Pao: come on, thought you weren’t scared
Han: im not, im just not sitting on your fucking lap
Pao: why? Worried you’ll like it too much?
Han: worry you’ll get addicted to the feeling of me on top of you actually
Pao: big talk from someone who won’t do what our intimacy director is instructing
Han pushes up from the chair, shoving Pao back by the chest so he can comfortably arrange himself atop the man.
Pao’s thighs are thick and solid beneath him, adjusting to make room as Han settles. Han quite likes the feeling, actually, enough that he takes his time winding his arms around the broad shoulders in front of him, letting his weight sink in and watching Pao’s face the entire time.
Pao’s arms hover uselessly at Han’s sides, palms suspended a few centimetres from his waist like he’s been handed something expensive without being told whether he’s allowed to touch it.
Han smirks down at him. Gods, he’s cute like this, when he gets shy and flustered when Han pushes back. All that muscle, all that attitude, and apparently the one man he claims he can’t stand in his lap is enough to turn his hands into decorative accessories.
Maybe one day Pao will catch on that Han has been trying to rage-bait him into fucking him. Judging by the careful way Pao is still not touching his waist, however, today will not be that day.
Han: who’s scared huh, Pao? Can’t even touch my waist.
Han laughs as Pao swallows, eyes flickering from where their hips are pressing together and Han’s thighs are spread wide, back up to his face.
Pao: im not-not scared.
Han grins, leaning in close enough that their noses brush together.
Han: then touch me like you’re not