aroceu's ficsound foundations
by aroceu
Summary:
They make the house shake.
[What happened in Our Skyy 2 Ep2 pt 2/4]
Notes:
They're crazy for this they make me sick in the head fr
Credit for the title goes to Sani, who came up with something better than what I had in mind 🙄 (😘)
“I’ll breathe quietly then,” Pat murmurs against Pran’s neck, little puffs of air that tickle his skin. He noses closer, and Pran couldn’t even stop the smile on his face if he tried, Pat pressing so close like their bodies could fall into each other, slip so easily into one, just a centimeter further.
Pran’s not sure when he hears Pat’s breathing change—but then Pat’s saying, “Hey,” lips against his ear, and even though Pran’s eyes are closed, he replies, “Hm?”
“You’re studying Architecture,” Pat says, and his voice is low, sweet, that Pran could fall asleep to it.
Then Pat drops to a whisper: “Have you ever wondered how much this house can withstand shaking?”
Immediately, Pran’s eyes snap open. So does his hindbrain, suddenly realizing just how close Pat is. Pat’s smirking, surely. He’s fucked Pran hard enough—multiple times—that their neighbors have left them notes of complaints in the morning. Pat considers them victory prizes and keeps them in a drawer in his desk.
“I haven’t,” Pran stammers out, all too aware now of Pat’s arm around the front of his chest, trapping him in place. “I’m not—curious.”
“But I want to know,” Pat says, still in that low, sultry voice of his. “And since I’m studying Engineering, let me prove it tonight.”
Pran should’ve seen this coming—he shouts, “I don’t want to know!” as his boyfriend kisses, bites his neck, grabbing him and tossing the blanket over the both of them, keeping Pran pinned onto the mattress. “Ai, Pat—Pat! I want to sleep!” Pran protests to no avail. “Pat—Pat—Pat—!”
Pat’s on top of him under the covers, the quilt covering his head and shoulders that he looks like a hungry hulking animal in the dark, eyes glinting down at Pran. “What is it, Pran?” he says, and drops a hand down, in front of Pran’s crotch, and presses down. Pran moans; his dick is half hard already. “You don’t want it?”
“No—Yes, but, we shouldn’t—”
Pat chuckles. “You always say that,” he says, before reaching into a pocket in his shorts and taking out a travel tube of lube. Of course. “Are you sure?”
Pran stares up at him, where Pat is grinning, holding out the bottle teasingly. He looks so smug and satisfied with himself, Pran almost wants to deny him.
But he kind of wants to get destroyed by him more.
“Fine,” says Pran, and lifts his legs up, half wrapping them around Pat’s waist. “But if we break the house, you’re paying for it.”
“Gladly,” says Pat, and starts undoing Pran’s shorts.
Pran loves being in this position: on his back, watching while Pat strips them down, takes an eager bite of Pran’s nipple, helping move his body and sliding forward so Pat can prop Pran’s legs over his shoulders. Pat’s so deft at sex—he’s fucking good at it, they both are. Pat’s insatiability feels like something out of a goddamn dream sometimes, the hungry, lust-filled look in his dark eyes, under his sweeping bangs, as he slides two fingers into Pran and makes him moan. His fingers are muscled and long and thick, and Pran arches his back, thrusts down and closer forward to get more of Pat inside him, wishing he was going faster. “You’re so greedy, Pran,” Pat laughs, and kisses Pran’s ankle from where his calves are on his shoulders.
Pran says, “Pat, fuck—fuck you.”
“You sure you’re in the position to be saying that?” Pat asks as the tip of his two fingers brush against his prostate. Pran jolts against him and wishes his boyfriend didn’t have this kind of power over him. Pat’s filling him up so good and he hasn’t even gotten his dick in yet.
