// i saw the walls, finished and plain //
Honestly, if Casimir moved even in the slightest of ways like he was going to escape, Thorn would – in his deliriousness – latch onto him and not let him go. But, as the bartender stays and the courtesan leans against him, soaking in his warmth and heat, Thorn feels himself slowly beginning to nod off. It’s a short little burst, giving Casimir ample time to study the vines that race up his sides, curve toward his chest in looping flowers, then curve back in a spread that curves both to the front and the back of his body. It tucks away in the waistband of the front of his pants, as well as behind in a kind of floral tramp stamp.
He isn’t paying attention to it, though. He’s, instead, focused on the scent of the bartender and how it soothes him. It’s comfortable, normal, relaxing in ways he can’t accurately express – like it’s the perfect subconscious reminder of That Night, and the courtesan selfishly laps it up like a dehydrated canine.
Thorn doesn’t fall asleep for long, though he slumps a little harder when he feels the warm weight of Casimir’s hand on his knee. He half curls in, absolutely passing out for a grand total of probably ten minutes or so before he wakes up again – some of the alcohol and the exhaustion having worked its way out of him with the power nap. He reaches up to rub at his eye, blinking up to see Casimir still there and that bright smile flicks back into place.
“Sorry, I dunno why I’m so fuckin’ tired.” He does, but he’d thought he could handle it better than he had. It’s his way of trying to alleviate just how weak he suddenly feels, especially sitting here half curled up against the bulk and muscle of the stony bartender. “You’re so warm. S’nice.”
He isn’t paying attention to it, though. He’s, instead, focused on the scent of the bartender and how it soothes him. It’s comfortable, normal, relaxing in ways he can’t accurately express – like it’s the perfect subconscious reminder of That Night, and the courtesan selfishly laps it up like a dehydrated canine.
Thorn doesn’t fall asleep for long, though he slumps a little harder when he feels the warm weight of Casimir’s hand on his knee. He half curls in, absolutely passing out for a grand total of probably ten minutes or so before he wakes up again – some of the alcohol and the exhaustion having worked its way out of him with the power nap. He reaches up to rub at his eye, blinking up to see Casimir still there and that bright smile flicks back into place.
“Sorry, I dunno why I’m so fuckin’ tired.” He does, but he’d thought he could handle it better than he had. It’s his way of trying to alleviate just how weak he suddenly feels, especially sitting here half curled up against the bulk and muscle of the stony bartender. “You’re so warm. S’nice.”
Hawthorn
// lavender blooms on the ink of my name //
