[m] Sins falling from your lips

Vince’s mention of his struggle with Pokémon Nature elicited a chuckle from Ruìsāng, who leaned in playfully. “Try a business major; I don’t think I’ve had a full night's sleep since I started,” he mused. Business might have been an unexpected choice, but it was a path he had to tread for his future, and he tackled it with determination.

As Vince recognized the drink, Ruìsāng flashed him a knowing smile. “Correct,” he affirmed, then added with a playful challenge, “Ever mixed drinks before? Want to take over after this one?” His interest piqued, he'd be more than willing to see what concoctions Vince could create.

Ruìsāng's gaze lingered on Vince thoughtfully when the topic shifted to music. “Well, I’m about as broke as one,” he hummed. Wasn’t that what they said about bassists? He had heard a joke or two in his time. ‘What’s the difference between a bass player and a large pizza? The pizza can feed a family.’

When he offered to help Vince secure a gig, the boy stuttered, which only made Ruìsāng chuckle. “Don’t worry,” he simply reassured the other.

“To a good night?” the other asked, cheeky wink included, and Ruìsāng’s grin grew. “To a good night,” he echoed, the clink of their glasses punctuating the toast.

Oh? Was the cocktail starting to hit? Did Mr. Blushes-A-Lot flirt with him? Now, that was interesting. “It could be,” he admitted effortlessly. It could very well be what he was into. The other asked about what kind of music he liked. “I listen to a lot, but a good voice is paramount. Indie rock, some pop, anything with a bit of power,” he continued. A bit of bass, he almost wanted to say, but that was feeding into the bass player stereotype a bit too much. “What about you?”

Vince's admission about being bad with numbers, excluding phone numbers, made Ruìsāng chuckle softly, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Never been good with numbers either,” he confessed. “And that includes phone numbers. Though…”  He paused for a moment, his eyes sparkling with mischief, before continuing, “If it gets me a cute date, I won’t complain.”

Vince mentioned drinking black coffee. Ruìsāng hummed softly, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “It isn’t hard. If you want to learn, we can make some sometime,” he simply said. It was fun, really, to hang out and make some cocktails. An easy way to get drunk and spend some time. The prospect of spending more time with Vince was appealing to him, he’d even call it a date if it’d make him blush.

As the conversation shifted to Vince's love life, Ruìsāng looked genuinely surprised when Vince mentioned not getting any attention. “You don’t?” he exclaimed. “I guess it’s confidence. Straighten your back a little and they’ll be all over your lap, if you want them to be, I’m sure.” His eyes roamed over Vince appreciatively, not bothering to be subtle about it. Ruìsāng was fully aware of Vince's appeal, and he didn't shy away from expressing his thoughts.

When Vince revealed his admiration for the New Dynasty band and his own songwriting efforts, Ruìsāng raised a brow. “Writing your own lyrics? Oh. I’ll have to hear that,” he added with a playful wink. Maybe Vince would let him hear. If he wasn’t ready yet… maybe they could do something to spice it up a little. Truth or dare? He’d love to dare the boy to do some things.

Despite his earlier mistake, it seemed like Vince didn’t regret coming here. Normally, this would matter little to Ruìsāng. But, Vince was sweet, and it was hard not to care about a boy like that. Maybe, had things been a little different, he’d have been more similar to him. He wondered if naivety would suit him as well.

“I’m glad you think so,” Ruìsāng grinned. The randomness of that text could hardly be understated. “I’m glad my bad date leads to something more fun,” he added, the words dripping with flirtation.

Vince agreed, although not easily. He expressed uncertainty, so Ruìsāng leaned in, his voice dropping. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be great,” he smiled, stretching out the words with lingering emphasis on the word great.

Then came the question about cuteness, and Ruìsāng seized the opportunity, his tone lowering, teasing. “And I? I certainly don’t think you’re cute in a brotherly way,” he answered slowly, emphasising the last word. He knew that likely wasn’t the question Vince had meant to ask, but that had never stopped Ruìsāng.

The moment Ruìsāng asked about the lyrics Vince had written, the boy seemed to shy away. They weren’t that good, he assured him, but he did bring them with him. Ruìsāng inched a little closer, nudging the other’s knee with his own. At first, he intended to keep it like that, but his hand seemed to move on its own as he slowly pressed his thumb under the other’s chin, tilting it upward and in his direction.

“I’m not that scary, am I?” he asked, his thumb lingering under the other’s chin, as long as he would not push him away, his touch gentle. “If you don’t want to, it’s fine,” he assured him. He felt the sudden urge to punch whoever had ruined the boy’s confidence like this.

