Rating:

Explicit

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Bad Buddy

Relationship:

Pat/Pran

Tags:

anal fingering, anal sex, barebacking, blowjobs, creampie, domesticity, episode tag, established relationship, face fucking, finger sucking, fluff, hair pulling, hand holding, kissing, marking, masochism, pwp, sadism

Stats:

Posted on:

2023-06-10

Words:

4,778

Instead of answering, Pran takes a potato chip from the bag and feeds it to Pat. It’s easier, when he wants to kiss Pat so badly—not like they had for their play, in front of the audience; not in a way where his mom or the whole world could see. The desire is dormant under his skin all the time, waiting for Pat to ask, to lean in, to drag it out.

And Pat does. Here, he takes Pran’s finger before Pran can properly move it away, and wraps his lips around Pran’s fingertip, sucking it into his mouth in a way that makes Pran’s dick twitch. Pat looks so satisfied with himself when he’s done and Pran can’t complain, leaning in as Pat leans forward and then they’re kissing, Pat tasting like salt and oil and potatoes and as Pran sucks on his bottom lip, and Pat kisses him and kisses him, and Pran wants more—

“P’Pran! Can you open up? I left my key at home again!”

Pa’s voice breaks through their kiss, even though it does nothing to Pran already getting semi-hard under the pillow on his lap. He glances at the door, but Pat says, “Don’t, don’t, cover your ears!”

“What?” Pran says, but Pat’s already holding onto one of his hands—the one with the finger he sucked—and brings it up to his ear, then the other one. Pran doesn’t really fight it, even though that’s his sister-in-law (as he’s started to think of Pa) asking for help.

Pran thinks of telling Pat that they should help his sister—but then Pat, with his hands over his ears too, suddenly leans over and kisses Pran, and in the process knocks himself off-balance and gets Pran’s elbow in his eye. Pran scoffs and takes his hands off his ears, kissing his big dumb boyfriend on the cheek before gesturing to the door and saying, “Go get your sister.”

Pat makes no movement to get off the couch, going back to eating his chips innocently. Pran jabs him on purpose this time. “Are you really just going to sit here?”

His boyfriend gives him a wide-eyed innocent look. “I am,” he says. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Pran grits his teeth when Pa knocks on the door again. “P’Pran!” she calls.

Pat’s smile is smug. “She’s calling for you, anyway,” he says, continuing to munch on his Lays brand regular flavor potato chips. “Go on, P’Pran.”

When Pa knocks again, Pran ignores it, saying, “Oh yeah, nong Pat?” He bites down a smirk as Pat backs down, his chewing slowing; Pran knows what that does to him. “You’re not gonna be good and do the work for me?”

If it comes to Pa interrupting their moments, Pran knows it’s a lost cause. No matter how much Pran begs, Pat refuses to open the door for his sister; he’s tried more than once. But when it comes to…other things, sex things, Pat is far more inclined to do as Pran says. Eager, even.

(And Pran’s thinking less and less of his boyfriend’s sister after, faintly, he hears: “Oi Pa, what are you doing out here?” “Oh, P’Korn, P’Pran won’t open the door for me either!” “What’s all the noise going on?” “P’Wai, what are you doing here?” “I live here.” “You live here now?” “No, you don’t.” “I spend enough time here that I do.” “Okay, that’s great, but can I use the bathroom?”)

Pat blinks, and his gaze gets dark. “Depends on what the work is,” he says to Pran, and he’s leaning in more to Pran’s space when Pran wants him as close as possible. Pran grabs him by the back of his neck and kisses him again.

It’s filthy and dizzying, and even when Pran can still taste the wet potato chip crumbs in the corners of his mouth, Pat licks them up before Pran can swallow them down. Pran scrunches his nose into Pat’s face mid-kiss, and Pat smiles against his lips. Pran retaliates by licking the corner of Pat’s lips, where there’s a stray clump of salt, and it’s definitely disgusting but still makes him hot inside because it’s Pat. Pat who kisses back as Pran presses harder against him, his hold tightening on Pat’s jaw, grinding his tongue against Pat’s teeth, hand slipping up to Pat’s hair. He grabs at Pat’s topknot, and pulls his hair as he nips at Pat’s lips. Pat winces and Pran smirks, a thrill shooting up his spine.

