show me what I’m looking for

// i am heaven sent, don't you dare forget —

Cold begins to creep in as Leafchange approaches, cloudier skies and colder nights, and while more business tended to occur when people tired of their cold beds, Thorn yet again finds himself at the bar in the House of Midnight, people watching and annoying his favorite bartender (the one that he’s pretty sure hates him).

It’s all in good fun for him, at least, sipping from his fruity drink, half sprawled out over the bar if for no other reason than to keep annoying the bartender and perhaps show himself off a little. He wears a tight suit of pale fishnets across his chest, covered by a loose and almost translucent dark shawl, revealing all the little ivy and plant tattoos that wind around him.

One hand presses into his hair, propping his head up while his other hand stirs the drink and he seems to stare idly into the crowd of people, chatting amongst themselves in their little groups, picking from the options that the brothel has to offer. Of course he’s happy for his coworkers, but gods it made the days drag on.

thorn

— i am all you've ever wanted,
what all the other boys all promised //

Harper

I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel
It's all that I can give to you, my dear

With the Halenani still forbidden of his own accord, the only place to drown his sorrows that's closest to Torchline - that doesn't risk him running into any of his children, gods forbid - is the House of Midnight. It's most familiar given Sunjata had been the one to put Harper on this path of self-discovery, and even the smell of the air feels comforting as he walks inside.

He isn't here to linger or hesitate. Not this time. No, this time he heads straight for the bar and orders two shots of whiskey, which he downs in quick succession. Licking the remnants from his lips, he turns his head, hunting impatiently - and finds an unfamiliar but quite attractive face leaning comfortably against the bar beside him.

Well, perhaps beside is generous, but there is nobody between them. It allows him to look his fill, because he'd rather be shameless and drunk than whatever Jude had made him feel. Standing a little straighter, he puts in another order for a larger drink - something he can sip at a little - and then maneuvers closer to the other man. "You seem far away," he comments, because Harper doesn't know how to do anything without a little bit of heart in it, no matter how many times he's done this now.

I know you mean well, But I'm not a vessel for your good intent
My teeth will only cut your lips, my dear

// i am heaven sent, don't you dare forget —

Okay, maybe there’s a gleam of envy in his sea green gaze as he continues to watch the groups flirt and toy with their chosen for the night. It’s enough of a distraction that he doesn’t notice Harper’s arrival, not slunk against the countertop the way he is. At least not until he speaks and it’s so close that Thorn nearly shivers with a delight to find that it’s directed at him.

Slyly and slowly shifting to face the stranger, his back presses against the countertop, giving more of a full view as he stretches out his legs in front of him and focuses his attention on the attuned. “Who, me?” He hums, flashing a playful grin, quite visibly looking the other man up and down. He’s familiar to Thorn, as a face amongst the regulars but never one he’s indulged in their magical rooms. But perhaps it might change with the look the other man’s giving.

“Think I’m right here I’m supposed to be.” Thorn gives Harper a look that seems to ask him the same, even as he stretches out a little bit more and the bartender behind them scoffs at his dramatics as the drink is slid toward Harper.

thorn

— i am all you've ever wanted,
what all the other boys all promised //

Harper

I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel
It's all that I can give to you, my dear

Thorn isn't the only one visibly checking the other out, though Harper's blue eyes are occluded and difficult to read. He had gotten to a point where he could chase sex without inebriation, but Jude's words in his head and the look on his face has driven him firmly back into the bottle, and Thorn looks all the better with a haze of alcohol over his brain.

"That so?" Harper's lips twitch as if trying for a smile, but it doesn't quite come to completion. Neatly catching the drink the bartender slides him, Harper leans sideways onto the bar and crosses his legs at the ankles, accentuating his biceps and the breadth of his shoulders compared to the narrowness of his waist. He nearly scoffs at himself when he catches himself doing it; he isn't the one who needs to sell himself. This is nothing more than transaction, if it leads anywhere at all. "Gotta admit I've always been curious about the motivations of the workers here. Is it just glutton, same as the customers?" They wouldn't stay if they weren't happy - or so he hopes - so are they just as touch-starved and debauched as the people who book them?

