On the neural screen, the movie flickered with shifting light and shadow, while the two of them sat close together on the couch.
Leander had one arm wrapped around Han Ling's waist, while the other hand, restless and insistent, slipped under the hem of his shirt. His palm pressed against the warm skin there, fingertips tracing subtle movements with the rhythm of Han Ling's breathing.
"Mmh—" Han Ling instinctively tensed and drew his waist back, turning his head to glare at him, voice low and warning. "Don't get carried away…"
Upstairs, a door creaked open with a faint grinding sound, like a reminder that someone might appear at any moment.
But Leander only leaned in closer, his low chuckle brushing against Han Ling's ear, warm breath ghosting over the curve of it. "See? I told you—they're not coming back that soon."
Han Ling caught his wandering hand and pressed it still, a trace of helplessness flickering in his eyes.