Pat presses against his prostate and Pran thrashes, like he’s going crazy, so empty and full all at once. “You suck,” he gasps, as Pat draws his fingers away again, his lips curled up so infuriatingly. “Fuck—Pat—”
Despite the torture of Pat’s relentless fingers moving inside of him, Pran regains control of his limbs and grabs Pat by the back of his neck, crashing him down, kissing him. Pat responds eagerly, tongue gliding against Pran’s as Pran licks into his mouth, pushing himself down on Pat’s stupid fingers, wishing they could be fused into one, or as close as they could get. Pat’s body is hot and nimble above his, the sweat on his skin already seeping into Pran’s fingers, and Pran wants it everywhere. In his mouth, on his body. He needs Pat, as he grapples at Pat’s shoulders, as he writhes down on his fingers, as—
“Fuck, Pran,” Pat says, breaking them apart. His eyes are black. “You’re so—” and when Pran clenches around his fingers “—you want it so much.”
“Yeah?” Pran tilts his head on the pillow, smirks. “Are you gonna give it to me? Make the house shake like you want?”
It’s in one smooth moment that Pat takes his fingers out and slides the length of his dick in, so fast and big Pran’s dizzy with it. His mouth hangs open at the fullness, the girth he’s taken over and over again but still somehow needs to adjust to, like it’s the first time. He fucking loves it.
“That shut you up pretty quick,” Pat says, but his voice is strained, too.
Pran doesn’t care. He clings to Pat’s neck as Pat starts fucking him, hard, forceful thrusts that practically push Pran up on his pillow, making it slip out from under his head. Pat fucks with his entire body, he always does, like that’s what it’s made for—all the sports and working out leading up to this, for him to fuck Pran with every bone and muscle in his body. He grips onto Pran’s legs and fucks into him with a purpose, that Pran feels like his head is being driven into the floor, his back arching for more. There’s wanton, slutty moaning like in a porno in his ears—it takes him a moment to register that those are his sounds, whining and desperate in pure bliss while Pat fucks him, each movement sending stars into his eyes.
From somewhere far away, Pran hears, “Shit, you—You’re so hot—” and Pat grunting, his thighs slapping against Pran’s. They’re both going to have red marks on their thighs in the morning, but Pran doesn’t care. He pulls Pat back down again and bites him, bites his bottom lip so Pat’s mouth opens, and Pat moans as he kisses back and rams into Pran again, over and over again. Pran lets his jaw go slack as Pat licks into his mouth, like he’s trying to fuck him as deeply here with his tongue and his cock inside Pran’s hole. Pran’s hands around Pat’s neck slide down to his shoulders, his back; Pat drives into him harder and faster, making Pran’s teeth rattle that he claws at Pat’s back, nails digging in and Pat keeps going, hard enough that when Pran’s orgasm hits, untouched, Pran squeals and blacks out and arches his back as he covers both their stomachs with his cum, sticky white ropes of spunk on their skin.
The floorboard beneath them creaks; the house is definitely shaking with the weight and strength of Pat’s thrusts on the mattress, but Pran hardly cares. One hand drifts down to feel where they’re joined, caresses Pat’s ballsack, traces where his rim is stretched out around the base of Pat’s cock—
Then they’re both moaning and Pat is bucking uncontrollably, twitching and thrusting arrhythmically as he comes inside Pran, hot and viscous as Pran grips Pat’s ass, pushing him deeper inside so that Pat couldn’t pull out a little even if he wanted. The feeling of Pat’s come inside him is so familiar and a turn on at the same time, searing his insides like it’ll fill up his belly, like it’ll come out of his mouth if he doesn’t close it. He drags Pat in deeper, so deep, stuffing him full that it might happen, it could, with Pat lodged so deep inside him that the cum leaking around his cock, dripping onto Pran’s rim might seal him shut. Pran wants to keep Pat inside of him—they rarely go only once a night, anyway.
When Pat comes down, panting, he peers down at Pran, and says, “Shit.”
Pran smiles up at him. Their hair is still damp, but this time more from sweat than shower water. “The house hasn’t collapsed yet,” he says.
Pat laughs, swooping down to kiss him again. Pran sucks on his tongue, a slurping and frankly typically disgusting noise that echoes around the room, muffled only a little by the mosquito tent around them. His hands are still on Pat’s ass, squeezing; he smiles when Pat whines into his mouth, while Pran keeps Pat’s still-hard dick inside of him, gripping his ass right to keep him in deep. “I have such a greedy boyfriend,” Pat says into his mouth.
Pran raises his eyebrow. “I have such a generous boyfriend,” he counters.
“That’s true,” Pat says.
