I swear I still believe but I don't know
His fingers spasm against Remi’s shoulder, sliding up and into the back of wet curls at the hot pressure of a mouth devouring him. Remi asks, wicked and hungry, and so Ronin repeats himself, moaning a note of pleasure that compliments the sounds of enthusiasm from between his legs. His free hand tangles in the blankets, gripping them tightly as if they might help him hang onto his senses, not that it does any good, and he has to stop from shifting his hips, from arching into the sensation.
This is definitely not something for Safrin’s shrine - because this is not for her. This is for the man that Ronin does worship, wholly and without rhyme or reason, a man whose name forms breathlessly on his lips as he begs either for mercy or for release. And as Remi drags himself up the length of his torso, the hunter stutters out a gasp and locks his legs around the Alchemist to pull him closer, to keep up the delicious and agonising pressure between them.
”Tell me how,” he grates out, blue eyes wild in the flickering light of the storm. Does Remi want to have or be had? Does he want on top, or beneath, or behind, or swinging from the fucking ceiling? Ronin is game.
This is definitely not something for Safrin’s shrine - because this is not for her. This is for the man that Ronin does worship, wholly and without rhyme or reason, a man whose name forms breathlessly on his lips as he begs either for mercy or for release. And as Remi drags himself up the length of his torso, the hunter stutters out a gasp and locks his legs around the Alchemist to pull him closer, to keep up the delicious and agonising pressure between them.
”Tell me how,” he grates out, blue eyes wild in the flickering light of the storm. Does Remi want to have or be had? Does he want on top, or beneath, or behind, or swinging from the fucking ceiling? Ronin is game.
the dark star
