on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
The first thing that comes to mind for the courtesan is that Casimir’s face is softer than he’d expected. The sharp panes of his face, the flecks of freckles that smatter across his skin, he’d nearly expected his hands to come away red when he does finally withdraw. It won’t be any time soon, though, not as Thorn continues to hold his soft, cold face. It’s like all the blood has drawn from him, but not in the way of fear of him. So Thorn attributes it to thinking that Casimir might just assume he hurts anyone that gets close these days.
And honestly, if they’re here breaking rules they’d kept to themselves, Cas would find he’s in good company. Because while the bartender had his own rules of keeping everyone away, Thorn had also done a similar vow. He’d promised to not get attached, to be care free and airy, weightless with nothing to tie him down. And here he was, with a one sided crush on the bartender in front of him that he cradles between his hands like he’s made of porcelain and any wrong move would send him shattering to the floor, studying his face to commit it to memory in case it never got further than this.
The connection increases with Cas’ hands that lift and circle his wrists, covering the shackles of vines he’d tattooed there. The previous whine lingers in his mind, but he figures if Cas didn’t like this, he’d certainly not allow it to continue. His wrists wouldn’t be held so loosely. And honestly? The strength that ripples along Casimir’s body and arms put all of Thorn’s to shame – it would take no time at all for the bartender to get out of this if he wanted to.
So Thorn continues on, holding him gently, refusing to let go as he leans in and presses his forehead against Casimir’s – injecting more warmth and softness and closeness to someone he assumes to be quite touch starved. “There’s more to you, y’know. You’re not just your past ‘n what you’ve been through.” His voice is softer, gentler, and if it weren’t for the fact they’re close enough his breath can rake gently against Casimir’s face, it might have been low enough to be drowned out by the thunder that continues to storm just outside the windows of this makeshift room. “You’ve been good t’me. For me, too.”
And honestly, if they’re here breaking rules they’d kept to themselves, Cas would find he’s in good company. Because while the bartender had his own rules of keeping everyone away, Thorn had also done a similar vow. He’d promised to not get attached, to be care free and airy, weightless with nothing to tie him down. And here he was, with a one sided crush on the bartender in front of him that he cradles between his hands like he’s made of porcelain and any wrong move would send him shattering to the floor, studying his face to commit it to memory in case it never got further than this.
The connection increases with Cas’ hands that lift and circle his wrists, covering the shackles of vines he’d tattooed there. The previous whine lingers in his mind, but he figures if Cas didn’t like this, he’d certainly not allow it to continue. His wrists wouldn’t be held so loosely. And honestly? The strength that ripples along Casimir’s body and arms put all of Thorn’s to shame – it would take no time at all for the bartender to get out of this if he wanted to.
So Thorn continues on, holding him gently, refusing to let go as he leans in and presses his forehead against Casimir’s – injecting more warmth and softness and closeness to someone he assumes to be quite touch starved. “There’s more to you, y’know. You’re not just your past ‘n what you’ve been through.” His voice is softer, gentler, and if it weren’t for the fact they’re close enough his breath can rake gently against Casimir’s face, it might have been low enough to be drowned out by the thunder that continues to storm just outside the windows of this makeshift room. “You’ve been good t’me. For me, too.”
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
