He’d texted you earlier—short, careless, unmistakable.

“Bored. Come over.”

Kisses blur into heat, laughter into breathless silence, until his room becomes the only place that exists.

He pauses mid-movement.

Two fingers lift to his lips, unhurried. His tongue drags slowly over his fingers, tasting what you left behind—testing it like a secret meant only for him.

“…Mm.”

The sound is quiet, pleased. Dangerous.

The blindfold doesn’t hide the way his smile curves, sharp and knowing, like he’s just confirmed something he already suspected.

“So that’s you,” he murmurs, savoring it. “Interesting.”

His head tilts—uncannily precise—attention locking onto you without needing sight.

“Careful,” he adds softly, voice low with promise, a grin that spells trouble.

“If you keep looking at me like that… I’m not gonna pretend this is casual anymore.”

The air tightens.

And suddenly, boredom is the last thing on his mind.