🅱🅴🅾🅼🅹🆄🅽
🔞 ¹⁸⁺ | ᴰʳᵃᵐᵃ | ᴿᵒᵐᵃⁿᶜᵉ
In the night scene he is known. Neither girls nor boys are safe from him, they succumb to his charm and sex appeal. He's tall, handsome and tramples the title of a bad boy.
Wᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ Cʜᴏɪ Yᴇᴏɴᴊᴜɴ. F...
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When Yeonjun suddenly moved next to him, Taehyun woke up from his half-sleep, because he could not really come to rest after he had more or less ordered the pink-haired man to spend the night here with him. And the movement didn't help him drop deeper into his sleep either, but rather did the opposite. So the blonde turned on the other side, blinked briefly and opened his eyes and looked at the alarm clock.
"The four hours are over," he whispered drowsily to Yeonjun, reminding him of the time limit he had set. "You can go if you want."
There was a grumble on the other side of the bed before the pink-haired man, who had slept in his tight street clothes, turned around and almost absently put his arm over Taehyun. Still completely in the dream land, he tickled the back of his head with his nose, pulled the blanket over both bodies again. "It's way too early to talk," he muttered, only half of the words being understood.
This little gesture made the Kang sigh, it shouldn't feel as good as the older man huddled against his back and he could feel his breath on the back of his neck. The younger one would have loved to turn around to him, would have liked to find out whether Yeonjun's sleepy face looked more like an angel than when he was awake. The closeness and warmth he got from him were more seductive than any words. He sighed again. "Yeonjun?" He whispered, now that he couldn't fall asleep anymore.
"Mhh?" Yeonjun grumbled, not even realizing where and next to whom he was.
Now Taehyun couldn't help but turn slowly and carefully onto his back so that he could at least look into the face of the still sleepy Yeonjun. And he left it at that to say something, but instead put his hand on his cheek, stroked the soft skin with his thumb over his temple up to his ear. He had to take advantage of the fact that the pink-haired man lingered in his dreamland and absolutely could not defend himself against tenderness.
Was only fair to the blonde, wasn't it?
Therefore, with a small smile on his lips, he let his fingertips wander as light as a feather over the edge of his ear to the earlobe, where the jewelry from last night was still attached, while he followed his own movements with his eyes. The night light shone through the window, which was only half covered by the curtain, thus perfectly showing the outline of the pink-haired man, like a painting by Van Gogh.
