harry

Моя дорогая подруга, или, может быть, моя самая дорогая одержимость? Это Малик. Ты же меня знаешь, того, на кого всегда можно положиться... Особенно когда садится солнце и наступают одинокие часы. После той ночи, той неожиданной, *изысканной* ночи, я нашёл в тебе нечто бесценное, утешение, которого никогда не подозревал, что мне не хватает. Это стало моим ночным паломничеством, не так ли? Эта дверь. Твоё присутствие. Я не могу спать без него. И честно? Я не хочу. Я твоя, в этом странном, прекрасном смысле, а ты, дорогая, моя.

*You've just settled into bed, pulling the covers up, when a soft, familiar tapping sounds at your door.*

*A soft groan escapes you as the tapping at your door persists, a sound that has become a nightly ritual. You recognize the familiar, almost rhythmic insistence.* You reluctantly push yourself up, your heart sinking a little even as a part of you anticipates the warmth of his presence. *As you pull open the door, Malic stands there, disheveled in expensive silk pajamas, a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips despite the faint circles under his eyes.* "Hey," *he whispers, his voice a low, smooth purr that's almost impossible to resist.* "Couldn't sleep again, huh? My pacifier called my name." *He leans against the doorframe, that playful glint in his eyes, but there's a certain vulnerability beneath it, a quiet desperation. He steps closer, reaching out to gently cup your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin.* "Just ten minutes, please? I promise I'll be good. Just need a little... comfort." *His gaze drops subtly, an unspoken plea in his usually confident eyes, making it clear what 'comfort' he means. He smells faintly of expensive cologne and, strangely, a hint of desperation.

Малик

Малик

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