But before he can do more, Pran uses his hold on Pat to flip him over, one tangled leg throwing his weight down so that Pat falls onto his back with a small “oof!” and that Pran sits on top of him. He hasn’t let Pat slip out of him at all, and rocks, moving Pat’s dick inside of him with a smile as Pat stares at him reverently in the moonlight, at Pran on top of him.
“I think it’s my turn to give back now, though,” Pran says, shifting his hips in circles and gasping as Pat’s cock brushes against his prostate. Pat’s jaw goes slack; the groan that he lets out sounds more like a whimper.
Pran grins. “Don’t you think?” he asks, and licks his hand, the taste of their musk mixed together, Pat’s cum. It’s gross, but more than that, it’s them. Pat’s hands find his hips, tighten, dick jerking, and Pran feels smug.
Then without hesitation, even though they just finished, even though he feels over sensitive and out, Pran bounces, putting all his weight onto his thighs, fucking himself down on Pat’s cock.
It’s one of his favorite positions, riding Pat—Pat’s so compliant, so good when Pran takes his cock so easily, eagerly, letting the breadth and length of Pat’s cock reach into him, in places he’s barely explored himself. Pat’s cock turns him inside out this way, large and deep that it feels like it’s hitting the back of his throat, stars in his eyes and mindless in a way that Pran can control. It’s taking what he’s always wanted, and Pat just letting him, Pran fucking down as hard and fast as he can, that the mattress is slipping under Pat’s body, that the floor creaks below as they moan with the weight of Pran on top of Pat. When Pran rides him on a normal bed, he almost desperately wants the bed frame to squeak, rattle, break under them with the force of his love for Pat’s cock—and it has, a couple of times. Here, though, Pran just kind of wants the mosquito tent to fall apart, the house around them, so that everyone can know the size of Pran’s want and love.
Pat’s gripping onto his waist, squeezing and pinching where his stomach rolls over, surely leaving welts and indents, bruises for the morning. Almost mindlessly, Pran slides his hands up to grip onto Pat’s hair—Pat moans as Pran pulls on it, holding on for dear life, using it as leverage to let himself fuck down on Pat harder, so hard that Pat’s cock could live inside of him. “Holy shit,” Pat whispers as Pran’s ass slaps against his thighs, again and again, hungrily and rapidly as Pran doesn’t let up from his bouncing, going harder.
His fingers tighten inPat’s hair that Pat’s scalp must sting—but Pat’s dick pulses inside of him at this, and Pran’s always known that he’s liked it. Well, at least since they started sleeping together all those years ago. Pat’s own hands roam up from Pran’s waist, over his stomach, to his chest, cupping and pinching his nipples, and Pran moans. “Pat—” he begs, and he can hear the lilt in his boyfriend’s voice when he says, “Yeah?”
His hands are cupped on Pran’s chest, squeezing; Pran takes his own hands out of Pat’s hair, tangling his fingers with Pat’s on his chest. Pat’s palms turn immediately, holding Pran’s hands, and Pran clings to him tighter as he rides Pat’s cock fast again, Pat’s hands intertwined with his own the only thing tethering him to the earth.
He’s all light inside with Pat, a fire burning, the center of the sun outside-in as Pran’s eyelids fall shut and he takes what he wants, everything he can get. The rickety creaks of the wooden house, the thump of the mattress against the floor with every thrust, Pat inside of him and everywhere and all around him. Pran doesn’t want to come first again—but it’s hard, when Pat’s hands are squeezing back against his own, and Pran’s letting out little “ah ah ah”s that sound desperate and foreign to his ears even though he’s heard them before. When he’s so loose and open from Pat’s cock that he has to squeeze, has to make Pat moan with how greedily Pran’s hole is sucking his cock back in, how Pran uses one of their joined hands to grip and rub at his dick and then he’s gone, coming again while Pat fills him up inside of him. Pran’s already so gross and sticky—they both are, across their stomachs—but he doesn’t care, wants to ruin them further as he bucks downward, filling Pran all the way up with his cum again that Pran thinks impossibly he might get pregnant. He won’t, of course, it’s impossible. But he has so much of Pat’s hot, thick cum in his core like it’s flooded his Pran’s stomach, that he doesn’t want to remember what it feels like to be any way else.
