Rating:

Explicit

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Bad Buddy

Relationship:

Pat/Pran

Tags:

anal sex, bad buddy exchange 2023, barebacking, come as lube, creampie, fake dating, rimming, roommates, sugar daddy/baby, switching

Stats:

Posted on:

2023-04-24

Words:

6,558

They had met again entirely by accident: Pran, coming back from his internship at Singapore, had been making his way to his new apartment when he was nearly bowled over by someone running down the street. Serves him right for taking the scenic route.

“Sorry,” said the man who’d nearly run him over, holding him back by the shoulders, before doing a double take. “Pran?”

Pran was equally baffled himself. “Pat?”

But this was not the Pat he once knew—now with cuts and bruises on his face and his hair oily like he hadn’t showered in a week. He was in jeans and a black t-shirt, a flannel tied around his waist. He looked lost and a bit confused, not with the swaggering confidence Pran had always been used to seeing him have in high school.

An auntie rounded a corner, waving a serving spoon at Pat. “You come back here, mister!” she shouted. “That young man stole one of my pastries!”

“I’ll pay you back, Auntie,” Pat pleaded. Pran noticed just then that he was clutching a roll in his hands, and he looked desperately hungry. “Please, I’m sorry—”

The auntie approached them and Pat was about to run away, but Pran grabbed him by the shirtsleeve. Turning to the auntie, he asked, “How much is the pastry?”

She looked him up and down. “You don’t have to cover for him, young man,” she said.

Pran ignored her. Taking out his wallet, he counted out a few notes—about 300 baht. “Is this enough?” he asked.

The auntie glanced back at Pat. “You should be thankful for your friend here,” she said to Pat, before snatching the money out of Pran’s hands and leaving.

Once she was gone, Pat said, “Pran, you can let me go now.”

“I don’t think so,” said Pran. He kept his grip on Pat’s shirt, despite the grime it was getting on his hands. “Look at you, you’re filthy. Why did you even steal the pastry?”

Pat was starting to look uncomfortable. “Pran,” he said, and attempted to wriggle out of Pran’s grip.

If this was about ten years ago, it would’ve worked. But Pat was skinnier than Pran had ever seen him before, and Pran hit the gym at least once a week with Max back during his internship, so he knew he was strong. He held fast and said, “At least come with me to my new place so you can shower.”

Pat considered, then deflated. “Fine,” he said.

Pran still didn’t let him go as he led them to his apartment building, afraid that Pat might try to leave at any moment, for whatever he thought was an honorable reason. Once they were in the elevator, at least, he let Pat go, and watched as Pat unwrapped the pastry and scarfed it down.

“When was the last time you ate something?” Pran asked.

Pat said, through his chewing, “Wow, you’re just as nosy as I remember you being.”

Pran huffed. “Fine,” he said. The elevator dinged at the fifth floor, and Pran grabbed Pat by the sleeve again. “Let’s just get to my place”

He’d already hired movers for furniture and clothes from his parents’ place, plus plenty of groceries, supplies, and toiletries that his parents didn’t even have to drop off from him. It was one of the perks of being one of the lead architects of the biggest city projects in Singapore—a stable job, with an insanely high salary. Pran didn’t think twice about it as he opened the door to his apartment, and let go of Pat, taking his shoes off.

“The guest room’s that one,” he said, gesturing to the room on the left. “It has an en-suite, too. I’ll find you a change of clothes, and I should have a washer and dryer somewhere.” He wandered, locating the laundry room around a bend in the kitchen. “Oh, here! I’ll cook something, too, you still don’t like spicy food, right—Pat?”

Pat hadn’t moved in a while. He wasn’t saying anything, either, though the shame had overtaken his face like a drought, leaving no light or joy behind. His mouth was twisted unhappily, and he started to back away.

“Pran,” he said. “We just—we only ran into each other, you don’t… I don’t deserve this.” He looked at the empty bag in his palms, like it was something disgusting suddenly, like he was ashamed of how he’d eaten it so quickly. “I’m sorry, Pran, I—”

Before he could run away, like Pran could tell he wanted to, Pran went over to him and grabbed his wrist. Even after all the years—even though they were men now, no longer boys fighting over something stupid in school—Pran still felt that draw to him, the rush of affection, especially to Pat, who’d only been good, noble, more than the world would ever deserve.