I know you mean well, But I'm not a vessel for your good intent
My teeth will only cut your lips, my dear

// i am heaven sent, don't you dare forget —

The longer Harper looks at him, the more Thorn begins to subtly preen for him – eyes taking him in wholly, following the lines offered from the broad shoulders to his thin waist, the smile spreading and remaining as Harper’s lips twitch. Appreciation lingers in his gaze at the dexterity the other man has when he catches the drink, and Thorn finds himself leaning in a bit closer – invading the Stalwart’s space.

“Oh, certainly that.” Thorn says with a huff of a laugh, cutting him an amused look. “Depends on the glutton though.” He shrugs casually, moving to boldly slip off of his stool to slip into Harper’s lap, arms circling around his neck gently as he gets all up in the Attuned’s space when he purrs. “I’m personally a fan of stories.” And what’s better than getting to learn so many people’s stories while indulging their more primal needs?

thorn

— i am all you've ever wanted,
what all the other boys all promised //

Harper

I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel
It's all that I can give to you, my dear

There is no space to invade that Harper does not readily offer, and he even snorts a sound of amusement when Thorn boldly slides into his lap, even turning to have the bar more at his back than his side to better facilitate it. Harper loops one arm around Thorn's waist to keep him securely on his lap, and takes a sip from his drink with the other hand, too used to this world now for things like fluster.

"Unfortunately I don't have many good ones," he grunts, the ambiguity of the word good intentional. Harper has plenty of dazzling tales, but the whole of them are darker, depressing in a way he doubts even a story-craving man like Thorn would be interested in. Harper has cried on enough hookers' shoulders to know that he's paying for the illusion of support at best, and he's stopped seeking it out. "Ruled a region. Helped kill a Kingmaker. Fell in with Demigods." Even had a son with one. Diamonds of brevity dripping off his tongue, flagrantly uninterested in his own achievements. What had they amounted to in the end? Nothing.

I know you mean well, But I'm not a vessel for your good intent
My teeth will only cut your lips, my dear

// i am heaven sent, don't you dare forget —

“Mmm, I think you’re lying.” Thorn says quite contently as he settles into the Attuned’s lap, practically vibrating at the arm that braces around his lower back that keeps him close, his legs shifting to hook around the other man’s to keep him precisely where he needs to be. He’s silent, though, as he gets a relative TLDR, and for a second there’s a flicker of recognition that blooms in the courtesan’s face, lips quirking in a smirk as he arches his back a little, as if trying to get a bit taller.

His seafoam gaze meets the steel of Harper’s and there’s mischief swimming within them, smirking as he cocks his head slightly, hips wiggling ever so slightly in a less visible form of a grind, especially given that they haven’t gotten a room yet. He imagines it’s the next step, though. “You must be the Stalwart, then?” He breathes in a purred tone, a dark brow rising as he tilts his head, trying to determine whether or not he was correct. He’s pretty sure, though.

“Maybe we should get a room and you can continue to tell me your tales? You can bring your drink.” He asks after a moment, heavy lidded gaze peering back at the Attuned.

thorn

— i am all you've ever wanted,
what all the other boys all promised //

Harper

I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel
It's all that I can give to you, my dear

Harper marvels at the transparency of the other man's pleasure, the satisfaction that lights up his face at Harper's easy acceptance of his presence. Is this the kind of gluttony he'd meant? Harper can understand why a job like this might appeal to someone who takes this much pleasure from touch.

The subtle wiggle-and-grind has Harper huffing a laugh through his nose across the surface of his drink as he takes another sip. The recognition has stopped bothering him; he has no reputation left to taint. "The very same. Terrible name, though, given I left not long after." He had taken pride in the name once, but it had been short-lived. Years upon years as a faithful Torcher - all dashed in one cowardly, desperate, selfish moment. He can't even say he regrets it.

He had come with drinking in mind more than sex, but Harper doesn't mind the change in plans. It feels strange for Thorn to be coming on so strong and to have so little reaction in his own head, but his body is perfectly in tune with the courtesan's goals, so what does it matter? Harper has dissociated through worse. Maybe the man's hands will numb him more than the alcohol. "If you tell me your name," he barters, though he runs his palm up Thorn's spine and straightens them both in preparation for sliding off the stool, ready to be led to a room.

