It’s not the first event Pran’s coming to alone, but it’s a bit of a sore spot on his dignity when he sees Napat across the way, an attractive woman on his arm, holding a glass of champagne and laughing with another couple.

Napat looks good. He always does. It makes the blood under Pran’s skin boil, even though he’s spent years perfecting it, making sure it doesn’t show. A simple black tuxedo covers Napat’s shoulders, the impressive expanse of his chest, the hard lines of his back, black trousers going down his mile-long legs. His hair is perfectly coiffed, showing off his heart-shaped hairline, eyebrows accentuating his fierce eyes, dark and glittery under the chandelier light. Beside him, his date leans in and laughs. Her lipstick is red. If she kisses Napat, it would show, stain him.

Pran takes a sip of his champagne glass and tries not to let his eyes linger.

He and Napat aren’t friends. Hardly know each other, in fact. Except they work in the same circles, Pran being the CEO of his architecture firm, MOI Industries, while Napat heads the civil engineering company he inherited from his father, Jindapat’s. They collaborated once, a long time ago, and Pran had heard it was a disaster, and the project had been canceled. He knows Napat had nothing to do with it, the same way Pran was only aware of the project but hadn’t actively taken part in it. But it fueled the bad blood between their companies, and neither one of them had ever tried to stop it.

Plus, every time Pran comes to one of these annoying business functions with a date, Napat seems extra frosty to him, which has always led to Pran being rude to him in return. Napat had insulted Max’s exotic eyes that Pran had never got a second date from him; and whenever Pran brought Wai along as a plus one and introduced him as a friend, Napat would make scornful huffing noises under his breath that he would turn into a cough.

Yes, Napat was attractive. But he was also infuriating.

Pran’s never stooped to his level. Sure, maybe once he “accidentally” mixed up his meal and one of Napat’s dates before, after the date had said they didn’t have a tolerance for spice, and Pran tended to get the spicier food. But that’s a mistake anyone could make. And sure, maybe one time when Napat brought a friend along who expressed she liked women and was just his friend, Pran immediately introduced her to a partner he knew was a lesbian and single and helped them hook up in the restroom so Napat would look pathetically single for the rest of the night.

But Pran’s here single now, and he takes pride in it. So what if Napat has a date right now and he doesn’t, and is now smirking at him across the hall instead of paying attention to his conversation? Pran finishes his drink and snorts. Pathetic. People praise Napat all the time for being charming and smart and likable. But that’s not everything. Pran’s been praised, too, for his innovative ideas, dedication to long-term projects, and even though his business is comparatively newer in the scene, he knows his shit that MOI is still considered a top competitor. It doesn’t matter that he and Napat don’t necessarily get along. Pran’s proud of what he does, where he’s come from, and how far he’s gotten.

He considers getting another drink, but decides he doesn’t actually want to get drunk. The champagne is nice, makes him relax, and he stops secluding himself and begins socializing, networking with the other businesspeople in the room, as much as he hates it. But it’s what he’s here for, and people respect him. He offers his business card to potential clients and receives several in return, tucking them into his pockets.

He’s aware of the heavy gaze that follows him around the room as he moves, but pretends he doesn’t notice.

Some time after dinner, he puts his hands in his pockets and feels something that’s not a business card—a hotel room key, which he certainly didn’t put in his pockets himself. He rolls his eyes, but fishes through the small pile of business cards there, too. There’s an extra one, as he expected, and when he turns the card around, a simple number: 444.

It’s a bad idea, but Pran’s been doing it long enough that it’s in his blood, that he doesn’t know how to resist anymore, if he ever did. He slides everything back into his pockets and continues on with his night, expressing to his coworkers how excited he is for dessert.

At the end of the function, instead of going to the parking garage, Pran makes his way to the hotel elevators. The big business functions are always held in hotels; it makes things like this easier.

Out of the corner of his eye, someone joins him. Pran doesn’t look at them, his hands still in his pockets.

He’s already hit the up button, so when the elevator arrives, he enters, his companion following him. They’re lucky that no one else has joined them, so there’s plenty of room in the elevator. Pran fixes his eyes on his own reflection in the mirrored elevator walls, not looking at anything else.

They reach the fourth floor. Pran leaves, and his companion follows. He follows the signs down the hall to room 444, making a left before coming face to face with the suite door. Pran takes the key card out of his pocket, sliding it into the lock, then opens the door, letting himself in.