“Pat, you’re being dumb,” he said. “And you’re filthy. You think I’m gonna let you run around looking like this?” He gestured to Pat with his free hand, and Pat couldn’t help but let out a watery laugh. “The least you could do is shower,” Pran told him. “We’ll figure it out from there.”

Slowly, Pat stared at him. Then he nodded.

“Okay,” he said, and Pran closed the door behind him.

While he was in the shower, Pran browsed through his clothes for something suitable. All he had were pressed fancy clothes—which he quite liked—and he and Pat were about the same height, so only the trousers might be a centimeter or two off the ankle. Pran picked a navy button-up with a subtle grey pattern and grey slacks. They would look good on Pat, he thought. Sharing underwear wasn’t very hygienic—Pran was never in favor of it with any of his very short-lived partners—but desperate times called for desperate measures, especially with Pat’s clothes in the washer. And Pat was always different, because the thought of him in Pran’s underwear made Pran shiver with delight, not disgust.

He left the clothes on the bed in the guest room and tried not to think too much about Pat in the shower. Something had clearly happened that led Pat to be in this situation; it would be inappropriate for Pran to get turned on by it, no matter how good Pat looked kind of bruised up and rough around the edges. He started on his cooking, poking around the kitchen before deciding to make some pla tod khamin, along with a fresh vegetable dish and some rice.

Pat came out of the guest room as Pran set up the rice cooker. He looked as good as Pran expected in the clothes he’d picked out—better, even. There was a slight uncomfortable edge to his gait, though, as he plucked at his shirt with unease.

“Pran,” said Pat. “This shirt is really nice, how much does it cost?”

Pran gave him a look. “I’m giving you clothes to wear and you’re asking me how much it costs? I think you should be thanking me.” He gestured to the stools by the kitchen counter. “Sit down.”

Pat came over, but didn’t sit down. “You really don’t have to do this, Pran,” he said. “Let me just wait for my clothes to come out of the wash and then I can leave.”

“After I’m going through all this trouble to make pla tod khamin for you?”

As unhappy as Pat sounded, there was no denying that his eyes lit up. “Is that what you’re cooking?”

“If you’re eating it, yeah.” Pran continued mashing the sauce together in the mortar and pestle, pounding it lightly. “Otherwise I have this whole mackerel in my fridge for nothing.”

Pat still seemed wary, but didn’t leave, sitting down with his eyes trained on Pran’s hands as he continued making the sauce.

After a while, Pran said to him, “So are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”

Pat sighed. The reluctance was evidence in his bones, but Pran waited patiently as Pat deliberated in coming to a decision.

Finally, he sighed. “My parents disowned me,” he said, and Pran stopped, shocked at even hearing the words. “Yeah, I didn’t think it would happen either,” Pat said with a wry smile. “It just started when I decided to quit rugby in uni, then I wanted to switch from the Engineering faculty to the Performing Arts faculty…” He chuckled. “By then I already knew I was on thin ice with my father, so what did I have to lose? Got drunk, had a few ill-advised fights. Next thing I knew, one of those fights was with my dad and he said he didn’t consider me to be his son if I was going to continue running his reputation into the ground.”

He laughed again, then wiped his eyes. Pran had wanted to kiss him so much in high school, but never as much as he did now.

“So now I’m broke, didn’t even finish my degree, and I’m just trying to find a way to live my day to day life,” Pat finished. “It’s shit, but what else am I supposed to do? I keep stealing but I hate it. But I can barely get a job without any good references, and those were all at uni, which I’m sure my dad cut me off from.” He sighed, burying his face in his hands. “At least Pa’s the golden child now.”

Pran could feel his heart breaking; even at his lowest, Pat was still thinking about how it couldn’t be all that bad if someone else was benefiting from it. “Pat,” he said.

Pat brought his face out of his hands. “No, don’t worry about me, Pran.” He put on a brave smile. “It’s fine. I really appreciate everything, even though I know I’ve never been your favorite person. But you don’t need to worry about me, I’ll figure something out.”

