Rating:

Explicit

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Bad Buddy

Relationship:

Pat/Pran

Tags:

anal sex, barebacking, incest kink, pwp, sexual roleplay

Stats:

Posted on:

2023-05-12

Words:

5,872

It starts with little things at first, so minor that Pran’s not even sure when it really started. Jokes like during Pat’s birthday when Pat says, “Okay, nong Pran, hand me the knife,” or when they go out to get lunch with Paa and Pat goes, “Your hia will take care of the bill,” but he’s giving Pran a cocky little look. Pran doesn’t think much of it, because Pat likes pretending he has some semblance of control over Pran, and he’s weird —which makes him all the more perfect, more reasons for Pran to love him. And Pat’s direct about what he likes—maybe a little too direct, with the way he sometimes moans when they make out, says, “Yeah, god, you feel so good and tight around my dick,” sometimes sliding his finger inside Pran along with his cock just because he wants to, just because he can. It’s not like Pran would ever stop him. It’s not like Pran would ever stop him from doing anything.

So that’s why when Pran’s on his hands and knees on the living room floor, and Pat says, “Nong Pran, look at me,” Pran feels a tremble in his stomach from being called that and makes eye contact with his boyfriend. Pat grins and leans in to kiss him and Pran kisses him back as Pat finishes, spilling inside of him.

Later, after they’ve showered, Pran’s still thinking about it as he lies in bed, fiddling with his phone. Pat’s coming out of the shower when Pran says, “I’m not that much younger than you.”

“What?” Pat says, rubbing the towel on his hair.

Pran looks up at him. He still feels winded, sometimes, that he’s allowed to do this: allowed to look at Pat with all the desire that he could possibly feel. High school had been so much of ducking glances, avoiding the chance that Pat or anyone could see how much he wants Pat. And he still wants him, even more now. But this time, he’s allowed to look—and he gets it back, sees the same amount of desire and unbridled lust in Pat’s eyes too.

Also, it doesn’t help that Pat’s currently shirtless. “Do you want me to start calling you phi, too?” Pran says, instead of caving into the urge to push Pat down and lick every inch of his skin.

Pat blinks, then laughs. “Oh, you’re talking about—I mean, if you want to,” he teases. “Nong Pran, call your phi.” He leans over the bed and pinches Pran’s cheek.

Pran bites at his wrist. Pat laughs again.

“You’re only like three months older than me,” Pran says with a roll of his eyes.

“And yet those were three months of my life I spent Pran-less.” Pat gives him a pout—obviously fake—as he joins Pran on the bed, lying on his stomach and grabbing Nong Nao to cushion his bare chest. Pran wishes he was Nong Nao, sometimes. “Now we have to make up for it. I need to die three months before you so you can experience it too.”

“What are you even talking about?” Pran says, grabbing a pillow and hitting Pat in the head with it. “Why are you talking about dying? Why are you talking about me dying?”

“Because we’re going to be together until we die, duh.” Pat rolls over on his back and looks at Pran with such fondness that Pran has to look away.

He snatches Nong Nao from Pat, though. “I’m sure we will. Because I’m the one who’ll kill you.”

“From your cuteness, you mean,” Pat says with a grin. “My little Nong Noo.” He reaches up to poke one of Pran’s dimples.

Pran ignores the way that makes his stomach shiver in a way that he enjoys; the way sometimes the thought of Pat whispering “baby girl” in his ear while fucking him enters his brain once in a while, a thought that he doesn’t want to get rid of amongst all of the other ones that appear so often. Instead, he says, “I’m going to kill you right now,” and smacks Pat in the face with Nong Nao this time, and Pat topples over and fights back and wrestles him until they’re tickling and Pat’s fingers are in Pran’s mouth again.

*

They didn’t talk about it, though.

Pran’s thinking about it again when he’s at lunch in the canteen with his friends the next day. They’re all stressing about their mid-semester project—Pran finished it last week, with no help (okay, a little help) from Pat. He’s had a melody circling around his brain, but when he thought about Pat calling him nong—when he thought about Pat asking him to call him phi—no, hia, the melody goes on pause as Pran tries to recall other similar instances.

