on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
The courtesan isn’t at all expecting this shift – not that he’ll complain, mind you. But his goal had been to prove to him that he’s not alone, that Casimir, despite what he thinks he should put himself through, maybe doesn’t deserve to just watch his life slip on by. But Thorn can only offer so much in answer, this gentle touch to someone that rarely got touched apart from fleeting brushes of fingers as glasses are snagged.
Thorn remains there, without any indication that Casimir wants out, offering what he can and thinks might help. He only shifts slightly when he feels the bartender move. It doesn’t pull him away from where their foreheads are pressed, but he feels the warm heat of those calloused hands on his cheeks, gently resting there, and it spurs a sharp heat to bloom in his cheeks again and drift to his neck, leaving them in patchy splotches beneath the silver chain choker.
But the heat in his cheeks at this point is nothing compared to the inferno he feels when Casimir’s head tips up, the brief and barely there brush of lips, and one that Thorn never thought he’d get. A breath leaves him, hot and a touch shaky, but not because he’s nervous of Casimir. It’s more like he thinks he’s dreaming and would certainly have to pinch himself just to prove he’s awake and experiencing this.
But Casimir doesn’t move, doesn’t claim, and so Thorn does them both a favor. One of the hands resting on the bartender’s cool, smooth face slips back to thread his ringed, glittering fingers into Casimir’s curls and he closes the distance – a testing kiss, one that’s soft and gentle and does nothing to hide the thunder racing in his veins, that echo in his ears. But he doesn’t do much more than this testing kind of kiss, not at first, not until he thinks Casimir won’t run from him after cementing this moment between the two of them.
He stays.
Thorn remains there, without any indication that Casimir wants out, offering what he can and thinks might help. He only shifts slightly when he feels the bartender move. It doesn’t pull him away from where their foreheads are pressed, but he feels the warm heat of those calloused hands on his cheeks, gently resting there, and it spurs a sharp heat to bloom in his cheeks again and drift to his neck, leaving them in patchy splotches beneath the silver chain choker.
But the heat in his cheeks at this point is nothing compared to the inferno he feels when Casimir’s head tips up, the brief and barely there brush of lips, and one that Thorn never thought he’d get. A breath leaves him, hot and a touch shaky, but not because he’s nervous of Casimir. It’s more like he thinks he’s dreaming and would certainly have to pinch himself just to prove he’s awake and experiencing this.
But Casimir doesn’t move, doesn’t claim, and so Thorn does them both a favor. One of the hands resting on the bartender’s cool, smooth face slips back to thread his ringed, glittering fingers into Casimir’s curls and he closes the distance – a testing kiss, one that’s soft and gentle and does nothing to hide the thunder racing in his veins, that echo in his ears. But he doesn’t do much more than this testing kind of kiss, not at first, not until he thinks Casimir won’t run from him after cementing this moment between the two of them.
He stays.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