Pat doesn’t let up, though, giving as good as he’s got, and Pran is feeling a little greedy now anyway so he lets Pat eat him up. Pat’s kiss grows hungrier and more purposeful, tipping Pran over on his back on the couch. Pat climbs over him, Pran’s body caged under. Pran’s still got the pillow on his lap and a bunch more behind his back, but he shoves the others to the ground while Pat takes the one between their bodies and tosses it halfway across the living room, even while he’s kissing and grinding against Pran. Pran laughs and says, “Pat,” against his mouth, but Pat takes that opportunity to lick in between his lips and it’s like an instinct for Pran—he sucks Pat’s tongue into his mouth, for a second, and Pat moans.

“Thank goodness Pa left,” Pat mumbles against his lips, and Pran laughs again. The delight in his chest and his throat is unmatched, no matter how many times Pat makes him feel this way, no matter how many times they do this. Pran can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be, in the world or this lifetime, other than being pressed into the couch by his horny boyfriend. After being on stage, and in public—being a Pat who doesn’t love Pran and a Pran who doesn’t love Pat—they still have this, at the end of the day.

Pat takes off his shirt so Pran can feel all of his hot muscled skin, skating his fingers over his chest and abs and feeling Pat shiver underneath his touch. They’re both hard but in no rush, knowing they have all the time in the world. Pran’s legs are curled up and spread, no room for pretense as he wraps them around Pat and presses their bodies closer. Pat groans as the weight of their cocks briefly brush through their clothes, his fingers tucking into the bottom of Pran’s sweater, flitting over Pran’s stomach and the trail of hair there, and rutting into him harder. Pran loves it when he can feel the physical ache of Pat’s want, crystallized in grunts and moans, the hint of his hard cock and damp heat of his skin. Pran’s getting hot under his sweater too and Pat sits up, his knees bracketed around Pran, golden under the living room light, strands of hair falling into his eyes. Pran reaches up to tuck some of it back and Pat leans into his palm, licks it. Pran smiles.

They wrangle Pran’s sweater off and Pran lets Pat toss it onto the coffee table, because at least it’s not the floor. Then Pat’s all over him, kissing and biting and licking him everywhere, tickling Pran and making him giggle. He giggles as Pat’s teeth graze over his nipple, gasps when Pat bites, then licks to soothe, then bites again. Buries his face into his chest and moans, like the smell and the taste and getting his mouth on Pran’s bare skin is the best thing in the world—he’s said it to Pran enough times that Pran’s started to believe it. “What do I taste like?” Pran asks, instead of do I really taste that good? or what’s wrong with you, freak? He’s always had an obsession with Pat’s body, but never understood Pat’s obsession with his; but at this point he accepts it, loves it even more.

Pat grins up at him. “Chips,” he says, and glances to the Lays bag that had fallen to the floor. “Better than chips, actually.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna eat me?”

“You know it, babe,” Pat says, and bends down and nips at Pran’s chest. Pran winces, and Pat does it again.

Pran groans and shoves a hand into Pat’s hair. “You’re such a dog,” he says, playing with the ponytail before dragging his fingers down Pat’s back, digging his nails in a little that makes Pat moan in pleasure-pain against his chest. Pat’s a little freak like this, unlocking something deep inside Pran he didn’t know existed before, didn’t even know he wanted. Pat grinds against the couch as Pran scratches lines down the planes of his back, welts that will surely redden and sting tomorrow when Pat puts a shirt on, a physical reminder. Pat’s lost in his skin and his taste and Pran is lost in him, wanting to see how much Pat can take, how much Pat wants of this, until Pat’s rocking gets faster and more desperate, and Pran scrapes his nails up and down deeper and harder down his spine, feeling the muscles of his back flex and tense underneath his unyielding touch. Then Pat, with his face smushed into Pran’s chest and mouthing desperately at wherever he can reach, twitches and shudders and moans, hot breath perspiring on Pran’s skin—he’s coming.

