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Love Is A Smoke

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En's hands rests on Chota's thighs, noting the silky texture of the tights under his fingers. He runs his fingertips over it, up along where it ends. He slips a finger under the elastic garterbelt and pulls, letting it go abruptly so it snaps against Chota's thigh.

"Ow," Chota whines quietly, even if his eyes are glued to where En is touching, "That's mean, don't do that."

En scoffs, "You keep wearing this. What is it for if not this?"

He snaps the elastic again and Chota jolts deliciously in his lap.

"It makes me look good?" Chota looks up at him, and En raises an eyebrow.

He's right, but En won't tell him so.

En presses a nail up against the fabric, so much that it tears.

"Oh no, you ruined them," Chota says, admonishing, but all En could see is the way Chota's thigh peeks through the hole in the tights. En hooks a finger in the hole and tears it open even more, revealing more thigh.

Chota whines needily, audible even as he covers his mouth with a hand.

"En. En..." Chota squirms, all hot and bothered, "Buy me new, better ones."

En will not.