"…"
Le An tried to keep his waist away, held in the air, trembling at the pain in his hips. Yet he still didn't lift his head from where it was hidden. Taras, finding his stubbornness infuriating, considered forcibly lifting his face but stopped himself.
He sighed as he looked at the ceiling. "Look at me," he said calmly. Le An shook his head, refusing. Taras repeated himself.
"Treasure, lift your head and look at me."
"…"
"I'm saying it one last time."
"…"
Taras, lips parting as if to curse, used every bit of his patience and waited. Then, he withdrew the leg he had used to support Le An from underneath.
Le An's tired hips fell onto Taras, his waist ached and a muffled voice escaped his lips.
And Taras thought to lay him on the bed and undress him—to smell, touch, and kiss his bare skin. "Fuck..."