I know you mean well, But I'm not a vessel for your good intent
My teeth will only cut your lips, my dear

// i am heaven sent, don't you dare forget —

Thorn is nothing but a fan of touch – craving it and attention like a drug. And the second that Harper has seemed interested is the second that he’s immediately pressing up against him, settling in his lap, smiling with ease and flirtation when he shrugs in the face of Harper’s disapproval of his moniker. “If you could change it, what would you prefer?” He asks instead, still giving him his full attention even as he continues to preen, straightening up when Harper’s hand smooths up his spine, exhaling a tender sigh.

The bargain is an easy one to give, though, his head tilting slightly as he blinks at him through that same heavy lidded gaze. “Hawthorn. But you can call me Thorn.” He murmurs, withdrawing one hand from around Harper’s neck as he starts to stand, slipping off the other man’s lap to guide him, while his other seeks out the Stalwart’s hand. He’ll see that beneath the attire of the courtesan, tattoos spread all across his sides and back, as well as two cuffs around his wrists – made of vines with thorns, while his back leads it all to an explosion of colorful flowers.

He remains keeping his hand in Harper’s as he guides him up toward the rooms, picking the first available one and allows Harper to step in first to shift the room to whatever he wished it to be in that moment, eager to see just what the Stalwart’s mind can make up.

thorn

— i am all you've ever wanted,
what all the other boys all promised //

Harper

I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel
It's all that I can give to you, my dear

It's not something he has ever considered before, and Harper has to hum quietly to himself as he contemplates it briefly. Once, he would have entertained the idea of something star-themed, but he has lost his way from the side of his herald - from all of them - and he finds himself too monstrous to augment any virtues. "Nothing would be best," he admits gruffly, mentally shying away from anything so glorious and embellishing as a title when he still recoils in shame over abandoning his post even now. "Everything I would have wanted to be known for means nothing in Caido." A clear sign he's an Outlander. Again he grieves for the talents and passions he'd once held, but it evaporates like smoke beneath Thorn's come-hither tone and the weight of their newly connected hands.

This is why he does it. This is why he keeps coming back; nothing can bury those thoughts faster than someone touching him.

"Then call me Harper, please." None of that Stalwart business. He busies himself with tracing Thorn's inked arms as he's led to one of the rooms, crossing the threshold and letting his distracted mind drum up his desires with little active input.

He doesn't think about how it must look to Thorn; a penthouse suite on a skyscraper overlooking the city that used to be his. A winding river not far from the base of the building, lit up by sunrise - never sunset. All of Harper's work had always been done at night after all. The exterior windows are a wall unto themselves, floor-to-ceiling, and the city sprawls out beyond. His bedroom had not been in this room, but the round bed and the navy silk sheets are the same as what had lived there. Harper turns to beckon Thorn forward, used to the pain that this view always inspires given how frequently he revisits it in the House of Midnight.

I know you mean well, But I'm not a vessel for your good intent
My teeth will only cut your lips, my dear

// i am heaven sent, don't you dare forget —

He’s half tempted to say that it doesn’t matter whether or not it means something here. That was kind of the whole point of these shifting rooms – especially for Outlanders. And while the thought might have others shying away from the Attuned, Hawthorn doesn’t. Neither would any here at the House of Midnight. (It’s a bad look when the owner’s an Outlander, to be honest). So there’s no hard feelings from the courtesan as he leads him through the paths to the room, hanging back as he beckons for Harper to enter. “Let me know when you’re ready, Harper.” Comes the purring voice, content to let the other man figure out just how he wanted the room to be.

And while it might be a frequent occurrence here to others, to Thorn it’s incredible. And for a moment his feelings drop off in surprise, forgetting he’s playing the playful courtesan in lieu of the view as he’s beckoned in. He’s immediately drawn to the large windows, the sunrise beyond that lightens them in a soft warm glow while a sunset might make it moodier. This is… Fresh, feeling. And he regains his composure as he scans the view in all of his amazement, turning back toward the Stalwart as he remembers himself, stepping over toward the bed as he tilts his head toward Harper. “What would you like to be called here?” He asks with a mixture of bewilderment and excitement, overshadowing the previous purring tones.