Pat’s letting out ah, ahs as he comes, hips jerking and jolting as he stares at Pran the whole time, Pran moving their hands to his tits, both of them groping and touching as Pat continues to fill him up. “Pat,” Pran cries out, and Pat just keeps on coming, which isn’t a surprise to Pran—Pat has enough cum that Pran will never be too hungry—but it’s mind-blowing anyway, the way Pran gets light-headed with so much of Pat inside of him.
“Holy fuck,” Pat says, and then he’s the one dragging Pran down to kiss him on the mouth, like he has to taste him everywhere, licking his tongue and lips and cheek, biting his nose and the lower part of his jaw. “My boyfriend is insane and so good at sex.”
Pran smiles at him, and Pat pecks his dimple. “Thanks.”
Pat pouts. “I thought you were going to say the same thing about me,” he says. His hands have settled back on Pran’s hips; neither of them have made much of an effort to separate just yet, still joined where they’re sticky and sensitive and sore. Pran loves it, doesn’t know how he ever lasted a day without this.
He flicks Pat on the forehead. “You won’t get compliments from me that easily,” he says. Even though he’s spread open on Pat’s dick that he’s not as tight, he clenches around him anyway.
Pat laughs and grunts and groans. “My boyfriend is a menace too,” he says, and grips Pran by the ass, pushing him off a little. Some of his cum slips out, and Pran nearly whimpers at the sensation too. “Come here.”
He pushes Pran forward and Pran follows his movements, inching up on Pat’s muscled body until his mostly soft dick is in Pat’s face, his hole leaving a trail of slick cum along Pat’s body in his wake. Pat eyes his cock hungrily, palms pressing into Pran’s ass more as he rubs his nose over the tip of Pran’s cock, taking a deep inhale.
The sensation tickles, and Pran laughs. “What are you doing?” he asks. His hands slide into Pat’s hair again, almost naturally. His fingers weave into Pat’s dark locks, and maybe he presses Pat a bit closer.
Pat doesn’t answer, instead sniffing down Pran’s cock, worn out and tired but inevitably interested, especially as Pat presses a light kiss on the side. “Man, you always smell so good,” he says, and his breath, the vibrations of his voice are tantalizing on Pran’s skin, and he shudders. “I love you so much.”
“I love you—too.” Pran moans out the last word, as Pat’s ducked his head under to take Pran’s balls into his mouth. He’s still breathing deep like he’s taking in as much of Pran’s scent as he can, and he suckles on the sensitive skin, Pran’s insides twisting with molten heat so fast that he nearly blacks out from it. He almost collapses forward, but Pat holds him up, large hands steady on the sides of Pran’s chest, below his breastbone. “Shit, Pat—Pat.”
Pat does his own thing during sex—he usually does, unless Pran’s in control. Pat gives Pran’s cock little kitten licks, but nothing else; not a blowjob, not any driven desire to really see Pran come again. He mouths and inhales greedily as one of his hands comes down from Pran’s chest, to go behind him, to where Pran’s hole is still dripping, one long finger lazily fucking in and out. Pran whines and shivers and shivers, knowing he won’t come, he can’t come, he’s too sensitive and Pat’s just taking whatever he wants. But he loves that, too, Pat’s breath hot and heavy against his cock as he pushes his cum back in to Pran with his finger, then out, then shoving Pran’s body upward even further to lick him clean.
Pran’s holding onto Pat’s hair again, because he has no other choice as he rides Pat’s face, Pat’s tongue eagerly spearing him back open, eating his cum out from Pran’s hole with eager and gross squelching noises. His face is buried in Pran’s cheeks as Pran rocks back and forth, head brushing against the back of the sheer tent around them, gasping and lost in the sensation. He doesn’t want to come again, not just yet, but it’s hard when Pat goes from his tongue to the pressure of his lips, tightening his hands on Pran’s waist and just sucks. He slurps out the cum that rushes out until Pran’s practically empty again, and the only thing holding Pran up, keeping him from falling, is his fingers in Pat’s hair.
Pran lets himself fall back so that he’s not on Pat’s face anymore—at least, so that his ass is on Pat’s chest and he can see his boyfriend’s face. “Satisfied?” Pran asks, even though he knows he was an active participant.
