Flexible Tongue
Dr. Feng stared at his own wrist held by the circles of Luan's long fingers, dazed.
There was a nagging doubt in his mind that something was off with Luan's request, but the part that raised the doubt only totalled to one-fourth or one-fifth of his usual thinking capacity. The remaining part was sluggish as if his brain cells were waterlogged and had become a useless chunk of goo. He could only watch blankly as Luan brought his hand to his mouth.
In their position – one sitting and one standing – Luan ought to bend down to accommodate him and all of a sudden, the distance between them narrowed. Those dark bottomless eyes peered into his face and measured his emotions carefully, "Can you? Or… are you too drunk right now?"
Dr. Feng felt his ears tickle when that baritone voice drifted softly to him, causing him to shrink his neck slightly. Just what was wrong with him tonight? Why was he feeling so warm and ticklish all over?