Pran’s not mad; Pat can come from so many things, so fast, and is almost always willing to go again—or sometimes only his body is, even if Pat’s half-asleep. Pat can last long, too; he did win half of their competitions of them fucking to see who could last longer, after all. But usually he’s greedy and desperate, chasing pleasure in a way that Pran didn’t know how to before, always begging for more. He’s free with his love and his lust and it’s made Pran learn how to let go, too, letting Pat take, letting himself take anything and everything he wants, including the satisfaction of Pat coming from him without even getting his dick wet.

Pat’s panting against his chest still, shuddering from his orgasm and smiling up at Pran bashfully. “My boyfriend tastes so good,” he says.

Pran tucks his bangs back again. “Are you sure? You haven’t tasted me properly yet.”

Pat’s eyes light up. He shuffles down Pran’s body, and Pran adjusts himself, lifting his hips up when Pat goes down to take off his shorts and boxers in one go. Then Pat’s got Pran’s legs hooked under his arms, hoisting them over his shoulders, gaze fixed on Pran’s hard and leaking cock with a look of hunger and determination.

“Shit,” Pat says, and dives for Pran’s dick—only to be held back when Pran grabs him by the ponytail, holding Pat’s face back slightly. Pat’s face scrunches in pain and Pran grins.

“Patience,” Pran says, and guides Pat’s face towards his crotch slowly, blood hot as Pat whines and breathes hungrily against him. Pran can feel the wet heat of his mouth sticking saliva to the insides of his thighs. “You know I like to go slow,” he says to Pat.

Pat whines again. “Not all the time,” he insists.

It’s not untrue, but Pran shrugs and keeps Pat’s face away from his erection, by centimeters. Even though Pat’s scalp is surely hurting, he still tries to reach out with his tongue, catch a lick of Pran’s cock. His tongue manages to swipe at a bead of precum on Pran’s cock, and Pat slurps it down eagerly, but Pran doesn’t care. “Open up,” he says to Pat instead.

Pat opens his mouth wide almost immediately. Some drool slips out the corner of his mouth. He really is like a dog, mindless in heat and instincts, and Pran maybe pulls him forward a little too quickly to get Pat’s mouth around his dick. But Pat doesn’t protest, instead moaning as Pran adjusts his grip, forcing Pat down a little more. His thighs flex and tighten on Pat’s shoulders, around his head as he rocks his hips forward, fucking into Pat’s throat at a leisurely pace. He can feel the rough top of Pat’s mouth, the back of his throat, Pat’s tongue licking sloppily, slobbering everywhere, trying to get as much of Pran’s taste as he can while Pat uses him.

Pat’s inhaling through his nose at furious speeds, too, and he starts moaning, “Pran, Pran, Pran,” vibrations going along Pran’s cock and making the stars behind his eyes black and white. Pat’s trying to taste him and smell him all at once, and his hand goes to cup Pran’s balls, stroking over the wiry hair, rolling them in his palms and making Pran feel lit up everywhere, inside and out. It’s too much and Pran fears he’s going to come too soon, so finally he lets go of Pat’s hair and his hips jerk as he tries to hold himself back, trying not to fuck into Pat that fast, resisting every temptation because he doesn’t want to come, not just yet.

Especially as Pat slides off with a loud pop, and there’s drool and saliva all over his mouth. He looks utterly debauched, cheeks red and lips bruised and eyes greedy and black. He brings his fingers up to Pran’s mouth and Pran sucks them, maintaining his gaze. Pat’s eyes darken as Pran swirls his tongue around his three fingers, drawing them in deeper, like Pat had been doing with his cock, like how he loves doing with Pat’s cock. “Shit, Pran,” Pat says again.

Pran smirks and releases Pat’s fingers. Spreads his knees again. “How do I taste?” he asks Pat.

“Like,” Pat starts, but automatically, like so many times they’ve done before, his fingers have already started to drift between Pran’s thighs, stroking his balls and perineum before rubbing over his entrance, circling around the rim. Pran pushes himself down, slipping Pat’s wet fingers in before Pat can even do it himself, cutting him off. Pat’s watching him and moans as Pran wriggles himself down on Pat’s long, thick fingers, clenching hot and tight even though the sudden intrusion stings.

