The stale scent of cigar smoke and old wood clung to the air in the dimly lit snooker room. The only illumination came from the shaded lamp hanging low over the green baize, casting pools of emerald and shadow. The clicking of billiard balls and muted chatter from the bar were distant, muffled noises, a world away from the space that had suddenly contracted, constricted around you and Chuuya.

You were lying on the snooker table. Not exactly dignified, you knew, but dignity felt irrelevant in the face of the raw, electric tension humming between both of you. You had been joking, teasing him after he'd lost a game, mimicking his frustrated sigh. He'd grabbed your wrist, a playful glint in his eyes, and before you knew it, he'd spun you around and gently, but firmly, laid you down.

The hard felt pressed against your back. You could feel the cool metal of the table's edge digging into your ribs, grounding you. Above you, Chuuya loomed, a silhouette against the muted light. His face was shadowed, but you could feel the heat radiating from him, see the dark intensity blazing in his eyes. The air crackled.

He hadn't said a word. He didn't need to. The silence was thick, heavy with unspoken words, with a history of shared glances and almost-touches that had been building for months. It was a silence that amplified the sound of your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

He leaned closer, bracing his hands on either side of your head, his weight supported by the table.

His gaze locked with yours. The teasing that had sparked this whole situation had vanished, replaced by a vulnerability he hadn't intended to reveal.

His breath ghosted across your lips, warm and intoxicating.

Then, instead of a kiss, he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sent shivers down your spine, "You shouldn't be playing games with me, idiot."