(logs on robin) 🔷️ (logs off robin)
𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 ↪ ( accepting )
🔷️ - tracing shapes on my muse’s skin
Dawn fluttered through the semi-transparency of their tent. Air dust shimmered in the beams of light that shied Kamui further into his pillow. He could never get used to such bright mornings where the sun welcomed him every day. It was a routine to hide away, to sleep further into the afternoons, to cling to the seconds that Robin spent at his side. They were similar around these parts of the day. Tired, not wanting wake up and face the world ahead just yet, nestled into each other until duty calls and they had to lug themselves forward. Even when they seldom rise before noon, they’d go back to sleep and rob each other of the minutes.
His breaths were gentle and tired. The sun was too bright for him to open his eyes. So there he laid as fingers danced on his naked back — padding over his bones and muscles, lining together birthmarks and dipping into the grooves of his scars. Half his face was pressed into the plush of his pillow, and he could physically feel the muscles in his face tugging upwards.
A soundless laugh, just the vibrations of his body. The sheets ruffled and crinkled, Kamui could hear his hair crunch against his ear as he buried further into his comfort. Robin’s fingers fluttered here, there, gliding there, here, touch so light it sparked shivers. ` That tickles. ’ Soft, groggy, his throat had yet to process his wake, his smile audible.