“Yeah?” Pran says, with a challenging smirk.

Pat just glances at Pran’s cock again—and before Pran knows it, Pat’s taking a deep breath and then bringing his head down, swallowing the entire length of Pran’s cock into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat while his fingers reach deep inside of Pran, brushing over his prostate. Pran moans and gasps, “Pat,” but Pat is relentless with it, humming warm and wet, throat relaxed and flexing, fucking Pran from both ends, his hole and his cock. Pran whimpers, groans, “Fuck,” and cries out as the pleasure takes over his body, legs falling from Pat’s shoulders to his sides as he loses himself in it. He convulses and shakes and comes down Pat’s throat, on his three fingers spreading him open.

It feels never ending as he thrusts in, trying to get as deep into Pat’s mouth as he can, except then Pat starts pulling off even when Pran’s still coming. Pran grabs his own cock, jacking himself so he can come onto Pat’s face, his chest and neck, his thumb rubbing over the head even though he flinches, sensitive, more cum spilling out onto his fingers. Pat watches him the whole time, starry-eyed, letting Pran’s cum hit him wherever he wants. While Pran milks out his dick with his hand, Pat says, “Wow.”

“Come here,” Pran says, when he’s done. He’s so out of breath that Pat’s weight on his chest doesn’t make it any better.

Pat does, leaning over to Pran’s face like he’s going to kiss him until Pran laughs and says, “No, idiot.”

“What?” Pat asks, with an adorably confused expression.

Pran just smiles and sticks his cum-covered fingers against the seam of Pat’s lips. He doesn’t have to tell Pat to open wide this time as Pat grins and sucks his fingers in eagerly, long and deep like he tastes better than potato chips. Even though he’s just come, it makes Pran’s stomach roll with heat again, from the hot, hungry suction of Pat’s lips as he licks Pran’s fingers clean.

“Mm,” Pat says, then sniffs down Pran’s palm, his wrist. “My boyfriend tastes even better now.”

“Yeah?” Pran says.

Pat asks, “Want a taste?” His lips are still smeared with Pran’s cum—much of his face is—and when he opens his mouth, Pran can see it thickening and whitening his saliva. It should be gross, but Pran finds his mouth dropping open in want, and then Pat’s leaning forward to kiss him, and Pran can taste his own salty and bitterness in Pat’s mouth, licks it clean from his lips and his teeth. He moans into Pat and Pat moans into him, their tongues fat and hot and tangling, roaming languidly like they don’t want any part of each other to be untouched, unfound by the other. They’ve marked each other up inside and out that Pran knows he knows Pat’s body better than anyone else in the world, and Pat his; and yet, every time, he never gets tired, never get to used to it, wants to do what he’s already done before again and again so that he’ll be a permanent part of Pat’s body, so that Pat will be a permanent part of his. More than a tattoo or the blood in his veins, so that Pran could reach inside Pat and find himself, and Pat could do the same with him.

The viscous and disgusting taste of Pat’s cum-ridden saliva turns just into Pat’s saliva mixed with Pran’s, swapping back and forth in their mouths as Pat starts grinding his body down on Pran’s again. But Pran wants to feel his boyfriend’s cock—so he does, shoving his hands between them to undo Pat’s shorts, sliding his hand beneath the elastic waistband of his boxers, thrilled in the pleasure of Pat moaning into his mouth as Pran wraps a hand around his hot length. He’s fully hard again, as to be expected—likely has been for a while. “You wanna fuck me?” Pran asks into his mouth, and Pat nods, his head knocking against Pran’s, and says, “Yeah,” before going back to kissing Pran again. Pran scoffs into their kiss and nips Pat’s bottom lip, making Pat whine and pull off just for a second.

Pran laughs at him. “Hold on,” he says, kissing the nearest part of Pat he can reach—his cheek—before blindly feeling towards the coffee table with his clean hand, opening and finding a tube and closing the drawer. He slicks up his fingers and hand, saying, “You’ve been kissing me for so long that I think all my cum dried.”

