// the only heaven i'll be sent to —
Longheat makes people restless. Not that he can blame them - and with the adjusting rooms, it made it easy to stay cool when his clients chose changes to their rooms that would provide just as much cooling atmospheres. Still, it leaves the courtesan tired as he slinks to the bar and hears that Colt had asked him to stop by. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel as tired. And content as he is to snag a quick shower, a change of clothes, the courtesan arrives at her door without doing much else like he usually would.
Healing magic made it easier to get rid of hickeys as they cling to his skin, but tonight Thorn doesn’t bother with it. Instead, he knocks on the metal that surrounds the screen to not take Colt by surprise (even though he’s sure the dogs have alerted her already as he pats a few of them on the way up), and when he slips into her home it’s to the smell of lime and salt, the hint of tequila, warmed entirely by the sweetness of cookies that he immediately heads to the kitchen.
Dressed down, more than she’s probably seen, the abandoned wears a pair of tight jeans, boots, and a sheer see through tank top of a shirt. It allows for his tattoos to be seen everywhere they go - the shackles made of vines on his wrists in a dark green are always visible, but as he shifts his weight, the view of flowers against his hips and vines that wind out from them toward his stomach are visible as he flashes a smile and tilts his head as he leans against the doorframe to the entry to her kitchen, the silver jewelry in his ears wiggling with the movement. “You doin’ alright?” He asks, taking note of the margaritas and cookies and the late hour.
Healing magic made it easier to get rid of hickeys as they cling to his skin, but tonight Thorn doesn’t bother with it. Instead, he knocks on the metal that surrounds the screen to not take Colt by surprise (even though he’s sure the dogs have alerted her already as he pats a few of them on the way up), and when he slips into her home it’s to the smell of lime and salt, the hint of tequila, warmed entirely by the sweetness of cookies that he immediately heads to the kitchen.
Dressed down, more than she’s probably seen, the abandoned wears a pair of tight jeans, boots, and a sheer see through tank top of a shirt. It allows for his tattoos to be seen everywhere they go - the shackles made of vines on his wrists in a dark green are always visible, but as he shifts his weight, the view of flowers against his hips and vines that wind out from them toward his stomach are visible as he flashes a smile and tilts his head as he leans against the doorframe to the entry to her kitchen, the silver jewelry in his ears wiggling with the movement. “You doin’ alright?” He asks, taking note of the margaritas and cookies and the late hour.
thorn
— is when i'm alone with you //