Pran wanted to scream that Pat was his favorite person, had always been his entire life, even though it had been at least a decade since they’d last seen each other. Loving Pat was so ingrained in him, into his bones; a sense of purpose, a sense of being. He’d done a decent job in Singapore, sure, could live his life on his own. But Pat lit a fire in him now that remained unmatched, a kindled spark waiting for the right time to burst into his heart again. And it was now, the flame so big it overtook his body, his heart.

“No,” Pran said, and Pat looked up at him with surprise. Pran shrugged. “Pat, do you want to know why your dad was so hard on you?”

“Because he has stupid expectations for me,” Pat said with a frown.

Pran shook his head. His mother had told him the truth some years ago—after he graduated university, before he went to Singapore. The guilt had gnawed at her so deeply, seeing Pran finish high school and go through university so lifelessly, only focused on his grades and being better than everyone else, easily graduating at the top of his class and reaching standards that he had only set for himself. Dissaya had sat him down one evening after his graduation and told him the truth—about the feud with the family next door going beyond business, about how she’d thought that being separated from anything that had to do with Ming, even his own son, who he was still in love with, was the best thing for him.

Pran had left for Singapore the next day.

He’d felt so fragile in those moments of admitting to his mother how long he’d loved Pat, how even though they hadn’t seen each other in years, he still ached to catch glimpses of the boy in the window next door. But enough years had passed that now it felt like a fact of life—though he left this part out when telling Pat about their parents. He didn’t even think to mention it, so deeply rooted that Pran thought his dulled love, now awoken again, bled with every breath he took.

When he finished telling Pat about the real reason why their parents hated each other, their friendship, the scholarship, everything—the look on Pat’s face was indescribable. Pran could practically feel the fury radiating from the other side of the kitchen counter.

“Our parents just let out their grievances on us?” Pat said.

Pran nodded. Now that he talked about it, he could feel the dormant rage building inside him too.

Pat cocked his head to the side, then smiled at Pran. It was not a kind smile, and made Pran shiver. He loved it.

“I wonder how my dad’s reputation would be if he found out that his eldest son was depending on his enemy’s son,” Pat said. Then he opened his mouth, and fluttered his eyelashes at Pran. “P’Pran, can you feed me?” he asked in a sweet voice.

Pran’s heart skipped, but he obliged, giving Pat a taste of the sauce. Pat wrapped his lips around the spoon and closed his eyes.

“Mm, delicious,” he said. “Well, you can kick me out whenever you want. But it sounds like you’re not too happy with your parents, too. And I could use a place to stay.”

Pran shook himself out of the daze at seeing Pat calling his cooking delicious with so much enthusiasm—no one he ever dated had such a reaction to his food before. “I don’t care what my parents think,” he said to Pat. “But I’m a pretty generous person.”

Pat smiled.

 

---

 

Their arrangement was simple: Pat had no money, and Pran almost had too much of it. Neither of them cared about making their parents proud, and Pat wanted to be able to get by without having to steal on the streets. Honestly, since Pran was still working, he was sure Pat didn’t have to find a job at all, even though he let Pat borrow his computer in the study room to job hunt anyway. Pat slept in the guest room and didn’t do anything with the credit cards Pran left blatantly out on the desk for him, and a part of Pran’s heart—most of it, really—didn’t want this to ever end, even though they had only just started.

It felt more like dating than his past boyfriends ever did, when Pran would come home and Pat would come out to greet him, even if he was in the middle of a job application. Pran would make fun of him and call him his dog. Pat took time to ask Pran about his day and wax poetic about Pran’s cooking, while Pran secretly took measurements of Pat’s body with his eyes so he could order more clothes for him (he’d gotten good at mentally measuring for his architecture sketches.)

One day, Pran said to Pat, “You don’t owe me anything, you know,” while they were in the living room, Pat applying for jobs while Pran watched a movie on TV. Pat would glance up to it on occasion.

“I know,” said Pat, glancing at Pran now. “But you’re not bad company, P’Pran. Is that so hard for you to understand?”

