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୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮⋅ ☆ 彡💮 ୧ ˚.
𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒹 𝓅ℯ𝓇𝓈ℴ𝓃'𝓈 𝓅ℴ𝓋
୧ ‧₊˚ ✨ ⋅ 💮 ☆ 彡 ୧ ˚.
The city outside Yeonjun's window was a tapestry of neon and shadow, a constant hum of life even at this late hour. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of lavender candles and the faintest hint of vanilla from the cookies they'd baked earlier. Beomgyu, sprawled across the couch, was engrossed in a movie, his laughter echoing in the quiet apartment. Yeonjun, tucked beside him, was lost in the warmth of his presence, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest a comforting lullaby.
'You know,' Beomgyu said, his voice muffled by the throw pillow he was using as a makeshift headrest, 'I never thought I'd be someone who enjoys baking.'
Yeonjun chuckled, 'It's not exactly your forte, is it? You almost set the oven on fire.'
'Hey, I was only trying to be helpful!' Beomgyu protested, 'And besides, the cookies were delicious. Thanks to your expert guidance, of course.'
'Sure, sure,' Yeonjun replied, nudging him playfully. 'But you have to admit, you're a bit of a disaster in the kitchen.'
'You're just jealous of my culinary skills,' Beomgyu retorted, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 'Don't worry, I'll teach you my secret recipe someday.'
Yeonjun rolled his eyes, 'Don't even think about it. I'm not going to risk another near-fire incident.'
The movie continued, the characters on screen oblivious to the private world unfolding on the couch. Yeonjun found himself lost in the way Beomgyu's eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way his lips curled into a smile that could melt glaciers. He reached out, tracing the curve of Beomgyu's jawline, his thumb lingering on the soft skin. Beomgyu, sensing the touch, leaned into it, his eyes closing as Yeonjun's fingers continued their exploration.
'You're so warm,' Beomgyu mumbled, his voice full with sleep.
'You're not exactly cold yourself,' Yeonjun teased, his fingers slipping under Beomgyu's shirt, tracing the outline of his ribs.
'Stop it,' Beomgyu laughed, a blush creeping up his neck. 'You're making me all tingly.'
The laughter died down, the air thickening with unspoken desires. Yeonjun leaned closer, his breath warm on Beomgyu's cheek. 'You know,' he whispered, his voice laced with a hint of mischief, 'I think I'm starting to like these late-night talks.'
Beomgyu's eyes flickered open, meeting Yeonjun's with a mixture of desire and apprehension. 'Me too,' he breathed, 'But maybe we should... you know...' His voice trailed off, his gaze shifting to the flickering TV screen.
Yeonjun chuckled, 'Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. Besides, I think we both need a little more than just talking right now.'
He leaned in, his lips brushing against Beomgyu's ear. 'You smell like vanilla and lavender,' he whispered, 'and I'm starting to get a little... hungry.'
Beomgyu shivered, his breath catching in his throat. He met Yeonjun's gaze, his eyes filled with a longing that mirrored his own. 'Then maybe,' he said, his voice barely a whisper, 'we can have a different kind of dessert.'
The night stretched before them, filled with the promise of intimacy and the warmth of shared desires. The city outside continued its relentless hum, oblivious to the quiet revolution unfolding within the walls of Yeonjun's apartment. In the soft glow of the lamp, two souls intertwined, finding solace and passion in the late-night whispers and the unspoken language of touch.
