#cathal.

Laurent sits half sprawled in a chair by the fire, those long legs crossed elegantly at the knee, arms draped over the sides. He sits like a spoilt boy-king might, all haughty arrogance and paper white silk shirts. He wears gold on all of his fingers, he hair on his left hand side tucked behind his ear to flash more wealth. Laurent thinks he should get a crown forged for himself too, a pretty thorned one made of gold, just like the one our lord wore, and then, I'm much more handsome, Laurent also thinks smugly. He wished he'd brought a hand mirror to pass the time.

Laurent is sipping cheap red wine from a port glass when he spies Cathal. He watches him for a moment, that pretty mop of black hair, the accent that lilts up and down like a summer sea. Laurent rakes him unabashedly, a dark look from the top of his head, to the hard line of his shoulders and then, landing squarely on the perk of his ass.

He hums in approval, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip.

When Cathal idles closer to his table, Laurent clears his throat loudly. "Another?" he asks, tilting his half empty glass from side to side, mouth twisted in a playful little smile. "-I'll pay you for 2 if you walk to the bar slowly..."