“We could use my spit. I could eat you out,” Pat says, even though Pran’s getting his hand around Pat’s cock and stroking it, making Pat buck and gasp into his hold.

Pran says, “Yeah, but I want you inside of me sooner,” and that makes Pat groan, especially as Pran guides his cock to his hole then, using the lube on his thumb and the head of Pat’s cock to stretch his rim, wincing on the stretch but his hips jolting down anyway, because Pran wants it. He always does, even when it hurts, especially when it hurts, a reminder that Pat is so big in his life and his chest and his body that sometimes Pran feels like he’s going to burst at the seams from his love.

Pat fills him up good, and Pran gasps as he feels every centimeter, millimeter, no matter how many times he’s taken it, how often Pat breaches him. His head spins and goes light and there’s white behind his eyes as Pat enters his body, like he’s home, like he belongs here. When Pat bottoms out Pran’s lightheaded and doesn’t feel as in control anymore, his lube covered hand dangling down as he tangles his legs with Pat’s, his ankles to Pat’s calves, keeping them twisted together that Pran doesn’t know where he ends and Pat begins.

Pat grabs both of his hands and intwines their fingers, pressing and holding Pran down as he starts to fuck him. The rhythm burns the sticky leather onto the sweaty skin of Pran’s back, but Pran doesn’t care, arching forward and winding his legs back around Pat’s body, the heels of his feet digging into Pat’s ass to press him closer, deeper, harder. Pat moans and his fingers locked with Pran’s tighten; when he leans forward to punctuate his thrusts, their skin slapping together loudly, Pran nips down at his face, kissing his forehead and cheeks and then mouth, drawing Pat’s bottom lip into his own, sucking on it. Pat whines, “Pran,” like he wants nothing more, nothing bigger or better in this world, like Pran’s the best thing he’ll ever get, and Pran is so bright and big inside with him, with Pat driving in deeper and deeper, turning him inside-out, a part of his body, from the tingling in his fingertips to the curling of his toes and the fast, desperate beating of his heart.

They’re not kissing so much anymore as breathing between each other’s bodies, inhaling and exhaling in time as Pat fucks into him, stealing each other’s oxygen. Pat adjusts his grip and pushes Pran even more into the couch, dragging himself back so that it’s mostly their hands tethered together, and thrusting into Pran faster. Pran loves it, takes it, Pat’s unbridled want for his body, disentangles their hands so he can suck on a finger again, watching as Pat watches him, his every movement. After sucking on his finger nice and deep, Pran reaches around Pat with both hands, squeezing and spreading Pat’s ass cheeks apart, gliding his wet finger down. “Pran,” Pat says, and his eyes roll into the back of his head when Pran slides his middle finger into Pat’s hole, through the rhythm of Pat’s cock, now growing disjointed as he thrusts back on Pran’s finger inside of him. “Fuck,” Pat moans, and grabs onto Pran’s hips with a hard and bruising grip, fucking him wilder and faster now.

Pran doesn’t even have to do much, taking it as Pat chases pleasure desperately from Pran’s hole tight around his fat cock, from Pran’s long finger half-heartedly curling inside of Pat’s body. Pran lets out litanies of uh uh uhs and whines, mouth open and Pat slides three fingers inside, like they’re competing for who can fill the other up the most, his knuckles bent under Pran’s tongue. It’s enough that Pran gives up, lets his finger slip out, lets Pat do all the work and take him, fucking him hard enough that the eye mask on Pran’s forehead starts to slip down, and over his eyes. Neither of them care; Pran can hardly keep his eyes open anyway, so the black cotton inside of the Nong Nao mask hardly makes a difference. He mouths at Pat’s fingers and clenches around his cock, knowing he probably makes a ridiculous sight of his naked body with the Nong Nao mask hung loosely over his face—except then Pat takes his fingers out, and then his mouth is over Pran’s, even though Pran can’t see anything, pressing the mask against Pran’s eyelids and his own face. Pat plunges his tongue into Pran’s mouth and grunts and comes hot.

