on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
The other bartender only greets Casimir with a shrug and a smile, but it’s all missed by the courtesan that’s already practically bolting toward the door to snag the leather jacket. He slips it on, adjusts the shirt beneath it, and shoots that glittering grin over his shoulder at Casimir like a siren luring him to his figurative death.
He has an idea that it’ll be a struggle for the bartender, if only because he’d never once seen him outside of the House of Midnight. And he’s positive he would have spotted his handsome face among the crowd, even if he wasn’t trying to be noticed. So he waits, excitement burning under his skin, the flush lingering on the tips of his ears and fading along his cheeks, and his shoulders slump slightly in relief the second that Cas starts walking toward him.
Hook line and sinker. The wool coat he slips on is elegant in a way that makes it feel almost homey, cozy and warm, drawing the sharp contours of the other man’s broad shoulders into something smooth and alluring. Thorn finds he has to look away lest he spend the next few moments staring at him.
So he focuses on the door, opening it and crossing the distance, shivering slightly as the cold chill hits his too hot cheeks and his open neckline. He hopes it’s enough to cool him off for the trek to the restaurant. It’s a companionable silence as they step away from the House, with Thorn shoving his hands into his pockets, the leather retaining some amount of heat but making it difficult to shove his hands in more fully.
He pretends to not notice. “Shouldn’t take us too long t’get to the post ‘n then we can warm up in the restaurant.” He says idly, breaking the silence before he’s glancing over at Casimir and trying not to choke on his breath with the continued realization he’s managed to squirrel him outside of the brothel into dinner with himself. “You a spaghetti kinda guy?” He asks, looking ahead to pick his steps carefully to not trip while the signpost starts to come into view at the bottom of the hill along the cobbled road.
He has an idea that it’ll be a struggle for the bartender, if only because he’d never once seen him outside of the House of Midnight. And he’s positive he would have spotted his handsome face among the crowd, even if he wasn’t trying to be noticed. So he waits, excitement burning under his skin, the flush lingering on the tips of his ears and fading along his cheeks, and his shoulders slump slightly in relief the second that Cas starts walking toward him.
Hook line and sinker. The wool coat he slips on is elegant in a way that makes it feel almost homey, cozy and warm, drawing the sharp contours of the other man’s broad shoulders into something smooth and alluring. Thorn finds he has to look away lest he spend the next few moments staring at him.
So he focuses on the door, opening it and crossing the distance, shivering slightly as the cold chill hits his too hot cheeks and his open neckline. He hopes it’s enough to cool him off for the trek to the restaurant. It’s a companionable silence as they step away from the House, with Thorn shoving his hands into his pockets, the leather retaining some amount of heat but making it difficult to shove his hands in more fully.
He pretends to not notice. “Shouldn’t take us too long t’get to the post ‘n then we can warm up in the restaurant.” He says idly, breaking the silence before he’s glancing over at Casimir and trying not to choke on his breath with the continued realization he’s managed to squirrel him outside of the brothel into dinner with himself. “You a spaghetti kinda guy?” He asks, looking ahead to pick his steps carefully to not trip while the signpost starts to come into view at the bottom of the hill along the cobbled road.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