The moment the door closes behind him, Pran turns around, shoving Pat up against the wooden surface, working his mouth over his. Pat laughs against him.

“You’re eager,” he says with amusement, as Pran bites his bottom lip, trying to taste the alcohol in his mouth.

Pran glares at him in the dark. He takes the keycard and puts it in the wall holder, allowing the lights to illuminate the room. “You didn’t tell me you’d bring a date,” he accuses.

Pat raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t tell me you’d bring a date last time,” he says.

That’s true—Pran had brought a guy he met on Grindr just to piss Pat off, and then Pat had ridden his cock him in the hotel room, pinning Pran on the floor. They got to the bed later. Pat was probably raised by wolves.

But, semantics. “So?” Pran grumbles, then nips at Pat’s jaw, earning a laugh from him again.

“Slow down, Parakul,” he says with amusement, pushing him back gently and toeing off his shoes. Pran does the same. “I didn’t know you wanted it that badly.”

Pran growls, then drags Pat by the collar of his shirt and throws him onto the bed. He starts stripping off his jacket, leaving him in a waistcoat and pants. Pat eyes him, still grinning.

“Aren’t you going to take your clothes off?” Pran asks him.

“I’m having fun just watching,” says Pat.

Pran rolls his eyes, strips and kicks his pants off, before crawling onto the bed on top of Pat, hovering over him, breathing in his face. Pat, the brat, cups his hand at the back of Pran’s head and brings him down for a kiss, slow and steady and obscene.

They’re both hard, Pran knows it. “I want you to fuck me,” he murmurs between their mouths, and feels satisfied when Pat’s breath hitches.

“Yeah?” Pat’s hand slides down Pran’s side, his waist, to his hips and backside and ass, still covered by his white boxers. He slides three fingers into Pran’s crack, between his cheeks, his middle finger pressing more pointedly against his hole. Pran’s back arches, and he keens.

“Fuck, Pat,” Pran breathes, trying not to rut against him.

Pat smirks. Pran hates that stupid smirk, wants to kiss it so much until he can’t see it again. “What would people say if they knew the CEO of MOI was such a slut?” he says softly, rubbing his fingers up and down along Pran’s crack, grazing his hole but not as much as Pran wants. “That he’s so desperate for it that he’s begging for it every time we fuck?”

Pran gasps out, “You’re lying,” but bucks into Pat’s touch, his long thick fingers digging into him deeper. He feels so empty, especially since he lubed himself up earlier. He knows Pat can feel it, the slight dampness through the cloth of his boxers.

Pran says, “You beg for it half the time, too.”

Pat hums. “That’s true,” he says, then smacks Pran’s ass, making him yelp and whimper. “I don’t want to fuck you like this, though.”

Pran glares down at him. “Who says you’re the one calling the shots?”

“Since you’re the one who asked me so nicely,” Pat says, and gently pushes Pran away, so that he can take off his clothes too. “And I think I need my cock to fuck you.”

The way he says cock is so dirty that it makes Pran shiver. “And what would people say if they knew the heir to Jindapat’s was such a shameless lover in bed?” Pran retorts.

Pat laughs lightly. “I’m honored you consider me your lover.”

He’s down to his boxers. Even though Pran’s on all fours on the bed, he’d turned around to watch Pat strip, from his own jacket and waistcoat and suspenders and jeans, now a marvel as he shirks off his boxers too. His pecs are big and jiggly and his abs are hard and visible, and Pran wants to feel them everywhere, all over him, bite him so that Pat doesn’t bring any dates anymore, that it’s just them. He knows Pat’s family has expectations for him as the heir, the same way Pran’s mom expects him to settle down with a nice young man one day who doesn’t call him a slut after company functions.

But he’s young, so what else is he supposed to do?

Pat comes back to bed, but doesn’t fuck Pran right away, instead draping himself over Pran’s body so that Pran can feel all of him, skin against skin, those pecs against his back and his ass brushing Pat’s abs. “Pat, what are you—” Pran starts.

But Pat just takes the bottom of his chin with his hand and kisses Pran sweetly, from this angle. His hard cock is stiff against Pran’s ass cheeks, teasing and tempting, sliding up and down. Pran moans into his mouth, letting Pat kiss him like this, before breaking apart and saying, “Get it in already.”

