#{ uh... }

thinking about you getting too handsy with zuko all the time and he keeps getting tease by all your friends because of it and he's literally - like a cat - bared his teeth at you and held your hands off him because you're teasing him and it's making him flustered...

and he's warned you so many times to stop touching his face and tugging his hair and crawling onto his lap because it's giving everyone, including him, the wrong idea, but you just don't listen... even when you all are outside around a fire supposedly talking and reminiscing about your past all you wanna do is put your little hands all over zuko's body.

and he just grabs you and pushes you down onto his cot and folds you in half with your legs hanging up in the air and his body fitted between yours, a literal makeshift mating press, with his bulge pressed firmly against the soft mound between your legs... he can't tell if he was harder now or before all this because you'd been touching him so long and his cock had been throbbing in his pants even before he got you like this.

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Haechan only smiled at that.

His fingers moved slowly from your collarbone downward, featherlight touches that made your skin erupt in goosebumps. The pads of his fingers brushed over your nipple through the thin fabric, and your breath caught sharply in your throat.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

His eyes stayed fixed on your face as he began undoing the buttons one by one—slow, deliberate, almost cruel with patience, like he knew exactly how much it was driving you insane. Each newly exposed inch of bare skin seemed to steal the air from his lungs too. By the time the fabric had fallen open enough to reveal the soft skin from the middle of your chest down to your navel, his breathing had gone uneven.

Then his hands slipped beneath the loosened satin.

Both of you exhaled at the same time when he finally cupped your breasts fully in his palms, warm and heavy against his touch. His thumbs stroked along the underside before slowly circling over your nipples, teasing until your back arched beneath him.

Haechan bent down, pressing a lingering kiss to the center of your chest.

Another.

And another.

His lips traveled upward, from the middle of your throat to the sensitive side of your neck, until they brushed along your jaw, lips parting against your skin just enough for the faint brush of his tongue to follow after each kiss — unhurried, like he wanted to memorize the taste of you. All while his hands continued kneading you gently, like he couldn’t get enough of having you like this.

Then, against your skin, he whispered softly—

“Don’t hold back from me.”

His lips brushed your jaw again.