There was, of course, the day when their parents found out—when Pat’s dad had run into them at the mall. Before that disastrous encounter, Pat had been literally prodding him and asking Pran to call him hia, which, sure, had been strange. But no more or less strange than other things about Pat, like him being obsessed with Pran’s scent, or taking Nong Nao even when they go on vacations, or playing chess against himself while Pran’s drawing. All these weird things about Pat kind of fade into the background—or rather, help make up part of the bigger picture that is Pat, just another thing for Pran to learn and love about him.

But the hia thing sticks in Pran’s mind. It doesn’t come up that often, because if it did, then Pat would’ve pointed it out himself. Maybe he hasn’t even noticed. But Pran’s toying with it in his mind, wondering if he likes it, if he should bring it up. If Pat even likes it. Maybe Pran’s thinking about it too much. He does that sometimes.

“What about you, Pran?” says Wai, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Pran adjusts his gaze quickly. “Yeah?”

Wai raises his eyebrows at him. “Where do you think we should go for dinner? You remember we had plans, right?”

“Uh.” Pran glances between him, Safe, and Louis. “We did?”

“I think we should start texting you every time we make plans,” says Louis. “Since you seem to forget them all the time.”

“He’s probably just busy with being class president and all,” Wai says, perhaps reassuringly. But Pran can hear the undercurrent in his voice—not an annoyance, but certainly an accusation. “He can still make time for us though, right?”

Pran thinks quickly. “I already spend so much time with you guys as it is,” he says. “Classes, lunch, dinner…”

“Are you getting tired of us?” Safe pouts at him.

“Do you not like spending time with us?” needles Louis.

Pran flicks both of their foreheads. “If you’re whining at me like that, then yeah,” he says, while Safe and Louis rub at their heads. “Besides, I forgot that I still need to work on my project tonight. So I can’t come.”

“I thought you’d be done it by now,” Louis grumbles. “Fine. Well, I want curry again…”

“You always want curry!”

Wai glances at Pran, and Pran pretends not to notice. There’s no way Wai doesn’t know that he’s blowing them off to spend the evening with Pat, but Pran’s not going to confirm it.

*

By the time he gets back to his dorm, a plan has formulated in his brain. A very loose one, but that’s all he really needs. The best way to approach Pat with a new, possibly dangerous idea is to ease him into it, make him think that he came up with the idea himself. Pat himself is honesty personified, saying every little thought that comes into his brain, even if it’s stupid or senseless or so embarrassing that Pran’s skin crawls. It’s better to take him step by step, because eventually Pat will make the intuitive leap and get to what Pran’s really trying to tell him.

Pat is sitting at his desk reading a comic book when Pran walks in. His homework is sprawled in front of him, but more than likely he’s already done and got too lazy to pack it back up. He brightens up when Pran opens the door, immediately tossing the comic book in the middle of his homework and coming over to greet Pran as Pran hastens to shut the door.

“Why don’t you do your homework in your own room?” Pran asks like they haven’t had this conversation upwards of ten times.

“What else would I do with the key you gave me?” Pat smiles sunnily at him. “I missed you all day, baby. Can you give me a kiss?”

“I haven’t even taken off my shoes!”

Pat puckers his lips. “Please?”

Pran smacks him in the face. Withdrawing, Pat rubs at his mouth and says, “Ow,” as Pran takes off his shoes, hangs up his bag, and sets his phone on the counter. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have given you that key,” he says, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. “How will I lock you out now?”

“You’d never lock me out,” Pat says, wrapping his arms around him. He takes a big sniff of Pran’s neck. “You like me too much.”

Pran says, “Get off me,” instead of answering. Pat doesn’t, but he does loosen his grip to let Pran walk into his bedroom, clinging to him like a limpet. 

When Pran starts taking off his pants, he can feel Pat’s smirk against his collarbone. “Oh, so you’re seducing me now?”

“No, I’m changing my clothes,” Pran says, finally wriggling him off and grabbing a pair of lounge pants from his dresser. “Get out of here, perv.”

“And sacrifice a chance to see you naked? Never.” Pat flops onto the bed and grins as he watches Pran change his shirt too, taking his socks off and tossing them into his laundry basket. “Why don’t I just move here? Pa and Ink are always hogging my dorm, anyway.”

