on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
He’s riding the high of Casimir’s quiet charm, the scent of the man that lingers in the wool coat around his shoulders he keeps tucked tight around him. A slow inhale of citrus – reminiscent of the lemon he’d been cutting before Thorn had corralled him from behind the bar out into the Great Unknown. He relishes in it and the undertones of the bartender himself. It brings a bit more pep in his step, a feline grace that’s inherent to the courtesan but one that has dimmed earlier with his rush to keep Casimir from leaving.
Barely even noticing the extra few inches of distance between them while they walk, Thorn’s content to drift in silence, quietly contemplative of what kind of room Casimir would create, while the sign post comes up closer into view. He doesn’t get to do the fun little quip before vanishing – because much to his surprise, it’s Casimir that chooses to do it. His steps come to an abrupt stop, a small smile tugging on his face as he looks up and sees Casimir turn toward him, the way the wind whips up his curls and in the low evening light he looks like he was cut from stone.
Hearing the playfulness underline Casimir’s words, the rich baritone flooding his flushed ears, Thorn watches with raised brows as the sly and satisfied smile twitches across the bartender’s face before he fucking vanishes right before Thorn even has a second to wrap his head around what Casimir’s even said.
So obviously, not wanting to be outdone, the courtesan darts forward in the space Casimir left behind, taking the sign post back with all kinds of grace and ease, only to whirl toward the bartender when he has him in his sights again. “I would’ve!” He protests with a chime of laughter spilling from his throat, the silver choker dancing with the movement. “I just didn’t think it was gonna work.” Raising a brow and shooting the bartender a smug smirk, Thorn picks up his pace a little to start guiding back to the House of Midnight. “If ya want me to be more.. direct, I think I can manage it.” It’s a bold claim, because for whatever reason, the charm and ease that Thorn usually had with clients felt more like foreign territory when it came to the handsome, familiar face of the bartender.
Barely even noticing the extra few inches of distance between them while they walk, Thorn’s content to drift in silence, quietly contemplative of what kind of room Casimir would create, while the sign post comes up closer into view. He doesn’t get to do the fun little quip before vanishing – because much to his surprise, it’s Casimir that chooses to do it. His steps come to an abrupt stop, a small smile tugging on his face as he looks up and sees Casimir turn toward him, the way the wind whips up his curls and in the low evening light he looks like he was cut from stone.
Hearing the playfulness underline Casimir’s words, the rich baritone flooding his flushed ears, Thorn watches with raised brows as the sly and satisfied smile twitches across the bartender’s face before he fucking vanishes right before Thorn even has a second to wrap his head around what Casimir’s even said.
So obviously, not wanting to be outdone, the courtesan darts forward in the space Casimir left behind, taking the sign post back with all kinds of grace and ease, only to whirl toward the bartender when he has him in his sights again. “I would’ve!” He protests with a chime of laughter spilling from his throat, the silver choker dancing with the movement. “I just didn’t think it was gonna work.” Raising a brow and shooting the bartender a smug smirk, Thorn picks up his pace a little to start guiding back to the House of Midnight. “If ya want me to be more.. direct, I think I can manage it.” It’s a bold claim, because for whatever reason, the charm and ease that Thorn usually had with clients felt more like foreign territory when it came to the handsome, familiar face of the bartender.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
