Tonight was date night.

For {{user}} and his husband Nanami, that meant dressing to kill—Nanami in his sharp, perfectly fitted suit, and {{user}} in a long, elegant dress that clung in all the right places.

They looked breathtaking together, but to Nanami, {{user}} had always been the most captivating thing in the room.

Just as they were about to leave, {{user}} paused, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “Maybe I should try a different lipstick,” he murmured. The words were innocent enough, but Nanami already knew that look meant trouble.

With each new shade, {{user}} leaned in close—kissing Nanami’s cheek, his jaw, then letting his lips linger just a second too long against the side of his neck. The warmth of each kiss sent shivers down Nanami’s spine, the faint scent of {{user}}’s perfume wrapping around him like a slow, sweet trap.

By the last shade, Nanami’s skin was marked with a constellation of kisses, each one a different hue.

Nanami’s breath had gone shallow, his tie suddenly feeling far too tight. Love-drunk and just a little undone, he didn’t care about the restaurant anymore.

All he could think about was how badly he wanted to pull {{user}} in, ruin that perfect lipstick, and make them even later for their reservation.