comfypillow: (pic#17250096)
𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑦. ([personal profile] comfypillow) wrote in [community profile] peacockstop 2025-01-17 08:51 pm (UTC)

1 or 11, as a treat 💕

[ The man on the receiving end of that feather slowly turns his head. A scruff of blond hair preludes amber eyes with purple-hue exhaustion bagged beneath them, a straight nose, and thin lips faintly downturned. He blinks, slowly, observing the length of the younger guest’s tickler before flicking up to his eyes. Their heights are extremely comparable if not the exact same, putting the both of them a head above most of the other guests in the room.

Though troublesome, Quincy hadn’t removed the damning Ace of Clubs card from where the game manager pinned it to his chest. Playing hadn’t crossed his mind anyway—his intention in entering this secluded place had been solely to find a quiet spot to sleep. Which is why his first instinct is to say no and continue on his way to blissful unconsciousness, one he pauses in and swallows with the understanding that refusing to adhere to the rules could very well get him kicked out and sent back into that menagerie of people. This is, undoubtedly, the lesser evil. ]


… If that’s what you want me to do.

[ The other man’s card hasn’t gone unnoticed. After flickering down to it, the forest guardian’s eyes slide back up. The gaze from one of the staff sizing up their interaction is intense from across the room; the hulking man sighs, resigned to his temporary fate. All for the sake of a blissful nap afterwards. Perhaps, even, a comfy pillow.

A large gem-embedded hand raises as he scratches his neck, veins rippling beneath thick forearm and bicep. Light eyelashes lower in another moment of contemplation, gazing at the youth before him in stoic inscrutability. Nothing voiced, in the end. Instead, he nods toward the feather wand with his chin. ]


Here?

[ They’re still in the main area where everyone is mingling and looking for partners, but that still feels like less of a hassle than going back to the casino. Without prompting, the forest guardian unbuttons the top three buttons of the white dress up shirt that had been given to him by staff—which had been too small anyway, tight across his shoulders and muscular chest. Cotton parts to reveal sun-kissed tan, a rich color only earned by spending a deal of time outside. Scars ripple across hard muscle as the top of his pecs strain against the fourth button, left in place. ]

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