// the only heaven i'll be sent to —
Her excitement and delight are infectious, and Thorn’s smile brightens at the sight of it - comfortable in her home just as he was in the House of Midnight, still leaning against the side of the doorframe, peering across to her with bright seafoam eyes. “Cookies, huh?” He says, immediately latching onto it as he pushes off the doorframe to invade her kitchen, moving over to the kitchen island to drape across it. “Oooh a margarita sounds great.” He practically moans at the thought, airing a touch closer to his courtesan nature before the smile he flashes her way proves otherwise with how boyish it is in nature.
But then she begins to explain what the reason was, and he’s immediately noting the mischief in her gaze and can’t help but to let his smile quirk a bit more conspiratory as he sidles up closer, only to be stilled when her gaze finds his again, like a prey being spotted by a predator. “I can be brutally honest.” He says with a snort, but his eyes narrow a touch, wondering what the options could be that she’s dancing between.
Then again, he remembers the night he’d learned to line dance and the story she’d shared with him, and suddenly his heart aches for her for how confusing and frustrating this must be. So, rather than invading her space completely, the courtesan hops up onto he counter of the island to sit, uncaring if there’s any flour leftover to dust his ass. His legs swing a little as he watches her curiously. “Mkay, so, what’s the issue? What’s makin’ ya feel all twisted up inside?” He asks, snagging a cookie to bite into while he listens.
But then she begins to explain what the reason was, and he’s immediately noting the mischief in her gaze and can’t help but to let his smile quirk a bit more conspiratory as he sidles up closer, only to be stilled when her gaze finds his again, like a prey being spotted by a predator. “I can be brutally honest.” He says with a snort, but his eyes narrow a touch, wondering what the options could be that she’s dancing between.
Then again, he remembers the night he’d learned to line dance and the story she’d shared with him, and suddenly his heart aches for her for how confusing and frustrating this must be. So, rather than invading her space completely, the courtesan hops up onto he counter of the island to sit, uncaring if there’s any flour leftover to dust his ass. His legs swing a little as he watches her curiously. “Mkay, so, what’s the issue? What’s makin’ ya feel all twisted up inside?” He asks, snagging a cookie to bite into while he listens.
thorn
— is when i'm alone with you //
