#damian.

“don’t do what?” damian snapped, tugging the duvet closer to his body as if it were a shield, glaring back at alonso. “you’re the one that broke our... agreement here, not me. no strings attached. you promised.” 

not even damian was entirely sure what he was so mad about. after all, breaking hearts had been something he’d enjoyed doing in the past. he loved the idea of people being in love with him. ...unless it was alonso, apparently. was it because he actually cared about the guy? that he didn’t want to hurt him? that, paired with his own feelings deep down, were most likely the answers to questions he didn’t want to answer. 

“trust me, i get it. my ass is fucking sublime. but you’ll get over it.” he looked away then, staring at his hands, avoiding alonso’s gaze. “it’s just... hormones, confusing you, or some shit like that. go home, and give it a week. you’ll be good as new.” 

               A figura de Damian em Hyacinthum, embora deslocada dos costumeiros locais onde ambos se encontraram outrora, ainda lhe parecia certa, afinal, sempre era impelida a ele em acasos — ou produto de uma ação, como divagava a vermelha. O outro e tudo que trazia consigo, tal como postura e presença, lhe proporcionava memórias que brincavam em sua mente de forma agradável, acompanhadas de sentimentos inicialmente positivos e instigantes, mas que lentamente eram rodeados de emoções contrárias; Damian invadia sua mente em momentos oportunos e inoportunos — embora, claro, a imagem que possuía do outro de tantos anos antes lhe afirmava que ele não se importava de fazer passeios esporádicos pelos pensamentos da monegasca. Com todos os atributos apresentados, não era de fato assombroso a presença de Bouthillier às portas de seu antigo conhecido, que lhe conhecera ainda em sua antiga identidade, mesmo que seu nome nunca tivesse sido mencionado, proporcionando a ela uma história convincente em Hyacinthum. Os dígitos escorregaram pela madeira antes de tocar-lhe com o nó do dedo médio, provocando um som baixo para os padrões noturnos, embora forte o bastante para que o inglês, do outro lado da porta, ouvisse o chamado. “Serviço de quarto.” Acrescentara em um tom leve após bater novamente. Um sorriso brincava nos lábios pintados de carmesim.

meme [x] [always accepting]

Work wasn't always the best place to be, but it was an empty office or an empty home to walk into. Most nights, Damian preferred his office space because at least he was able to keep himself busy checking over the finances, the reports, the progress the company made.

Tonight was different, he had Edward - but that was because the finances for the company wasn't adding up. Perhaps his mind wasn't clear. He had been working a headache right after lunch, and seeing how it was close to seven p.m., his eyes just felt heavy. It didn't help that he was sniffling either and the fact that his mind wasn't coopearting with the work was only triggering his annoyance.

"--Perhaps we should just call it a night, i'll go home and sleep off this headache and I shouldn't keep you here for too long anyway. Go home, Edward, relax, and come in an hour later tomorrow." he had taken up too much of his time, he felt awful. His thoughts were interrupted when the other placed his hand against Damian's forehead, instantly causing him to tense up. No that it was uncomfortable for him, it was the opposite really.

"--I'm feeling fine." he assurred almost instantly before pulling away from him. Damian was always trying his best to take care of others, so this change of scenario was foreign to him. He wasn't sure how to handle it, or the even confront the fact that he liked it. That someone was concerned about his wellbeing.

storm lifts his head, cocking a brow, "now that's not somethin' i've been asked in a while," he shrugs his jacket off, placing it on the back of the chair at the bar before he slowly unbuttons his shirt. "tequila, i'm assuming?" he says, placing his shirt over his jacket before wandering behind the bar to grab one of the many tequila bottles.

he lines up two shot glasses, filling them both to the brim, before reaching for a lime and cutting two large slices. storm climbs atop the bar, salt in hand, and whilst sitting up he sprinkles a trail of salt along his stomach. storm takes one of the shot glasses, balancing it above his navel and then he carefully lowers himself down, taking the lime wedge in hand as he says, "enjoy." before popping it into his mouth for the other to take from it once the shot was complete.