Truth is, he’s far more excited to see this than even he knew, and he hopes that the Attuned will let him stick around to indulge in it.

thorn

— i am all you've ever wanted,
what all the other boys all promised //

Harper

I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel
It's all that I can give to you, my dear

Harper is often unaccustomed to the way the courtesans defer and politely wait on their clients, so he is already a few paces into the room as it melts and changes around him before he is gesturing Thorn forward from within. He'd appreciated it in the early days, but now he feels dried up and numb, wanting only to skip past the niceties and satisfy the only remaining ache of loneliness as swiftly as possible.

The look on Thorn's face however, no matter how fleeting, still stirs something in Harper's chest. It may bring him a bittersweet sort of pain to see this, but Thorn's awe - genuine awe, no matter how brief - reminds him of past privileges, and the privilege of having these memories to sustain him.

He's admittedly a little stunned to have the question repeated, and he joins Thorn at the window to look out over the sunrise as he considers how honest he should be. It's not an issue of confidentiality, but whether it would be positive or negative for him to hear that old title on someone else's lips. "Bluejay," he requests quietly from behind Thorn's shoulder, and tries not to linger on how it feels to say it for the first time since coming to Caido. Moving toward the bed, he sits on it, hands bunching up the silk behind him as he reclines; he might not be accustomed to slowness these days, but if Thorn has a mind for stories, Harper has no other appointments on his calendar. The courtesan can either ask him more questions, or he can join him on the bed. Harper doesn't care enough to have a preference.

I know you mean well, But I'm not a vessel for your good intent
My teeth will only cut your lips, my dear

// i am heaven sent, don't you dare forget —

He’s more than prepared to let Harper take as long as he would like when it came to getting used to the room and everything – but what he doesn’t expect is that in the face of his excitement to find such… Sorrow. It’s a bit of a buzzkill, given what he’d anticipated at the bar, but the courtesan is adaptable, and he peers at the faint reflection of Harper in the window when he stands behind him and he asks his question, spying the difficulty it sparks to bring it up.

Sex doesn’t have to be the only thing they do, or even anything at all. If Harper wanted to pretend he was whomever when calling him by that little moniker, Thorn would do it, if it had a chance of helping that sad look on his handsome face.

So he turns, when he sees the faint outline of him sit on the bed, and he steps away from the window, running a hand through his hair, tousling the long strands there, flashing him a softer smile whether Harper sees it or doesn’t. And he pauses, just in front of the Stalwart, like the city and the penthouse was made for him despite it being his first time ever being within one, unsure of just what was expected or commonplace for a space like this, he kneels between Harper’s knees on the floor beside the bed that he sits at, and lets his seafoam gaze peer up at the Stalwart with a quiet question simmering in them, one he vocalizes a bit smoother than his gaze seems to question. “What would you like me to do for you, Bluejay?” He asks softly, a hint of tenderness in the tone when he says it.

thorn

— i am all you've ever wanted,
what all the other boys all promised //

Harper

I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel
It's all that I can give to you, my dear

Thorn's dedication to a brighter mood helps Harper's own. It's why he often does this, even when he thinks he just wants a brief, wordless roll in the hay. Human contact has always defined him and he suspects it always will. His smile is boyish and settles Harper's shoulders instead of making them bristle or slink back in preparation for more flirtations. Being at such a vantage point as Thorn kneels is strange, but not unwelcome.

The tenderness is what guts him, and Harper leans forward and lets their foreheads rest together. "A little pretending would go a long way," he murmurs in the scant space between them. "Maybe pretending I never left this place. Telling you those stories you like so much, if you want." It will hurt, but it will hurt less than talking about the here and now issues Harper has. This is an old grief, a wound that has not only scarred but begun to fade with time; safe for Thorn to press at. "Or we can fuck like we care about each other, and you can call me that and let me believe they're related." It's likely that's on the board regardless because Harper needs the physicality tonight, needs to drown himself in sensation that alludes to affection even if it's not really there.

I know you mean well, But I'm not a vessel for your good intent
My teeth will only cut your lips, my dear