on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
There are many things that happen the second that Casimir closes that distance. Thorn, too drunk to see the signs that his words might have an effect as something other than the honesty he’s said them with – too much of an actor to be able to lift the mask to prove it. Instead, moving faster than he’d ever imagined (wondering, perhaps, if it’s one of the bartender’s shifts that allowed him to move this swiftly, debating between the glimmer of the griffin he’s seen or the hideous wine spider).
He bets it’s the spider.
Luckily, the hand that clasps his collar is warm and not a terrifying harry leg with little toes on the end to keep him in place, and the face he looks up at as the wind slips from his lungs in a small gush of air is blessedly absent of more than two eyes. So it leaves him to selfishly relish in the fact that finally, finally, Thorn has managed to get Casimir’s hands on him.
And he has to still his racing heartbeat and the flush that pours through his cheeks and the tips of his ears and down his neck and the grin that grows a little more fiendish as he sucks in a breath and has to think so fucking hard about what exactly Casimir said when he’s pinned him up against the bar, all danger and threat and delightful promise.
He manages to cool the tempo of his heart so that it doesn’t continue to drown out Casimir’s voice, but he has managed to get his arms free from being pinned to his chest before he’d been pressed up against the bar. The glittering jeweled fingers settle on the warm, hardened muscle of the bartender’s forearms, a gentler touch.
Where Casimir is a brazier of flame, Thorn is a stunning flower. Where the bartender’s fire licks at those that dare to dip their fingers in, Thorn’s is a product of sitting too close and getting caught on his sharp edges.
“I meant it.” He says, chin tilting up as he sucks in another breath and his throat bobs, making the glittering choker sparkle that much more. “Why the fuck would I make fun of ya?” He pauses to let his voice drop, to bear his seafoam gaze into the hardened ones of the man that has him pinned. “That.. back ‘n forth we do? We’ve been doin’? S’like the best part of m’days. So yeah I’m gonna be annoyin’ an’ ask if ya wanna eat with me one time in case y'never see me again.” He tilts his head, doing absolutely nothing to get out of the grip that Casimir has on him, and the very one that Thorn has on him feels starkly gentle and soft in comparison, like he’s clinging to this first touch like a life jacket in a choppy sea.
He bets it’s the spider.
Luckily, the hand that clasps his collar is warm and not a terrifying harry leg with little toes on the end to keep him in place, and the face he looks up at as the wind slips from his lungs in a small gush of air is blessedly absent of more than two eyes. So it leaves him to selfishly relish in the fact that finally, finally, Thorn has managed to get Casimir’s hands on him.
And he has to still his racing heartbeat and the flush that pours through his cheeks and the tips of his ears and down his neck and the grin that grows a little more fiendish as he sucks in a breath and has to think so fucking hard about what exactly Casimir said when he’s pinned him up against the bar, all danger and threat and delightful promise.
He manages to cool the tempo of his heart so that it doesn’t continue to drown out Casimir’s voice, but he has managed to get his arms free from being pinned to his chest before he’d been pressed up against the bar. The glittering jeweled fingers settle on the warm, hardened muscle of the bartender’s forearms, a gentler touch.
Where Casimir is a brazier of flame, Thorn is a stunning flower. Where the bartender’s fire licks at those that dare to dip their fingers in, Thorn’s is a product of sitting too close and getting caught on his sharp edges.
“I meant it.” He says, chin tilting up as he sucks in another breath and his throat bobs, making the glittering choker sparkle that much more. “Why the fuck would I make fun of ya?” He pauses to let his voice drop, to bear his seafoam gaze into the hardened ones of the man that has him pinned. “That.. back ‘n forth we do? We’ve been doin’? S’like the best part of m’days. So yeah I’m gonna be annoyin’ an’ ask if ya wanna eat with me one time in case y'never see me again.” He tilts his head, doing absolutely nothing to get out of the grip that Casimir has on him, and the very one that Thorn has on him feels starkly gentle and soft in comparison, like he’s clinging to this first touch like a life jacket in a choppy sea.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
