#wolfprin

an arched brow raises at the implication behind yanjun's words, a toothy grin tugging at his lips. it was annoying that yanjun was still full of himself, but gunwoo can't deny that he looks good and even more intimidating than usual like this. gunwoo's gaze isn't subtle as it flits over yanjun's biceps and waist, then back up to his face, huffing a laugh. "oh? is that a warning? i'm not bad at poker either, so if you want an easy mark, you'll have to keep looking," gunwoo insists, lisp more prominent than usual because of the excitement. he didn't have the best poker face, granted, but gunwoo was good at reading people and their tells — which was handy as long as he was cognizant of his own as well. it should go without saying that yanjun simply orbiting around him for the night is enough to raise his blood pressure. all in all, it was not looking good for gunwoo. gunwoo's unsure if he should be flattered or irritated that yanjun feels the need to provoke him, like he'll fold without a fight. he probably would, if they were betting and playing something with different stakes. gunwoo would consider himself to be altruistic despite how he chooses to put bread on the table, but it had a time and a place. not in a room full of card sharks and aspiring mafiosos, for certain. gunwoo raises a hand to yanjun's face, the calloused skin of his knuckles grazing over a prominent cheekbone, eyes glimmering with mirth as he offers a cocky smile. "but be sure to come find me if your bank roll gets cleaned out, princess."

yanjun samples from time to time, partakes in a wet fingerprint when it's especially cold out — the hours long, the clientele generally unreasonable. it only feels fair that he's coasting through the day on a pleasant high, eyelids set brooding and halfway until gunwoo's looking at him, knitted brows and biting accusations. he's just a smidge under the quota, a thin line of white powder below expected profit, and yanjun's less irritable by gunwoo's insult and implication due to his earlier hit. otherwise, he'd be closing out the distance with a pointed finger and marker scraped nail. he forgoes this for a creased look, a scoff and breathy laugh tagging onto gunwoo's bluntness. "and? — does it bother you that i'm pretty?" he cocks his head here, hip bent in similar fashion as the exchange occurs, emptied hands now folded in front of his chest. his sunday nights have become exasperating as of late; yanjun doesn't have this level of vitriol from the other mules, only gunwoo — notably local and obnoxious (and much more of a 'solely handsome' type than anyone else in the organization). "if you're trying to insult me or hurt my feelings, you're doing a terrible job at it. it's like you've said, people like my company. not a fault of mine that i can charm my way in and out of situations."

in yanjun's defence, gunwoo pouts cartoonishly when he's wronged - expression too lovely, too sweet, too readily punishable in the whine of it. and it spurs him on - makes him notably more sadistic than he would be on average. the teasing is reflexive, the sarcasm and pigtail-pulling like foreplay, and again, yanjun argues the latter to be true, if gunwoo means what he says. it is a two-step process, a blended shade of red in their sea of green. "did i hurt my baby's feelings?" he coos, half infantilizing, half apologetic, though he makes for the frowning lump under tucked sheets - obediently straddling the pretty face among the pillows. he's cupping at flustered cheeks, fondness threatening to spray like a tap. "should i kiss your heart better? or should i write you a letter of apology?" yanjun is toying, a little devilish when his fingers drag under the sheets and make for gunwoo's chest - eyes following suit as they track exposed skin and pert nipples. as forewarned, he leans down, kissing it bluntly. he peeks, stares from beneath batted lashes, then pecks him again, pursed lips set to the sensitive nub. his body reacts like it should, inevitably pointed from the contact, and christ, gunwoo is unfairly hot. sighing, yanjun pushes himself to a seated position, the weight of him pinning gunwoo to the bed. "do you forgive me now?" there's a twinkle in his eyes, daring, playful.