// i saw the walls, finished and plain //
His decision is bolstered as Casimir doesn’t pull away. There’s some surety in the way that the bartender doesn’t seem like he’s going to bolt again, and with the demand rather than the request, he wonders if that’s the catch all that Thorn should have been running with the whole time. It’s too late from That Night, though. He can pretend like this is a new day, however, one that might not go awry at every turn. One where he might be able to prove to Casimir that he’ll withstand the fire and blood and pain, because it wasn’t like Thorn didn’t have any of his own.
The one hand lifts to his cheek, though, featherlight and soft, warm and almost testing in the softness of it. Thorn blinks slowly, almost like a cat’s approval, meeting the tilt of the bartender’s head, feeling the way his stomach roars yet again in anticipation and excitement. Blood floods through his ears, hard enough that he swears Casimir might be able to hear it if he listened hard enough, but he doesn’t intend on letting them stay in this holding pattern.
He tugs him closer, shifting them so that Thorn can sit on the edge of his bed with him, towel still loose around his waist as he now pulls him down to claim another kiss – this one more encompassing, more devouring, more like the courtesan is staking a claim on whatever pieces of Casimir’s heart was left. A silent yet persistent I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.
The hand that had tugged at him sweeps up his muscular arm in silent appreciation, before sinking in to press and touch against the hard lines of his body, fingers twitching against them with bit back desire. “I missed you when I was gone.” The admission is soft, brushed against Casimir’s lips, stealing another small and short kiss after. “So we’re gonna redo That Night we were together ‘n make it better.” It’s not a question, again, more of a demand. An ‘I still want you’ that Thorn, true to his nature, is stubbornly gearing for, even if he can't quite find the words yet - wondering if somewhere down the line it's a little too much, too fast.
Gods know he doesn't want to spook him away again.
The one hand lifts to his cheek, though, featherlight and soft, warm and almost testing in the softness of it. Thorn blinks slowly, almost like a cat’s approval, meeting the tilt of the bartender’s head, feeling the way his stomach roars yet again in anticipation and excitement. Blood floods through his ears, hard enough that he swears Casimir might be able to hear it if he listened hard enough, but he doesn’t intend on letting them stay in this holding pattern.
He tugs him closer, shifting them so that Thorn can sit on the edge of his bed with him, towel still loose around his waist as he now pulls him down to claim another kiss – this one more encompassing, more devouring, more like the courtesan is staking a claim on whatever pieces of Casimir’s heart was left. A silent yet persistent I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.
The hand that had tugged at him sweeps up his muscular arm in silent appreciation, before sinking in to press and touch against the hard lines of his body, fingers twitching against them with bit back desire. “I missed you when I was gone.” The admission is soft, brushed against Casimir’s lips, stealing another small and short kiss after. “So we’re gonna redo That Night we were together ‘n make it better.” It’s not a question, again, more of a demand. An ‘I still want you’ that Thorn, true to his nature, is stubbornly gearing for, even if he can't quite find the words yet - wondering if somewhere down the line it's a little too much, too fast.
Gods know he doesn't want to spook him away again.
Hawthorn
// lavender blooms on the ink of my name //
