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Summary
Desire and delirium stirred once again as he shuddered into the touch, his own soft hands turning into Suho’s calloused ones under the veil cast by his lust-addled mind.
The sensitivity threatened to overwhelm him, but he couldn’t bear to stop.
Sieun mewled Suho's name pitifully, “Fuck, Suho, it’s too—I can’t—”
OR: Sieun can’t contain his excitement after Suho borrows his pen. He shouldn't have to maintain his aloof demeanor even in the privacy of his own home, right?
