[ he whispers it between the stolen kiss (it tastes like your favorite thing) and another one that he presses into the corner of his mouth, hands sliding up to hold his face close. thumbs stroke the rise of lu bixing's cheekbones. touch is not something that lin jingheng doles out easily, nor does he accept it willingly. sitting next to him is like sitting next to the world's most finicky cat sometimes.
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[ he whispers it between the stolen kiss (it tastes like your favorite thing) and another one that he presses into the corner of his mouth, hands sliding up to hold his face close. thumbs stroke the rise of lu bixing's cheekbones. touch is not something that lin jingheng doles out easily, nor does he accept it willingly. sitting next to him is like sitting next to the world's most finicky cat sometimes.
instead, he craves touch: ]
Now...
[ his hand slides against he lapel of his coat. ]
Can I help you with this?