Pran rolls his eyes. “You know why,” he says, throwing his uniform shirt at Pat. On second thought, it is clothing that he wore outside, exposed to the elements, so he immediately leans over to grab it again.

Pat clings to it. “What are you doing? This is mine now.” He smirks and sniffs Pran’s shirt deeply. “There it is, your amazing smell. Thank you for such a thoughtful gift.”

“Freak,” Pran mutters, but he knows his dimples must be showing as he gives up. “Whenever you’re done with it, put it with my laundry.”

“Yes, khun Pran,” Pat sing-songs as Pran makes his way to the bathroom.

It’s not nong, which is fine, but Pran’s brain spins a bit as he cleans himself up in the bathroom. He wipes at his face with the Nivea Micellar Water on autopilot, before realizing, as he finishes, that he usually asks Pat to do it for him. Pran only does it himself if Pat isn’t home when he is, which was yesterday, but not the day before so it’s barely even a habit. He’s so distracted that he didn’t even register it until he was done.

He mouths hia Pat under his breath, seeing his mouth form the words in the mirror. A pleased, guilty shiver crawls up his spine.

When he comes back out, Pat’s still on his bed, lying on his back and scrolling through his phone. Pran’s shirt from earlier is in his laundry basket now.

Pran says, as casually as he can, “What do you think would’ve happened if our parents did date?”

“Hm?” says Pat, looking up.

Pran clears his throat. He sits at the bottom edge of his bed. “What do you think would’ve happened to us if our parents dated?” he repeats.

Pat blinks, then lets out a small bemused laugh. “What do you mean? They’re not dating now. Wouldn’t things just be the same?”

Pran hums. “Yeah, I guess.” He’s very aware of his pulse, thumping in his wrist, at his neck. The conversation they had over hotpot, several months ago, contemplating their parents’ relationship and supposed breakup, flashes through his mind again. He remembers Pat saying—

“But what if we were secretly brothers?”

Pat stares at him, then laughs again. It’s defensive, not a real one, so Pran can tell that he’s as confused as Pran is anxious. “Where is this coming from, Pran?”

Pran’s neck feels hot. He doesn’t turn around to look at Pat, avoiding eye contact as he twists his fingers together. “I was just wondering,” he says, chest thumping in embarrassment. He immediately goes on the defensive, so Pat is distracted from looking below the surface, trying to find out what Pran’s really trying to say. “And you’re the one who always brings it up, anyway. You keep calling me nong, and asked me to call you big brother that one time. Hia Pat, you kept bugging me to say.” The words tumble smoothly out of his mouth, but saying Hia Pat does make his stomach hot and roll. “So if we were secretly brothers, you’d be my big brother. Is that something you’d want?”

“What? No.” Pat’s getting up from where he was lying on the pillows now, coming to join Pran at the edge of the bed. “I like how we are now.”

Pran ignores him. “Would you treat me like Pa? You said you take care of your younger siblings really well. Does that mean you’ll give me rides everywhere? Would we share a room? Would you make me do your laundry?”

Pat’s eyes scan over his face, but Pran pretends he doesn’t see it. Pat’s more calculating than he pretends he is, good at going with a pretense until he finds the perfect thing to say to undercut everything Pran’s building up. That’s only if he figures out that Pran’s deliberately avoiding a topic though, waiting for Pat to pick up on it and ask him directly about it himself. 

But this is—weird. New. Something they shouldn’t talk about, shouldn’t want.

So Pat says, “Do you want to do my laundry? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

Pran huffs. “No. I mean, I already do it half the time as it is—”

“Alright,” Pat says loudly, steamrolling over him. “I’ll tell Pa not to do it anymore. Since now I have another little sibling to do it for me.”

Pran nudges him. “Asshole,” he says, but Pat’s grinning when he meets his eyes and Pran can’t help himself from smiling as well. “You know that’s not what I’m saying. And you should do your own laundry anyway.”

“Why?” Pat sits next to him, their legs bumping together. “Why should I do my laundry? Didn’t you want to do it, nong Pran?” He ruffles Pran’s hair roughly, hard enough that Pran yelps. “Don’t you want to take care of your hia?”

Pran’s stomach flips guiltily. His cheeks feel warm. “Fuck you,” he says, prodding Pat in the middle of his forehead. “What happened to taking good care of your little siblings?”

