champagne, cocaine, gasoline; and most things in between
"Thorn," Mateo echoes, his accent wrapping around the word at the same time as his fingers whisper along the thorned vines that encircle the other man's wrist. "I hope you do not plan to prick us." Turning his head to smile a kiss against that same wrist as it clasps his jaw, Mateo's tone suggests that he doesn't particularly mean that - especially depending on where said prick comes from.
And when his attention turns to Aurora, it's far from jealousy that sparks through the botanist's blood. With open approval at the display unfolding over his head, he lets his hands drop to play around the courtesan's waist, his own hips rising against him as if to remind him of the things they might otherwise do with and to each other. And Aurora, for her part, melts under the attention as well, one hand tangling loosely in Mateo's curls and the other cupping Thorn's cheek, keen to taste him further.
And when his attention turns to Aurora, it's far from jealousy that sparks through the botanist's blood. With open approval at the display unfolding over his head, he lets his hands drop to play around the courtesan's waist, his own hips rising against him as if to remind him of the things they might otherwise do with and to each other. And Aurora, for her part, melts under the attention as well, one hand tangling loosely in Mateo's curls and the other cupping Thorn's cheek, keen to taste him further.