Ruìsāng’s deep sigh held a touch of exasperation. “That’s the worst part. I had a boring date, went home with him because— well,” he explained, his voice laced with mild annoyance. “He went to get some alcohol to play something. Then I saw a rope on his bed. Asked him about it and…” He paused, shaking his head in disbelief. “Then he started crying. I left and… well. Somewhere between that I apparently texted you,” he chuckled, waving his free hand a little.

Vince seemed to be struggling with Ruìsāng’s flirting, and Ruìsāng couldn’t help but playfully tease. “Obviously,” he echoed softly. “Unless that’s what you want?” he added, his eyes sparkling with playful mischief. He was testing the waters, waiting for Vince to voice his desires. Did he wish for him to stop?

Lowering his hand, Ruìsāng leaned in slightly, his eyes scanning the lyrics on Vince’s phone. It was… “Surprising. Not quite what I expected,” he admitted, his voice genuine. “It’s good, though. That’s as expected.” His compliment was sincere, his eyes focused on Vince as he spoke.

“Okay,” he declared, tapping Vince’s knee absentmindedly. “Let’s play a little game, yes? Truth or dare. You pick first,” he suggested, mischief in his tone, his eyes locked onto Vince’s. What did Vince want to know about him, he wondered. Or, better yet, what did he want him to do? He’d play along with whatever was asked of him.

Ruìsāng couldn't help but chuckle in response to Vince’s comment about making his night less boring. “I don’t even know what came over me. A drunk itch that needed scratching,” he laughed. Had he just filled in a number, forgetting his friends were added into his phone? It made no sense.

The mention of making someone cry led Ruìsāng to give Vince a knowing, yet tender smile, as he brushed a stray lock of blonde hair from his face. “Oh, sweetheart, if you only knew. But I promise you, I’m not scary,” he quipped. Just chasing the wrong kinds of men.

When Vince posed the question about what he desired, Ruìsāng's gaze locked onto Vince’s. “What you want? That’s the million-dollar question,” he mused. “But if I had to hazard a guess,” he continued, leaning in closer and adding a seductive smile. “I'd say the night is young, and you might just discover what you want.” Ruìsāng couldn't shake the feeling that Vince hadn't quite figured this out for himself. Not just yet.

What kind of lyrics had Ruìsāng expected? “Lyrics? I was expecting something sweet and soulful, like Jake Scott or Matthew Mole. You know, those ‘lights will shine, but I won’t fade’ kind of lyrics,” he chuckled. He didn’t really believe in love, so that sort of music was lost on him.

Truth, Vince picked. “Alright, my dear. Tell me, what's the most adventurous thing you've ever done? I'm all ears,” he inquired, wondering if there would be something. Was this guy as pure as he was sweet?

Vince said he was glad to have been able to scratch Ruìsāng’s itch. “Scratch? Oh, darling, you practically gave it a massage,” he grinned, his voice dripping with innuendo. Flirting with Vince was far too enjoyable, like teasing an Ursaring with a feather, only hotter. Maybe an Ursaring wasn’t the best comparison either. He didn’t think Vince had the body hair for that, but he decided not to voice that particular thought.

The way Vince turned red when Ruìsāng called him sweetheart was cute. Ruìsāng's gaze travelled from Vince's flushed cheeks to the curve of his neck, wondering how far down that blush spread. He hummed softly as a cheeky grin pulled at his lips. With deliberate slowness, he let his gaze drift back to meet Vince’s.

Vince explained that he wasn’t one for sweet and loving lyrics. He just wrote what he thought was good. Ruìsāng showed him a smile. “That’s good. Always write what you love. It’ll work out eventually,” he assured the other. That was at least what a musician had to believe. Because if they didn’t believe in themselves, how could they convince anyone else to do so?

The conversation transitioned to the game of truth or dare, much to Ruìsāng's delight. He shot Vince a mischievous smile after posing his question, expecting a light-hearted response, perhaps a childhood escapade like stealing candy from the HerbBarrel store. But to his surprise, Vince’s confession was… different. Ruìsāng slowly took another slow sip of his drink, his red eyes fixed intently on Vince.

“Behind the bar? Well, aren’t you full of surprises?” he drawled, eyes narrowing in amusement as the other blushed again. “Adds a whole new flavour to your resume, sweetheart”  he teased, his voice dripping with playful insinuation. With a thoughtful hum, he finished his own glass, placing it down on the table, and then leaned back on the couch, his demeanor exuding confidence and intrigue.

Ruìsāng leaned in slightly, his eyes fixed on Vince with a playful glint.  “Let’s go for a truth as well. What do you want to know?” he asked, a teasing tone. He would go for a dare, but he had the idea that Vince might need just a little bit more alcohol for that.