“I do take good care of my little siblings.” Pat opens his arms wide. “C’mon, nong, let me give you a hug. Let me give you a sweet kiss as a thank you for being so nice to your hia and volunteering to do my laundry.”

Pran grabs Nong Nao from where it’s lying further up the bed with the pillows. “I’m not doing your laundry,” he says, whacking Pat with it. “You practically live here, you can do it yourself.”

Pat snatches Nong Nao back from him. “Then you shouldn’t have brought it up,” he says, hitting Pran back.

Pran tries to take Nong Nao again, but Pat resists this time, going, “No, you can’t have him!”

“Why not!” Pran says, reaching around him as Pat keeps avoiding his hands.

“Because Nong Nao is the only little sibling who gives me any respect around here!”

Pran laughs, nearly falling over as he keeps wrestling around Pat’s body. “Nong Nao can’t even talk. That’s so pathetic.”

“You’re pathetic,” says Pat, hitting Pran with it again and then scrambling up the bed. “Don’t try to turn Nong Nao against me. He’s loyal!”

“Fine, fine.” Pran crawls up the bed with him as Pat props up both pillows against the headboard so they can sit together. Pran sits next to him, where Pat is hugging Nong Nao to his chest, looking contemplative. He doesn’t protest when Pran reaches over again, taking Nong Nao and hugging it himself.

Pat says, “So, you want me to be your brother, huh?”

Pran winces. That’s a little… “No,” he says. “That’d be weird.”

Pat raises an eyebrow. “Do you really think so? What happened to everything else you were just saying?”

“I was just wondering,” Pran says, even though they both know that’s not true. “Since it could’ve happened.”

“If we—” Pat breaks off and laughs to himself.

Pran glances at him. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Pat says airily. Pran doesn’t believe him for a second. “Then how about: what if our parents dated now? I know your dad and my mom—” he waves a hand, as if to say our parents are in happy marriages so I don’t think they’d ever separate “—but, like, say something happened and they started dating while we were already together.”

Pran shrugs. His cheeks prickle self-consciously. “That’s fine,” he says as indifferently as he can. “What would that matter?”

“But what if they dated while we were in, say, high school?” There’s a glint in Pat’s eyes now. “What if they told us that we’re brothers now? What if your mom told you to call me hia? What if everyone saw us that way?”

Pran’s head is spinning. Everything Pat’s saying is hitting that part of Pran’s brain that he’s been avoiding, not looking at it directly, doesn’t want to observe too closely, even though Pat’s getting dangerously near.

“Would you still be in love with me?” Pat asks, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

That guilty shiver from before makes its way up Pran’s spine again. “Well,” he says. “Probably.” He’s already told Pat that he’s liked him at least since they were fifteen—maybe before, that excitement, hyper-awareness, heat and intensity every time he touched or made eye contact with Pat having existed for so long that he doesn’t know when it started. He’s so used to it now that’s practically embedded into his veins, like it’s been a part of him since he was born. Sometimes he thinks of when he tried to tell himself to get over Pat, as if that could actually ever happen, as if Pat didn’t own every inch of his heart already. Sometimes it feels like a dream that he doesn’t have to fool himself anymore, that he can have this, has it—in every way he could possibly think of and then more. Sometimes he wakes up in bed next to Pat and still can’t believe that this is real.

He amends, “I mean, I guess. Since I’d probably be in love with you before they’d start dating.”

Pat beams at him. “You’re so cute.” He pinches one of Pran’s cheeks. “Would you still want to sleep with me?”

“Pat!” Pran hits him off.

“What?” Pat says with a giggle. “It’s a fair question!”

“Well, of course I would.” Pran ducks his head in embarrassment. “Why would that be any different?”

“But we’d be brothers,” Pat says pointedly. “You want to sleep with your hia?”

“I’m done with this conversation,” declares Pran, moving away from Pat to get off the bed. He feels overwhelmed and guilty and turned on and even guiltier, and if Pat’s just going to keep talking—

But Pat grabs him by the waist roughly, preventing him from leaving the bed. Nong Nao gets flung off the bed, but neither of them care or spare it a second glance. Pat pushes him down, crawling up his body so that he’s hovering over Pran, looking him dead in the eye. “What is it Pran? Does it make you feel embarrassed? Do you feel bad?” His eyes flicker down to Pran’s mouth, and the fact that he doesn’t even try to hide it makes Pran want to curl up and burrow himself under Pat’s large body forever. “Do you like it?”