Pat laughs against his mouth. “So bossy,” he says, but kisses Pran again.

He pulls back and Pran feels the head of his cock against his hole—then the sweet, sweet breach as Pat’s thickness quickly fills up Pran’s body, the stars in his eyes, making him feel nothing else. Pran moans in want as his hole which he carefully stretched out earlier, is spread even further by Pat’s thick cock. He’s a little obsessed with Pat’s cock is the thing, filling him up like nothing else has ever done, not even the other men Pran has fucked or his immodest toy collection. Pat’s cock is big, and long, and he certainly knows how to use it, sliding into Pran all the way at the sheath that it practically feels like it’s in his stomach, he’s so lightheaded.

Pat doesn’t give him time to adjust, either—exactly what Pran likes. Some of the guys Pran’s hooked up with on Grindr are too delicate with him, as if Pran hasn’t done this tons of times. Some of them want Pran only to top, or only to bottom, or want a nice dinner date and take Pran home to his parents. With Pat, it’s easy. Things with him are quick and done—no matter how many times they do it—a night of endless sex, maybe another round or two in the morning, and then they don’t see each other for months. Weeks, if Pran is lucky. But they’re in similar situations, have never had to talk about it, and Pran hasn’t slept with anyone else in over a year because of it.

Pat fucks him hard, thick and punishing, gripping onto Pran’s ass cheeks, spreading him wide like he’s watching the slide of his cock into Pran’s hole. “Fuck, Pran,” he says, large palms holding his cheeks apart, and Pran tightens around him, just to hear Pat groan. “You’re so tight, you know that?”

“And you talk too much,” Pran grits out, shoving his face between his elbows on the bed.

Pat laughs. He laughs so much. “You like it,” he accuses, and Pran can’t even retort, because at that moment his cock hits the angle inside Pran that goes right onto his prostate, and Pran seizes up, shudders, cock leaking furiously on the bed. “Cute, prim Pran, tight back here too.” He slaps Pran’s ass again and Pran cries out, shuddering and arching his back, trying not to come too soon—Pat would make fun of him for ages if he did. “God, I love your ass,” Pat says, and squeezes and squeezes the mounds of Pran’s cheeks as he continues to drill into him.

Pran gives as good as he gets, thrusting backward, meeting Pat with each push of his cock, trying to get him in deeper. “I didn’t ask,” he gasps, because Pat’s deep fucks are punctuated so hard that he can practically feel his stomach in his throat. The head of Pat’s cock hits his prostate again, and Pran squeezes, making Pat groan.

“You might not have asked,” Pat says, breathless—and Pran loves how uncontrolled he’s made Pat sound—”but your body sure is.” He slips a thumb over Pran’s hole, alongside his cock at the top, threatening to push it inside as well.

Pran doesn’t say it out loud, but mentally, he dares him. He can take it. To his disappointment, though, Pat doesn’t go for it, instead covering his body with Pran’s again so that his mouth is by Pran’s ear. “Pran, look at me,” he says, and it’s the first time that he’s called Pran by the proper name all night so Pran looks, and Pat kisses him.

Pran slides his tongue into Pat’s mouth, delighting in the eager way Pat goes to suck on it. Pran makes little noises against Pat’s mouth, whimpers and moans of hunger, and Pat groans back against him in turn. Then Pran pulls away and smiles at him.

He knows Pat’s weak for it—his eyes are dazed, and he’s fixated on Pran’s dimples, and it’s enough for Pran to tangle their ankles together and flip them around on the bed. Pat’s cock slips out of him, an emptiness Pran briefly mourns, as Pat lands with his back on the bed and a soft, “Oof!”

Pran’s on top of him now, and straddles his waist. “My turn,” he says, and sits himself on Pat’s cock, teasing the tip against his hole, before sliding it in slow.

He and Pat both groan at this. It’s so good, the way he might not ever tire of this, Pat hot and heavy inside of him; or on other nights, Pat hot and tight around him. But he knew what he wanted tonight, dick drunk on the man across the ballroom, fucking him like he’ll never fuck that woman with the crimson lipstick.

“What’d you tell her?” Pran gasps, bouncing on Pat’s dick, fluid motions that have Pat looking at him dumbly. “Did you tell her you had someone else to see tonight?”