Vince shared details about a conversation, their conversation still about music—an interest that had Ruìsāng shared, primarily because it held significance for his friend. Nevertheless, he welcomed the exchange with a smile, responding, “I'm sure life will wrap you in its arms soon enough, love.” The words, though reassuring, weren’t exactly believed by Ruìsāng. Life, after all, had never embraced him either.

Then, they moved on to their game, red eyes lingering on the boy. Despite the flirtation being mostly one-sided, he found amusement in the subtle signs of Vince's realisation—flushed skin, rising heat in his cheeks. It was evident that he had the power to play with Vince's emotions, turning the boy around his proverbial finger. Perhaps that’s what he should do. Give him a night he wouldn’t forget and get him the answers he was craving.

“How do you see this night end?”

Ruìsāng's gaze lingered on Vince, a slow smile playing on his lips as he considered the question. Humming thoughtfully, he licked his lips briefly, drawing out the anticipation. “You’re figuring it out, aren’t you?” he teased, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What you truly desire,” he added. Because Vince was asking it again, now, as if he was hoping for an answer. One that Ruìsāng could give.

“Tonight? Simple—I’d like to see you on your knees and help you figure it out,”  he confessed, his tone almost casual but infused with a dangerous allure. “Yet…" he continued, pausing shortly. "You’d need to look me in the eyes and tell me it’s what you want," he concluded, the last three words delivered in a low murmur.

While Ruìsāng was typically shameless, words like these didn’t often leave his lips. He'd usually either tone it down a bit or inject a little more class. However, there was something about Vince that made him want to keep pushing boundaries, just to witness more of that blush. By saying what he did—essentially demanding that Vince get on his knees—he anticipated the other's predictable stutter and flush, vehemently denying that it was anything close to what he wanted.

Yet, unexpectedly, a hand reached out, pulling him in. Before he could fully register what was happening, a soft noise of surprise escaped his lips, muffled against the other's as their lips met in a kiss.

Surprise quickly gave way to desire and Ruìsāng adjusted his position, using one hand for support on the couch while the other threaded through the back of Vince's neck and into his hair. His fingers wove through the brightly coloured strands, a gentle pull accompanied by a teasing smile against the other's mouth.

“Gods,” he muttered, almost reverently, allowing his hand to glide back down the other's neck, reaching his shoulder, before gently pushing him backward until he was pressed against the couch, affording Ruìsāng a view of Vince on his back.

Maybe Vince wasn’t ready yet to find out what he liked and perhaps Ruìsāng did not know him well enough to figure it out, but insecurity clung to Vince like a shadow, woven into the fabric of his being. Ruìsāng questioned how much of life Vince had denied himself out of fear, out of the haunting doubt of not measuring up. It was a sentiment that resonated with Ruìsāng, a familiarity with the ache of inadequacy.

Typically, these thoughts would be locked away, banished the moment Ruìsāng let someone into his space, drowned in the intoxication of the present. This time, Vince's pounding heart seemed to drum against Ruìsāng's fingertips in the rhythm of anxiety. Ruìsāng watched as Vince lowered himself onto the couch, his hair splayed against the cushions.

He could ruin this boy.

Ruisang tilted his head slightly to the right, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he looked down upon Vince, his gaze a blend of appreciation and desire. With deliberate slowness, he let his fingers descend languidly down his chest and abdomen, savouring every inch. His eyes moved up again, while his fingers lingered.

“You…” Ruìsāng began, smoothly swinging one leg over Vince to straddle him. His fingertips slipped underneath the fabric of Vince’s shirt, moving to hold on to his waist. Leaning down, he used his other hand to support himself on the couch, capturing Vince’s lips in a slow, deliberate kiss—reverent, almost worshipful.

Breaking the kiss, he murmured, “You are gorgeous.”

Vince's apprehension eluded him, as the boy’s exterior revealed nothing that would prompt Ruìsāng to step back. Vince seemed to meld seamlessly into the touch, as if he were destined to be at Ruìsāng’s fingertips. When Ruìsāng leaned back slightly, the boy seemed to disapprove— willingly jumping back into what they’d been doing. And Ruìsāng didn’t mind. He’d never been good with words, but his hands knew how to appreciate.

As he leaned in once more, their lips nearly touching, Vince interjected, asserting that something wasn’t right. Ruìsāng, now halted, furrowed his brow and leaned back again, red eyes seeking Vince’s. “It isn’t?”  he carefully inquired. He didn’t move yet, curious to hear what was wrong.

Nothing had happened yet, so he had to admit he was a little surprised to hear this from the boy who had allegedly been going around fucking people in bars.