“Shut up,” Pran growls, and drags Pat down by the neck to kiss him. Pat kisses back eagerly, all lips and teeth and tongue, hot into Pran’s mouth as he nips at Pran’s lips, moaning as their tongues slide together. He kisses so aggressively like this, when he’s on top of Pran, and Pran might like it more than he’d be willing to admit. Pat doesn’t hold back like this, taking everything he wants, greedy and eager for Pran’s taste and body, especially as he grinds his hips down against Pran’s. Pran groans into his mouth, feeling his own vibrations against Pat’s lips, and through his pants and Pat’s shorts, the promising hardness against his thigh.

They break apart, Pat hazy-eyed and flushed above him. “You do like it,” he says, as if they hadn’t spent the past five minutes making out. “What would your mom say? What would our parents say?”

“Would you want to tell them?” Pran asks. His fingers are inching up Pat’s shirt, feeling the warm skin of his toned stomach, itching to take it off.

“Of course not.” Pat leans into his touch, grinding against Pran’s thigh again. Pran forgets his ministrations under Pat’s shirt and gasps. “We’d keep it a secret then? And I won’t tell your mom that her son is in love with me.”

“Thank you, hia,” says Pran. He’d meant for it to come out deadpan and sarcastic, but Pat and his words make him so gone that it comes out breathless instead.

Pat’s eyes grow dark. “Fuck,” he says, and strips his shirt off, yanks down Pran’s pants and boxers, then bends down and kisses him. It’s a dirty kiss, Pat shoving his tongue inside Pran’s mouth, pulling at his hair to angle his head, like he’s trying to fit as much as he can into Pran’s body. Pran moans against him and shoves Pat’s shorts down, needing to feel him, get a hand on him, Pat rock-hard in his own underwear.

When Pran touches his dick through the cloth, Pat murmurs against his lips, “What are you doing, nong Pran?” His voice is low, like he’s so horny he doesn’t mean it. “We can’t do this, we’re brothers.”

“You started it.” Pran strokes at him—Pat’s so big that it’s a wonder how he can fuck Pran so easily, but Pran should’ve figured that his body was made to take Pat regardless of his size anyway. And it’s not easy, but it is good, with a little force, a little resistance, and Pran wants him inside now.

Pat grunts. His eyelids flutter shut, and he thrusts shallowly into Pran’s hand. God, he’s so hot. “Could you blame me? When I have such a cute little brother like you?”

“Pat,” says Pran, although he’s not helping by thumbing over the head of Pat’s cock.

“Say it,” Pat says.

Pran pretends to look long-suffering, even though his dick twitches against his stomach. “Hia Pat , come on,” he says, and Pat comes with a jolt, a grunt and then, “yeah,” and, “fuck,” as he spills between them, a little on Pran’s shirt and thighs and stomach. Pran’s smug and hot all at once, pleased and hungry for more, wanting Pat to wreck him. He keeps pumping at Pat’s cock as Pat comes down from his orgasm, trembling above him.

He doesn’t go all the way soft again, which is to be expected—Pat’s refractory period is near nonexistent some days, which Pran likes to take advantage of. He does get sensitive though, but barely flinches as Pran keeps rubbing at him, instead just grabs the lube from the nightstand and says, “Spread your legs, I wanna fuck you,” while Pran strokes him back up to full hardness.

Pran cocks his head. “But we’re brothers. Should we really be doing this?”

“Says the one who’s got a hand on my dick.” Pat lubes up his fingers then pushes Pran’s legs apart himself, eyeing his dark and leaking dick, before reaching past his balls. A few of his fingertips rub against Pran’s hole. Pran nearly thrusts down to get Pat’s fingers inside. “My nong is the one who seduced me.”

“Is that what you’re going to tell our parents if we get caught?” Pran gasps, as the fat tip of Pat’s thumb pushes inside of him. His hands are so big and Pran shudders as his other one reaches down to push Pran’s thigh up so that Pat can see from a better angle. He likes watching, Pran knows, likes seeing himself disappear inside Pran’s body. He’s said it enough, how small Pran looks like this, helpless and teasing like his body’s too shy until Pat breaches him. Pran was self-conscious the first few times, but now he throws his head back and tries to greedily push back down, getting more of Pat’s thumb inside of him.

