Rating:

Explicit

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Bad Buddy

Relationship:

Pat/Pran

Tags:

episode tag, exhibitionism, masturbation, prompt/gift/request, voyeurism, window fic

Stats:

Posted on:

2022-11-24

Words:

1,444

Pran tries not to look out his window as he changes, even though it’s hard. He knows Pat’s there, in his own room, changing too, watching Pran. He’s been shameless for these few weeks since they got back from the architecture camp, begging Pran for selfies and leaving snacks hanging from his doorknob, taking his shirt off at every possible moment because Pran had slipped early on and stared at the lickable planes of Pat’s chest by accident when Pat demanded that he put sunscreen on his body at the beach. Pran’s been resisting even though a part of him wants to cave in already, ignore his insecurities and the instability of their relationship and just let himself be Pat’s boyfriend. But his insecurities and the instability of their relationship aside, he can’t just let Pat win.

So here they are now.

Getting into bed, Pran finally allows himself to look out the window. As he expected, Pat’s window is wide open too, and he’s right there, sitting on his bed too, his elbows propped up on the ledge. He smirks and waves when Pran meets his gaze.

Pran rolls his eyes and props one of his pillows up. His bed is angled perpendicular to the window, so when he stretches his legs forward, Pat can see everything. Pran can look directly at him from here, which had been convenient during high school, whenever Pat came out of the shower. Pat’s own bed, he knows, is sideways to the window, and Pat’s sitting on the edge, still looking as Pran contemplates getting on his phone.

Probably not. He doesn’t need it, having Pat watch him like this is already enough. This was a risk he didn’t know if he wanted to go for, before he remembered that this might be his only chance to do it. If Pat loses interest eventually, then Pran can at least fulfill some longtime fantasies before then, for future jerkoff material. He’s here now, and Pat is openly looking at him, so without thinking too hard about it, Pran sits back against his pillow, stretches his legs, and puts his hand down his pajama pants.

He doesn’t look at Pat while he does it—they haven’t pushed this boundary before, and Pran doesn’t know if Pat even knows what he’s getting himself into. He focuses on stroking himself, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation, the thought that maybe Pat is looking at him right now, still. Hopefully, whispers a tiny voice in his head. He can’t count the number of times he had his own hand around his dick and fantasized it was Pat’s, Pat who he’d show how he liked it, the right angles, how Pran likes being teased and overstimulated. Pat would be so attentive, Pran’s always known, wanting to be good for Pran—better, even—that Pran has to beg him to stop because Pat’s determination to make Pran feel good would overstimulate him and Pran would cry, saying that it’s too much. He shudders and tightens his grip around the base of his cock, breathing deeply and warm all over.

He takes a chance and opens his eyes—and Pat is still there in the window, staring at him open-mouthed. Cheeks flushed, pupils blown. A surge of confidence shoots through Pran’s veins and he smirks, shoving down the waistband of his pants to his knees, so that Pat can see that he hadn’t been wearing underwear underneath—so that Pat can see his rock hard cock. Pat’s eyes go wide but he still doesn’t look away, and Pran curls his hand around his cock, holding Pat’s gaze and jerking off again.

Pat seems to be drinking him all in, which turns Pran on even more; he goes from looking to Pran’s dick to his thighs to his face to the rise and fall of his chest to his feet. If Pran were braver, he’d ask Pat to come in, finish the job for him. But he knows even this will make him freak out a bit before bed later, so he needs to take things a bit at a time, if Pat continues having interest. This is enough, Pat’s hot and focused gaze on Pran as he masturbates, knowing Pat is watching, because Pat is watching. And Pat’s handsome face is all Pran really needs to turn him on, to make his body hot all over, tingling under his skin from his fingers to his toes.

He startles when he sees Pat move, standing up. For a moment, Pran is afraid he’s going to walk away. But instead, Pat shoves his own pants down, then sits back on his bed, making eye contact with Pran again. Pran blinks because—because that’s Pat erection right there, hot and dark and heavy in Pat’s gigantic palm, the tip leaking. Pran’s mouth waters at the sight. Then Pat smirks and Pran forces himself to glance away, because, right. Because winning against Pat is more important, even though he’s not sure what he’s winning. He schools his expression again like Pat taking out his dick had no effect on him, but starts jerking himself off even harder, trying to stare only at Pat’s face, even though his gaze drops to Pat’s legs and his cock, Pat’s chest when he lifts up his muscle tee, biting the bottom of his shirt to expose his dark nipples and abs and the sweat on his stomach.

The sight is so much and Pran is only human—pinned by Pat’s heavy gaze, seeing so much of his skin, Pat’s erection for the first time, and knowing that Pat’s seeing his too, liking it, wanting it—Pran has never felt more desirable or desired more in his life. It’s only a matter of minutes before his orgasm hits him like a truck, pulsing through his blood and bones until it’s everywhere in his body, his legs trembling and curling as his mouth falls open and he gasps, little mewling noises as the pleasure soaks down to his toes in waves. He has to take a moment to catch his breath, eyes still closed, the side of his face buried into the pillow, panting wetly.

When he comes to and opens his eyes again blearily, he looks directly at Pat—and then Pat mouths something that looks like, Fuck, Pran, and he comes too, spattering all over his chest, dripping down his pecs and nipples, and that’s enough to wake Pran back up from the aftershocks of his orgasm. Pat is beautiful when he comes, mouth open and hand practically a blur on his cock, the veins in his neck and arms straining as the force of his orgasm hits him. Pran wants to go over there and lick Pat’s come off his chest. He has half a mind to do so, but then Pat finishes and looks at him and Pran feels as wrecked as Pat looks. He probably looks like that, too.

Pat grins at him, all smug, cock softening between his thighs. Pran wonders what it would be like to touch Pat himself, to have Pat touch him. He reaches for his tissue box and wipes himself off, then without looking back at Pat, goes to the shower to clean himself off and shake off the nerves that he—he and Pat just did that. And Pran started it.

But Pat liked it, too.

The creeping mortification doesn’t come; in fact, it makes Pran feel sexy, that, despite his lack of experience and frankly tame flirting, he can push it to this edge too. He smiles to himself in the shower, thinking what he should do next. For once, it’s convenient that they live right across from each other.

When he comes back to his room, the first thing he does is look out his window again. Pat’s gone, but his light is on and his curtains are still wide open. Pran’s phone dings with a notification.

How about a second show in five?

Pran rolls his eyes but smiles—okay, so Pat can play too. In your dreams, he replies, and closes his curtains and window with a smirk, locking it. Pat will have to work harder for it before Pran will admit that he’s that easy.

Alright, fine, in my dreams. I can live with that. I think I have plenty to dream about anyway.

Pran’s cheeks hurt from smiling; he has to put his phone down and shove his face into his pillow, for just a moment. He gets back up to turn his lights off. Yeah, Pran’s going to have some pretty sweet dreams too.