Pat looks fucked out of his mind, eyes black. “Who?” he asks, watching Pran.

Pran laughs. He pauses his motions, going slow now, twisting his hips in little circles, the feeling of Pat filling him up in every crevice of his body, his toes curling. Pat’s cock twitches inside of him and Pran loves it, brushing up against his prostate occasionally and making him shudder.

“Forgot already, did you?” he asks Pat, who’s just staring at Pran, open mouthed. He reaches up to squeeze at Pran’s chest, the fat around there, and Pran lets him, shuddering a little as Pat thumbs at his brown perked nipple. “Can’t think of anyone else but me?”

Pat just nods, and Pran’s never felt sexier. He fucks himself back on Pat’s cock, clutching his chest along with Pat, threading their fingers together as he rides Pat faster and faster, hammering Pat so deep into him that it’s like being turned inside out. Pat’s hands slip down from his chest to Pran’s waist, his love handles, his ass, clutching him in a tight grip as he meets Pran thrust for thrust, both of them moaning so loudly that there’s no way anyone next door doesn’t hear, the repetitive slam of the headboard against the wall, the dangerous creaking of the bed, Pran, the CEO of MOI moaning and getting fucked so hard he swears Pat’s cum is going to come out of his ears.

When Pat gets a hand on his cock finally, Pran’s done for, spilling all over their chests and shouting out, unable to hold himself back. The orgasm hits him hard and sweet, through his veins and behind his eyes, sparkling as Pran whimpers and twitches in pleasure. He knows Pat’s watching—Pat always wants to watch when he comes. And Pran’s no different too, as Pat comes shortly afterward and Pran wrenches his eyes open to see Pat’s jaw hanging slack as he releases inside Pran, hands squeezing him tight and cock filling him, wet and warm and slick that Pran clenches his hole around him to get more. Pat’s grunting as he comes, emptying his balls inside Pran, like he hasn’t had sex since the last time he and Pran hooked up—and maybe he hasn’t, and that thought makes Pran’s worn cock twitch between them. Pat looks at Pran like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen, and when Pran smiles at him wide, giggling a little, Pat jolts and comes a bit more inside of him.

It’s a little insane how sexually compatible they are. People would never be able to guess. The CEO of MOI and the CEO of Jindapat’s escaping for a late-night romp, with no intention of returning to the function.

When they’re done and Pran gets up, letting Pat slip out, Pat says, “That was incredible.”

“Not so bad yourself,” Pran says. “I’m gonna go shower.”

Pat nods. “Okay,” he says. They never shower together; Pran thought that by now Pat would invite himself in, but instead Pat only reaches over to his discarded pants and pulls out his phone. That’s fine. Keep things simple, casual. They’re on the same page.

He showers first, and then Pat does next, both of them reluctant to leave. Morning sex, Pran tells himself, nothing else. Or maybe just another round later.

When Pat comes back out, Pran asks him, “So who was the woman from earlier? The one you came with?”

“Oh, that’s what you were…” Pat trails off for a moment, then seems to shake his head to himself. “Just a friend. She used to date the COO of Swan Machinery, so we were trying to make her jealous.”

Oh. That explains things. Pran swallows, then smiles. “Where did she go?”

“Last I saw, they went to talk.” Pat stops, then squints at Pran for a moment. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Pran scoffs.

Pat smirks again. That stupid, beautiful smirk that makes his fierce eyes crinkle and his face glow like the sun. He crawls onto the bed, over Pran seductively, the same way Pran did earlier.

“You sure?” Pat asks. “You can say so. I won’t bring a date next time.”

Pran huffs condescendingly and doesn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t care if you bring a date or not.”

“Okay,” Pat says, and draws their lips together. “But I won’t mind if you leave marks when you fuck me.”

–

They go three more times that night, Pran’s short, manicured nails scratching up Pat’s back as he comes deep inside of him.

–

The next morning, Pran wakes up alone, but there’s another business card on the nightstand. A personal phone number—and a LINE ID: patlnwza55+, along with the note: if you ever find yourself getting jealous again.

Pran picks up the card, reading it front and back as he lies back down in bed. Despite himself, he smiles. He doesn’t quite want to be brought home to anyone’s parents yet. But this is a pretty good place to start.

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Business Casual

by aroceu

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© 2009-2026 aroceu