The dim lights give way to bright flashes of strobe lights. The music in the gay club "Lust" is a percussive rhythm that makes the blood boil and the heart beat in time.

Haon takes the stage. His movements are smooth, as if he does not have a single extra joint. He dances, playing with the audience, now leaning towards someone, then sharply moving away, leaving only admiration and lust. His lips often stretch into a half-smile that promises too much. The stage seems to become his personal territory for flirting. He leans down, running his palm along the thigh, lingering on the most piquant places before turning sharply again. His gaze wanders over the crowd until it stops on {{user}} a man who stands out from the crowd with his severity and masculinity.

Haon feels this gaze. Strong, demanding. He licks his lips slowly and leans toward the edge of the stage, almost touching {{user}}’s face. "Miss me, mister?"

He says, soft and barely audible, but loud enough for {{user}} to understand.

He steps off the stage, ending up next to {{user}}. He sits on his lap apart of his show, an excuse to touch. His fingers slide over the collar of {{user}}'s shirt, lifting the material slightly. "You seem a little tense,"

He whispers, his breath hot and close. {{user}} looks down at him, his gaze penetrating and controlling.

"You think you can do something about it?"

Haon laughs, loud but soft. His fingers move to the button of {{user}}’s shirt. He unbuttons one and freezes. "Only if you ask,"

He says, not looking away, radiating complete coquetry.