i'm a thinker, not a talker
The warmth of Thorn’s body disappears from against Casimir’s arm and once again that chill of loss flows back into him. The sensation of it, still so new to the man who’d grown used to that absence until it had felt like normalcy, sends the hair on the back of his neck sticking up. He suppresses a slight shiver as he unfurls his body, pulling his muscular arms overhead into a long, painful stretch, the blood flowing back to the atrophied parts of his body. During his singular-minded task of staying still and comfortable for Thorn, he had totally tuned out the regular aches and pains that came with holding such a position — aches and pains which his body now, furiously, reminded him.
His breath released from his lungs in a long exhale as he stretched, rolling his neck to try and loosen up some of where it had locked in place. Still, even with the current fragility of his body, Casimir tried his best to keep his stretches casual and unobtrusive, like he was waking up his body on a normal day after a normal night. There’s no need for Thorn to feel guilty for the way Casimir responded to affection.
In the golden glow of the morning, Thorn’s eyes are even lighter, sparkling like waves under a bright sun, still holding a mixture of that shock and excitement from just a few moments ago. Casimir shakes his head slightly to the question. He’s always been more accustomed to the later shifts, with his haunted air and intense gaze that never quite befitted the morning crowd. As if to reassure Thorn, to return him to that languid state he was in before the reality of consciousness slammed in, he reaches over and curl’s Thorn’s hand lightly in his. He doesn’t dare initiate another kiss — not this time, not after last time, maybe never — and his fingers are almost hesitant where they reach for Thorn’s.
He’s stayed, for what it’s worth, and he will stay. He’ll make himself. Until Thorn tells him to go, or gets tired of him, or has to go to work or until Casimir hurts him. Which he will.
His breath released from his lungs in a long exhale as he stretched, rolling his neck to try and loosen up some of where it had locked in place. Still, even with the current fragility of his body, Casimir tried his best to keep his stretches casual and unobtrusive, like he was waking up his body on a normal day after a normal night. There’s no need for Thorn to feel guilty for the way Casimir responded to affection.
In the golden glow of the morning, Thorn’s eyes are even lighter, sparkling like waves under a bright sun, still holding a mixture of that shock and excitement from just a few moments ago. Casimir shakes his head slightly to the question. He’s always been more accustomed to the later shifts, with his haunted air and intense gaze that never quite befitted the morning crowd. As if to reassure Thorn, to return him to that languid state he was in before the reality of consciousness slammed in, he reaches over and curl’s Thorn’s hand lightly in his. He doesn’t dare initiate another kiss — not this time, not after last time, maybe never — and his fingers are almost hesitant where they reach for Thorn’s.
He’s stayed, for what it’s worth, and he will stay. He’ll make himself. Until Thorn tells him to go, or gets tired of him, or has to go to work or until Casimir hurts him. Which he will.
Casimir
i've no one to talk to, anyway