Pat chuckles. “We won’t get caught, don’t worry,” he says, and withdraws his hand from Pran’s hole. 

Pran whines and glares at him. Pat smirks.

“I take care of my younger siblings, remember?” he says, and then lubes up his cock and starts to press into Pran.

They prepped more the first few times, Pat wanting to be gentle and delicate, saying things like, “Tell me if it hurts,” and, “Let me know if I’m being too rough,” keeping his eye on Pran even as he would lose his breath fucking into him. It was nice and all, but Pran had to tell him that he doesn’t have to worry, that he can do whatever feels good, whatever he wants—it’s not as good if Pat’s not chasing after his own pleasure, caving into every one of his desires, being merciless and greedy with Pran, taking all he can. That’s what Pran likes best, when it hurts a little, when Pat’s too turned on to care to prep him more, instead wanting to burrow inside of Pran’s body as soon as possible. When Pat starts fucking into him before Pran can ground himself from the girth, the length, the sheer bigness of Pat breaking inside of him and breaking him apart.

That’s what Pat starts doing now, thrusting without a moment’s notice as Pran feels light-headed and dizzy and crossing his eyes as Pat fucks him hard. “What would our parents say if they knew?” Pat breathes against his lips and staring into his eyes. “Do you think they could walk in on us?”

The idea of it—maybe them as teenagers, supposedly step-brothers but already having gone to preschool together, primary school, and now high school, sharing a room and exchanging furtive, heated glances until one of them pushed the other down so that they made out and rutted together in their shared bedroom—makes Pran go even hotter than before, shuddering with a moan. “Pat,” he whines, bearing down, trying to meet Pat’s rhythm.

“Shh, we gotta keep quiet,” says Pat, even though they’re in Pran’s dorm and have been loud enough before for the neighbors to give Pran funny looks in the morning. “But you’re taking my cock so well, nong Pran. Wasn’t I right? Aren’t I taking good care of you now?”

He needs to shut up. Pran’s overcome with it, Pat so deep inside his body like he’s rearranging his organs, like he’s going to push deep enough that he’ll turn Pran inside out. Pran certainly feels like it as he wraps his legs around Pat’s waist, presses his heels against Pat’s ass to get him deeper. “Fuck me harder, P’Pat,” he grits out.

Pat laughs, breath puffing against Pran’s mouth. “What, this isn’t enough for you?” he says, and flips Pran over. He slips out a little, making Pran wince and whine, but then he pushes back in, the feeling of emptiness disappearing as quickly as it had come. One of his hands is on Pran’s hip, stroking at his stomach as he buries himself all the way back inside that Pran feels like his brain is going to spill out of his ears, unable to close his mouth, tongue hanging out. “Is this good enough for my nong?” Pat asks.

Despite it all, Pran looks over his shoulder and meets Pat’s gaze. “Fuck me, hia,” he demands. 

Pat narrows his eyes, then pulls all the way out before slamming his entire cock back inside, right against his prostate. Burying his face into his pillow, Pran does his best to hide his moans and squeals and tears.

Pat goes fast within a matter of seconds, no buildup, just fucking in and out of Pran’s tight hole, lost in mindless pleasure. Pran’s there too, pushing back, pulling away, not sure if he’s trying to fuck back against Pat or to get away and failing. Either way, it’s so damn good that Pran twists his hips, scrambling with his arms, needing to get friction on his dick.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Pat breathes into his ear. “Your hia will take care of you.”

And he snakes his hand down Pran’s body and grabs his dick bobbing against his stomach, hard and leaking so much that it’s a miracle Pran hasn’t come untouched yet. Pat only has to run his palm down once, a second of it with his own cock just barely touching Pran’s prostate the right away before Pran shakes and comes into thin white stripes onto Pat’s hand, his orgasm so blinding that Pran can feel it in his fingertips and his toes. Pat mutters, “Yeah, baby, so good,” as he continues running his hand down Pran’s dick, smearing Pran’s come on it like the disgusting person he is. It’s so hot and oversensitive that even when Pran finishes and he attempts to wriggle out of Pat’s grip, Pat says, “What? Too much?”

