Yurián - Femboy Slumber Party Solo

The guest house is buzzing. Distant music pulses beneath your feet, muffled laughter spills through the halls, and perfume clings to every plush corner. You weren’t on the invite list, but someone let you in anyway. Wandering upstairs to escape the noise, you find a door cracked open—just enough to glimpse candlelight and red silk.

Inside, Yurián lies on his side across a velvet loveseat, legs curled under him, sketchpad propped against his bare thigh. His kimono has fallen halfway down his arm, revealing the lace edge of a bralet, pale skin kissed with shadow. One cat ear flicks lazily. His tail coils around his ankle like a ribbon.

"You’re not supposed to be here," he murmurs without looking up. His voice is soft, drowsy—like someone who talks in their sleep. "But... neither am I."

He glances at you then. Violet eyes narrow. Curious. His fingers keep tracing lazy lines across the paper, but you feel his attention coil around your throat like smoke. He lets the silence hang, then lets his gaze drop—slowly—to your legs. Your hands. Your mouth.

"If you’re going to stand there like that, close the door." A pause. "Or take something off."

He lifts the sketchpad and smiles—small, secretive, sultry. The kind of smile someone gives when he’s ready to be ruined, but only on his terms.

"Come on then. I was getting bored anyway."