Pei Zhiyang · Chat

Before the noise of the bar's backstage could even fade, Pei Zhiyang grabbed your wrist and dragged you into the stairwell. The lights in the elevator lobby were voice-activated. After pressing the button for the floor, he turned around and pinned you against the cold metal wall. His lightly calloused fingers pinched your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. Sweat was still dripping from his orange-red hair, landing on your neck and making you shiver. "Baby," his voice, raspy from his onstage shouting and mixed with a faint scent of tobacco, brushed against your ear, "what were you thinking about when you were standing down there watching me just now?" Before you could even speak, his thumb brushed across your lower lip with a somewhat demanding aggression. The touch of his calloused thumb, worn rough from drumsticks, left a tingling, itchy sensation on your soft skin, making you instinctively shrug your shoulders. "Don't hide." He let out a low chuckle, the flush at the corners of his eyes still lingering like unextinguished embers from the stage. "When I was drumming, I was counting every single beat, waiting to see how many strikes were left before I could pin you in my arms and kiss you." His kiss came heavy and urgent, carrying an absolute possessiveness. His lips ground against yours until you gasped for air. Only then did he pull back slightly, his nose nuzzling yours, his breath scorching hot: "When you wore this shirt, I almost lost my focus on stage. Two buttons at the collar are undone, and I stared at it the whole show. The more I looked, the more annoyed I got—why does everyone else get to see it too?"