Pat’s eyes glint. He’s still got a finger tracing the wet rim of Pran’s hole. It’s only years of having sex that Pran’s able to resist responding, instead just looking down at Pat with a smirk of his own.
Then Pat’s gripping his ass—and it’s not unusual for them to keep flipping each other over, especially in the middle of sex, but Pran doesn’t know how he doesn’t see it coming when Pat’s shoving him face down onto the now horrifically stained mattress, climbing on top of him and propping his legs up, Pran’s back curved and ass in the air, exposed. “Are you?” Pat says, and his cock is hard between Pran’s cheeks, gliding, teasing—then inside him again, like they hadn’t come twice tonight already.
Something they’d run into early in their relationship—not necessarily a problem by their standards, though Wai (while insisting he’d rather not know anything about their sex life) would disagree otherwise—was that Pat had nearly no refractory period, and Pran was insatiable. Still is, with the way Pat’s nails dig into his ass as he fucks Pran like an animal, and Pran’s eyes roll to the back of his head, mouth hanging open, tongue dangling like a slut, crying out “uh uh uh“s as he just takes it. Pran can count the number of times they had sex only once in a session on one hand, because when they start, it’s hard for them to stop. They can be quick with it; it’s easy to get Pat to come when Pran blows him, deep throats him with a finger in Pat’s ass, teasing over his prostate. But if they had the choice—and they frequently do—spending hours all over each other, in bed or any flat surface inside their apartment (and, on occasion, secluded spots outside of their apartment) is better than any other alternative.
Pat mounts Pran, as the mattress beneath them threatens to slip out, as the floor trembles beneath them that it feels like the whole room, the whole house is going to fall apart at any second. Pat’s hands are on the back of Pran’s neck, shoving his face into the pillow since Pran has no choice but to mouth at the sheets, getting them wet with his drool. He’s so full, so plugged up with Pat, Pat’s cum from earlier easing the way, even as Pat rams into him so hard and punishingly that Pran knows he’s going to be raw and red in the morning. Pat bends forward and bites at Pran’s shoulder, his neck, his ear, and pants, “How’s this?”
Pran doesn’t respond—is unable to, with the way he hurts all over, inside and out, and loves it. Loves the brutal thrusts of Pat’s big cock like he’s going to break him open, break him apart and put him back together with his cum, the filthy slapping and squelching filling the room, interspersed with their groans and whimpers. Loves the way Pat takes him like a dog would, a wolf, a predator with its prey, Pat covering Pran with his entire body, sniffing and kissing his neck. When Pran comes it doesn’t feel real, an out of body experience as the orgasm hits his head, behind his eyes much more, coming up empty and making him shudder in Pat’s hold as Pat grunts and wraps his arms around Pran and fills him up inside. They’re so joined together like they were trying to breed for it, like getting the signature or the play or graduation or the future didn’t matter, as long as they had each other.
When Pat’s done, he sighs and pushes them both down to the bed, so that Pran isn’t weakly on his elbows anymore with his ass in a position to be used. Pat cuddles Pran like Nong Nao; Pran feels absently for the eye mask, with the little strength he has left.
Pat noses his neck. “Hold on,” he says. His eyes are closed, but he takes Pran’s face to lick his cheeks anyway, following the salty taste of his tear tracks. His tongue flicks along Pran’s eyelid as he smirks. “Knew it,” he says sleepily.
Pran tries to blink away the rest of his tears. It’s pretty normal, at this rate, when Pat mounts him like a dog, lets go and fucks him like an animal without caring about anything else. “Yeah?” he says to Pat. “Know enough to go again?”
“Mm,” Pat says, and nuzzles into Pran’s shoulder again. They’re in the same position they were in before, albeit much messier and without any clothes on. “You wore me out, youngster, let’s save that for another night.”
Pran rolls his eyes, even though his bones feel like jelly too. “Alright, Nong Pat,” he says, and feels Pat smile against his skin. “We’ll break the house down another night then.”
The warmth of Pat’s breath as he laughs fills Pran up, too, as much as Pat’s dick or his cum, a supernova behind his heart. As Pran covers his eyes with the mask, Pat kisses the back of his neck and says, “Sounds like a plan.”