“What do you think?” Pran tries to glare up at him, but when Pat pushes his foreskin back, rubs over the slit, Pran can feel tears springing into his eyes again. Fuck. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” says Pat, finally taking his hand off of Pran and instead bringing it up to Pran’s face. It’s still damp and sticky from Pran’s come, but Pran doesn’t protest as Pat wipes a thumb at the corner of Pran’s eyes, then kisses him there. He rubs two fingers over Pran’s lips. “Open wide, baby.”

“Pat—” Pran starts, but Pat shoves his fingers into Pran’s mouth then, before he can say anything further. His fingers are long enough that Pran almost gags, just barely stopping himself, and Pat says, “You’re even prettier like this. Like the taste of your own come?”

Pran glares at him. Pat takes that as the sign that it is, smirks, and starts fucking him again.

Pran’s knees dig into the mattress as he feels helpless with the way Pat has a hold on him from both ends, mouth and hole, pounding into him so ruthlessly and without thought that Pran forgets everything else, forgets himself. He moans and cries around Pat’s fingers in his mouth, throwing his head back and arching his spine, wanting to get more, like if Pat fucks him hard and fast enough that maybe he’ll stay in there, bury himself so deep that they wouldn’t ever be apart. It’s not like brothers, he knows—but even if everyone said they were, expected them to be, Pran would always want him like this, no matter how guilty he might feel about it. Pat is unafraid and impulsive and makes Pran feel so many things that Pran feels it everywhere in his body, under his skin and at the root of his bones and deep inside his throat where his heart flutters. And that’s how Pat’s cock is too, how he fucks him, so much that Pran can feel it behind his eyes, at the back of his mouth. 

When Pat finally moans, “Yeah, fuck, baby,” and comes inside of him, Pran pushes his face into his pillow and thrusts his hips back, feeling his hole pulse, squeeze, needing more and all of Pat filling every inch of his body.

It feels like ages before Pat’s finished again, little spurts that Pran’s sure his hole is pink and messy. Some of Pat’s come leaks out around him, but Pat doesn’t care, not pulling out quite yet. They do this—Pat doesn’t like leaving the tight heat of Pran’s hole, and Pran doesn’t like being empty too soon, at all. 

He cranes his neck around to peer at him. “Thank you, hia Pat,” he says, with a dimpled smile.

Pat smiles back, but winces a little when Pran feels his dick twitch inside of him. “God, stop doing that,” Pat says. “This is going to be so dangerous.”

“Yeah, how will you look Pa in the eye again?” Pran asks.

Pat laughs and buries his face into Pran’s shoulder. “Don’t bring her up now,” he says against Pran’s skin. “It’s so wrong. You’re so cruel.”

“You’re the one who likes it,” says Pran.

“You like it too,” Pat shoots back. “Who’s the one who started it? Who’s the one that made me find this out about myself?”

Pran giggles, and sighs with both relief and disappointment when Pat starts to pull out. Some of his come seeps out, and Pat scoops it up with a hand, starting to clamber off the bed.

“I’ll wipe you up,” he says, and Pran watches him, light in his eyes and his chest as Pat goes to the bathroom. There’s the sound of the sink turning on and off, then Pat coming back out with a wet towel, cleaning his come off of Pran, some on the towel, some with his finger, pushing it back inside. Pran’s legs are too weak to fight back, but he doesn’t miss the self-satisfied expression on Pat’s face after Pran clenches around his fingertip.

“That’s enough,” Pran says finally, unconcerned once his thighs are damp and clean. “Come over here.” He lies on his side and looks at Pat expectantly, who immediately tosses the towel aside, grabs Nong Nao from the floor, and eagerly spoons up behind Pran’s back.

“God, you are so cute.” Pat gives Nong Nao to Pran and then wraps his arms around his middle. He kisses Pran’s neck, his jaw. “Anyone would be lucky to have a little brother like you. Too bad you’re all mine.”

Pran laughs. “What does that even mean?” he says. He hugs Nong Nao and laces his fingers with Pat’s, tapping the rhythm to the melody he was thinking about earlier. He thinks he has a better picture of the song now. “So, what do you want to do for dinner?”