// i saw the walls, finished and plain //
The courtesan has always been fluid and easily moveable, taking a surprising amount of strength before he even began to cave to the pressure. So, he’s silently confident that however hard Casimir pushed or pressed, he’d be more than happy to withstand it. For now, though, deep down Thorn knows the bartender is right. That he does need sleep. That just because finally for the first time he has Casimir within his grip and can’t seem to find it in him to let him go, doesn’t mean that if he were to sleep now that the bartender would vanish like a dream the second he woke up.
At least, he’s holding Casimir accountable to it. And after the gravelly, deep voice that scratches all the itches in his spine in all the right ways, promises he’ll stay, Thorn won’t take anything less. So he shifts them, adjusting to settle into the bed and allow himself to finally start to relax – warm and comfortable and safe in the strong arms of the attuned. He closes his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep despite the heat that still floods his face and chest, even though it come sup empty for the time being – too riled up.
So, he listens to the quiet heartbeat he can hear through the fabric of Casimir’s shirt like a siren song – like there is something there despite the blood and rot that the bartender is certain sits beneath the surface. Thorn can hear everything good within him, the lightness, the dull thrum of each beat of his heart. But it isn’t enough to pull him under until he feels the hand by his shoulder shift to run through his dark, still damp hair, dragging through strands that would probably be crazy when it dried despite it not being Casimir’s fault in the slightest.
That is the last piece of the puzzle. His arm drapes around the bartender’s middle, keeping himself close as well as the blanket that sags along his shoulders and Cas’ chest. He falls asleep hard and fast, so much more than he’d been anticipating when he’d tried to settle down. It’s a blissful dreamless sleep, one that has him hardly moving apart from the occasional attempt to cuddle closer to the bartender. Should Casimir move, Thorn would definitely start to rouse, fingertips twitching at his side even if he wasn’t fully there to wake up yet.
It’s hours by the time Thorn starts to wake – slow and stubborn, head tilting and burying itself further into Casimir’s chest, not quite there at all yet but it feels like it begins with a little more purpose than it had been before.
At least, he’s holding Casimir accountable to it. And after the gravelly, deep voice that scratches all the itches in his spine in all the right ways, promises he’ll stay, Thorn won’t take anything less. So he shifts them, adjusting to settle into the bed and allow himself to finally start to relax – warm and comfortable and safe in the strong arms of the attuned. He closes his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep despite the heat that still floods his face and chest, even though it come sup empty for the time being – too riled up.
So, he listens to the quiet heartbeat he can hear through the fabric of Casimir’s shirt like a siren song – like there is something there despite the blood and rot that the bartender is certain sits beneath the surface. Thorn can hear everything good within him, the lightness, the dull thrum of each beat of his heart. But it isn’t enough to pull him under until he feels the hand by his shoulder shift to run through his dark, still damp hair, dragging through strands that would probably be crazy when it dried despite it not being Casimir’s fault in the slightest.
That is the last piece of the puzzle. His arm drapes around the bartender’s middle, keeping himself close as well as the blanket that sags along his shoulders and Cas’ chest. He falls asleep hard and fast, so much more than he’d been anticipating when he’d tried to settle down. It’s a blissful dreamless sleep, one that has him hardly moving apart from the occasional attempt to cuddle closer to the bartender. Should Casimir move, Thorn would definitely start to rouse, fingertips twitching at his side even if he wasn’t fully there to wake up yet.
It’s hours by the time Thorn starts to wake – slow and stubborn, head tilting and burying itself further into Casimir’s chest, not quite there at all yet but it feels like it begins with a little more purpose than it had been before.
Hawthorn
// lavender blooms on the ink of my name //
