluttony. His mind could tell him that slowness and delayed gratification would feel better in the long run, but gods, with Ronin pressed against him, with his tongue writing promises the Lullaby knew the Huntsman's body meant to make good on...how could he not shiver and flinch with failing restraint?

Exhaling a soft sound of plaintive desperation against Ronin's lips, the Lullaby pulls back slightly, pressing the back of his head deeply into their mattress and forcing his eyes closed. He thought of the waterfall outside (flashes of he and Ronin standing naked beneath it, the Huntsman's hands all over Remi's body), of chores to do around the Houseboat (Ronin bent over to do the dishes, Remi wrapping his arms around his husband's shoulders before descending lower to slip off the Huntsman's belt), of the woodpile outside that would eventually need to be restocked (strong arms tugging Ronin down into the grass, kindling all but forgotten).

Taking a long breath, holding it, and intentionally releasing it slowly through shaky lips, Remi aims for a smile as he hazards a look up at Ronin. Though his dimpled and heat-coloured cheeks might have made his expression seem like one of pain, were the Huntsman not privy to the Lullaby's emotions.

there will be scrapes and sutures; viciousness and victory

It's with a smile that can't help but be amused that Ronin gazes down at his husband, the Huntsman shivering out a laugh and leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the other man's lips. You already have me, he reminds him, softly nipping at Remi's lower lip. You don't need to worry about me going anywhere. Granted, telling the Lullaby to just relax and enjoy it is at odds with who and what he is, though that won't stop Ronin from trying.

That being said, as the Huntsman eases himself forward and finally eliminates every inch of space between them, he has to try his best not to eat his own words. A stifled moan makes its way past his lips, his fingers flinching in the blankets as he forces a pace that has no chance of scratching the itch they both feel. Well, no, that isn't exactly true - it absolutely will take them there and well beyond that, if they can make it that far.

Ronin liked their odds until a second ago, and now he wants nothing more than to wrap Remi's legs around his hips and to fuck him hard enough that the bedframe splinters into the wall of their boat.

RONIN

i wish I could say I am a light that never goes out.
but i flicker from time to time

God, the puns about Ronin going vs Remi coming would be so easy to make, and really it's an indication of just how much the Lullaby is trying to corral his thoughts that there's only a shiver of colour through their bond that indications this small ripple of boyish humour. Well, that is part of the problem.. Remi manages, as his toes curl and he flexes the muscles of his calves hard enough that they cramp painfully. It keeps him in place though, even if every instinct he has wants to force his husband onto his knees that the Lullaby might sweep around him and end this torture once and for all.

That probably explains the lengthy moan of satisfaction that splits Remi's lips as Ronin finally brings them fully together. The Lullaby's fingertips tighten against the Huntsman's lower back at the same time as one of Remi's legs tangles up and over his husband's hips near enough to almost touch his own hand. "Gods, I love you like this." The Lullaby pants; so often it was Remi doing the taking, that having their roles reversed was a welcome change. All the more so when Ronin wasn't fucking him back into senses, or in some desperate act of need. The Huntsman was right of course, that unrushed felt much better, but it did little to soothe Remi's inclination to reach down with both hands to grab his husband's ass, as if he might simply use Ronin as a tool to fuck himself with, such was the wildfire pooling between his thighs.

there will be scrapes and sutures; viciousness and victory

It's like a tightrope that they both want to plunge from, but for some reason they're deciding not to, and every moment is made tantalisingly more unbearable given that he can feel Remi's emotions. Finding himself trying hard to catch his breath despite this comparatively lazy roll between the sheets, Ronin hums his appreciation against Remi's neck at the same time as he leaves a bruising claim there with his lips, as if he can somehow keep his senses if he gives himself an outlet elsewhere.

Perhaps it's a blessing in disguise, then, that it's literally first thing in the morning, and the chances of this being more than a quick moment of pleasure are minimal. Despite the glacial pace (in Ronin's opinion, anyway), the pressure building at the base of his spine is undeniable, and while he can't reach down to help Remi finish himself off in their current positions, the sudden hitch and spark in his emotions will hopefully be warning enough.

RONIN

i wish I could say I am a light that never goes out.
but i flicker from time to time

The bit of blood drawn up toward the Huntsman's lips on Remi's skin is nothing compared to where the majority of it has gone south, and so while this may (or may not) help to temper Ronin's nerves, it does nothing for the Lullaby (save for adding to the growing recklessness of his need). His toes continue to curl in the sheets, and as one leg contours around Ronin's body, the other straightens and shakes with tension.

If ever there was a need to ask Frey for anything, perhaps some sort of helping hand would be it, because just now Remi is loathe to take his hands from his husband's body. (Birthday present idea, Mateo?). He does manage to pry one away, and though it's his right one, his ghostly appendage has never been disobedient in such situations and he doesn't expect it to now.

Leaning forward for a kiss, Remi barely manages to whisper, "gods, you're everything-" against his husband's lips before his tongue is seeking to encourage an encore of its earlier performance with Ronin's. Though the Lullaby doesn't need to beg for more, every thrust of his husband's hips is echoed in the cascading shimmer of Remi's emotions: reds explode into desperate and needy whites, that fade to pleading lilacs before growing hot again with the force of Ronin's movements.

there will be scrapes and sutures; viciousness and victory

Ronin can't say it, because even his mental voice is reduced to snarls of colour and flares of needy emotion, but every word from Remi's lips is paradise to the Huntsman. It's at times like this that he's reminded of the lethal nature of their love, of the atrocities he'd commit to hear Remi whisper you're everything against his lips, the way cities would burn and crumble for just a brief taste of the Lullaby's love.

Somehow they've managed to keep to the comparatively gentle pace, at least in a physical sense, but apparently the two demigods have successfully managed to wage sexual war in their minds instead. Either way, Ronin moans his orgasm against soft lips and a clever tongue, his hips snapping forward to bury himself in the Lullaby a final time, even as sweat beads down his spine and his heart gallops in his chest.

"Fuck," he just about manages, unsure when he'd last felt so fucking exhausted. But here they are.

RONIN

i wish I could say I am a light that never goes out.
but i flicker from time to time

The rush that begins in his toes is compatible far away from the destructive thoughts billowing through the Lullaby's mind, and yet it's strong enough to begin to drag them down with all the force and suddenness of a riptide. The world of ashes and guiltless death that Remi feels through Ronin's lips fades away, scattering like so much sand when snapped from a beach towel, leaving the Lullaby in a world of static-y white.

Anchored only by strong hands and the memory of fae-blue, Remi is broken apart by the force of his orgasm as he curls forward as much as their respective body positions will permit, allowing it to shudder through him. This and only this, is the closeness with which the Lullaby always wants from his husband. In this place, however fleetingly they find themselves there, is where he can feel as though he and Ronin are properly one. This would explain why the Lullaby is often so violently desperate to reach climax with Ronin, and yet once the ripples of his orgasm begin to filter away, all the coherent understanding of the moment disperses with it, leaving Remi exhausted and thoughtless.

Like that morning, when wakefulness had come slowly and in pieces, so now did Remi come back into himself. This time he did not mistake his husband's shoulder for a mountain covered in tendrils of fine golden seaweed, but understood the weight and shape of the Huntsman's body for precisely what it was. Shifting them just so that they might find themselves back where they'd started -- with Remi's hand pressed over Ronin's chest, with the blankets scattered about them, and with his lips kissing the Huntsman's shoulder -- they slipped back into their respective dreams (though Ronin would find his almost immediately interrupted).

~FIN