// i saw the walls, finished and plain //
He’s panting too, breaths escaping him as the taste of the bartender on his lips serves well to almost daze him. The wait has him hesitating, though, face flushed darkly and seafoam eyes warm yet confused as they scan Casimir’s beautiful face. His head tilts slightly into the warm touch of his hand at the back of his neck, studying his face and getting distracted by the beauty marks that dot his face.
The explanation comes with the urge of a protest rising on his lips, locked and loaded there and prepared to explain to Casimir why he’d be fine — but it fizzles out like the end of a mouthful of pop rocks to feel the warm, calloused hand cup his cheek, and any argument fails him as he tilts into it like a cat getting attention. There’s almost something stubborn that begins to bloom in his seafoam gaze, something that feels like Casimir is challenging him, but he tries to take it at face value.
And besides, he hasn’t ever heard a string of words like this from the other man before. That had to count for something.
So the courtesan nods, slow and gentle and puffs out a little sigh that’s bypassed by the lift of the corner of his mouth in a small smile. “Yeah. I do want that.” He confirms, arms tightening for a second around Casimir’s neck to keep him close as if proving the words, before he’s lifting one arm free and rolls onto his back for a moment to groan and rub at his face. It doesn’t last long, though, a little gathering of himself to rouse him enough to shift, to prop himself up on an elbow and start to snag the pillows down for the both of them — because you bet he’s intending on using Casimir as a heated pillow for his sleep — and drags a fleece blanket overtop of them before he curls in against the hard lines of the bartender’s chest and takes a long, slow, steadying breath of his scent of bourbon and woodsy essence that seems to relax him like nothing else so far.
Except, perhaps, the extra strong drink he’d had earlier. Enjoy chewing on that one, Cas.
The explanation comes with the urge of a protest rising on his lips, locked and loaded there and prepared to explain to Casimir why he’d be fine — but it fizzles out like the end of a mouthful of pop rocks to feel the warm, calloused hand cup his cheek, and any argument fails him as he tilts into it like a cat getting attention. There’s almost something stubborn that begins to bloom in his seafoam gaze, something that feels like Casimir is challenging him, but he tries to take it at face value.
And besides, he hasn’t ever heard a string of words like this from the other man before. That had to count for something.
So the courtesan nods, slow and gentle and puffs out a little sigh that’s bypassed by the lift of the corner of his mouth in a small smile. “Yeah. I do want that.” He confirms, arms tightening for a second around Casimir’s neck to keep him close as if proving the words, before he’s lifting one arm free and rolls onto his back for a moment to groan and rub at his face. It doesn’t last long, though, a little gathering of himself to rouse him enough to shift, to prop himself up on an elbow and start to snag the pillows down for the both of them — because you bet he’s intending on using Casimir as a heated pillow for his sleep — and drags a fleece blanket overtop of them before he curls in against the hard lines of the bartender’s chest and takes a long, slow, steadying breath of his scent of bourbon and woodsy essence that seems to relax him like nothing else so far.
Except, perhaps, the extra strong drink he’d had earlier. Enjoy chewing on that one, Cas.
Hawthorn
// lavender blooms on the ink of my name //
