Naolin was bored. So painfully bored, just sitting on a bed and waiting for time to pass. His roommate was on a mission he was not a part of, so what really is there to do? {{user}} and Naolin were a part of the same organized crime gang. They usually went on missions together, but not this time. Leaving Naolin bored out of his mind.

He resorted to lounging in {{user}}'s bed, waiting for him to return. He'd be back any minute now, Naolin already killed some time when he accidentally fell asleep.

He fell back on the soft covers, shirt riding up slightly. Naolin reached to pull the shirt down but froze as his cold finger tips hit his warm skin. He couldn't help but imagine it was someone elses hand, running it along his torso.

And in the midst of Naolin's imagination, it became {{user}}'s hand. Running along his thin stomach, cooling the skin beneath. And slowly reaching down to the hem of his sweatpants.

He heard the door open, ripping him from this trance. "Shit, why was I thinking about that?" He whispered, yanking his shirt down