Pran moans around Pat’s tongue as he gets filled up, all the way to the brim, deliriously thinking that he might feel Pat’s hot seed in his stomach if he wasn’t so fucked out of his mind. Pat groans and shoves his tongue deeper down Pran’s throat as he continues coming, hips twitching and circling as Pran’s legs tighten around him, keeping him plugged up inside. He still can’t see anything with the mask hung over his face, but feeling Pat is enough—his hard muscled body trapping Pran into the couch, the hot sweat of his skin, his tongue and cock keeping them locked together, the tremors of his ass cheeks under Pran’s heels as he rides out his orgasm. Pran sucks on his tongue until he’s done, then sucks a little more, then bites him.

Pat pulls back and goes, “Ow.”

Pran takes his messy hands and drags Pat in again, kissing somewhere on his tongue in apology before letting him go. “You deserve it,” he says to Pat, anyway.

Pat pouts. “For what?” he asks, sliding the mask of Pran’s eyes so Pran can see him again.

Blinking up, Pran says, “For not opening the door for your sister.” He tightens around Pat’s soft cock and Pat winces, and Pran smirks. “C’mon, pick me up. We don’t want to wash stains out of this couch again.” He wipes his hands on Pat’s skin, rubbing it in.

Pat looks down. “I’m pretty sure it’s dirty again.”

“Well, we don’t want it to get more dirty, do we?” Pran slings his arms over Pat’s shoulders and looks at him expectantly. His legs are still wrapped around Pat’s waist and there’s definitely cum leaking from around his hole, past Pat’s cock, like there’s not enough room inside of Pran. But he’ll keep trying, again and again. To make enough room for Pat inside his body that neither of them can let the other go.

Pat sighs like it’s work, but effortlessly picks Pran up, Pran clinging to him like a koala. “Where to, khun Pran?” Pat says, trying to sound put-upon and mostly sounding fond.

“The shower,” Pran says. Pat carries them to the bedroom, pushing open doors with one hand and clutching onto Pran with the other. When they reach the bathroom, he gracefully lets Pran down onto the floor.

Pran puts the eye mask on the counter before entering the shower stall. Pat, still naked outside, asks, “What now?” He’s facing Pran; through the mirror, Pran can see the red lines on his back from where he’d scratched earlier, scars and welts down the delicious contours of his back, and possessiveness, a bone-deep pleasure he’d never known before this with Pat, fills him up inside.

Still, he turns around on the walls of the shower tile, arching his back and touching with his fingers where Pat’s cum is slipping out of his hole, leaking onto the shower floor. Like a slut, and maybe early on he would’ve been self-conscious about it, but now he knows what this does to his boyfriend. “Well, I was hoping you’d clean me out,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Pat, not even bothering to pretend—and Pat gets a mischievously smug grin as he steps inside with Pran.

Under the shower spray, Pat fingers and licks him clean and lets Pran undo the ponytail that’s basically fallen out anyway; and then Pran presses Pat into the wall and fucks his thighs and doesn’t think too much about the water bill. They wash each other’s hair and body and Pat tries to suck Pran’s finger into his mouth until he remembers the soap and makes a face. Pran laughs at him and makes fun of him, only for Pat to kiss him again, later, when Pran’s brushing his teeth and still has toothpaste in his mouth. Pran complains but doesn’t push him away as Pat’s arm is around his waist; and, later, with each other’s pajamas and boxers on, they bring Pran’s laptop into bed and snuggle and watch clips of themselves from the play, teasing and sniping until they start to fall asleep on each other’s shoulders.

And Pran will never get tired of this, too: shutting the lights off in the apartment, climbing back into bed, getting his ass pinched by Pat’s hand under the covers and pinching Pat’s ass too. Their limbs fall to where they go naturally, around backs and waists and shoulders and necks, an ocean of skin and their soaps and shampoos and PatandPran and PranandPat, whether over their red-and-blue comforter, or under them. Tomorrow they will clean the couch together, and do another run of their play, and Pran might ask Pa to see if she could record their shows and turn it into a movie that he and Pat can watch later, just for themselves—and he’ll offer to pay her twice her commission prices before she can say no.

But for now, Pran breathes in Pat’s smell as Pat smiles into his neck and says, “Love you.” Pran smiles back and says, “Love you too,” tilting into sleep, golden inside and happy.