He was teasing, but it made Pran flush all over, and he had to excuse himself to the bathroom. It had been so long, and Pat still knew how to make him flustered more than anything else. Pran didn’t even know why he tried dating other guys in Singapore.

And about a couple of weeks into this arrangement, Pran had gotten up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water, when he heard a sound from the guest bedroom. Curious, he lightly trod over. The crack of the door was open, so it wasn’t like he could see much, but—

But then he could see everything. Pat on all fours on the bed, biting into the pillow, jerking himself off with one hand, fingering himself from behind with the other. All the blood rushed down to Pran’s cock—he was suddenly terribly, achingly hard. He quickly backed away, as quietly as he could, shuffling back to his room and not even bothering to close the door all the way, so Pat couldn’t hear him. When did Pat learn to do that? When did he learn that he liked that? Pran thrust his hand down the front of his pants, and let the guilt eat away at him as he came.

He didn’t get much sleep that night.

It was easy to pretend he didn’t see anything in the morning. “Hi,” said Pat, at the kitchen counter. “I already made you coffee.”

Pran rolled his eyes, but accepted the mug that Pat offered to him. “Since when did you become my husband?” he said.

“I like to think of myself as more of a wife,” Pat said cheekily.

That gave Pran images of Pat in a maid outfit and nothing else. He quickly changed the subject.

The job market appeared to be highly competitive, as after a month and a half, Pat still didn’t even get a call back for a job interview. “You can use me as a professional reference, you know,” Pran said to him one day, when he was cooking and Pat was tapping at Pran’s laptop at the kitchen counter.

Pat looked up. “Really?”

Pran rolled his eyes. “You said you didn’t have any other references, so it would be only fair,” he said. “We can just leave out the fact that we’re roommates.”

“And that we’re friends,” said Pat.

“Are we friends?” Pran asked with a raise of his eyebrows.

Pat clutched his heart dramatically. “You mean to tell me after you do all these things for me, you don’t consider us friends, Pran?” he said. “Wow, that hurts.”

It hurt Pran too, but for a different reason. He managed to make himself smile anyway. “Okay, you can leave out the fact that I’m your friend,” he said, and Pat laughed.

With that and a few reference calls later, Pat finally got a call back for a job interview—at an engineering company, no less, impressed with Pat’s background and both technical and creative ability. “I might’ve embellished some of your talents, too,” Pran added, as they shared a drink of wine over dinner that night. “Like how you’re always on time even though you were always so late in high school.”

“Hey, that was years ago!” Pat said with a laugh. His cheeks were flushed, tipsy. He looked good like this. Pran’s cheeks were warm too, and he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Pat. “I’m totally on time for everything now.”

“You spent thirty minutes in the shower,” Pran said to him, and Pat laughed again.

They felt good about this interview. Especially when afterward, Pat said he really felt like he nailed it, and he and Pran actually went out to celebrate, going to a fancy restaurant with Pat going in a maroon waistcoat outfit Pran had bought him. They drank and Pat kept giggling and flirting with the waitress and Pran wanted to kiss him so, so badly.

He didn’t. He masturbated as soon as he got home, with the excuse that he wanted to take a shower, and felt awful about it afterward. What was he doing?

But the bliss didn’t last for too long when Pat got an email from the company a couple of weeks later, starting with, “We regret to inform you…” Pran could see Pat’s face falling with each word as he silently read it in the kitchen, and turned around so he could give Pat some privacy.

“Well,” Pat said after a long moment. His voice was filled with false bravado. “That sucks. But onto the next one!”

“Yeah.” Pran swallowed. If he gave Pat the larger portion of their tiramisu for dessert, Pat didn’t complain.

 

---

 

Pran hated going to business functions, especially alone. That was the bright side of dating around in Singapore: at least most of the time, he had someone to bring. The partners and bosses liked someone with a girlfriend or a boyfriend; or better, a husband or wife, showing that they were committed to long-term projects, no matter how difficult they could be. It was definitely too old-fashioned for Pran’s taste, but at least having a date could get the higher-ups off his back.

Since he’d just come back to Bangkok a couple of months ago, he barely knew anyone, let alone had time to date. He was lamenting about this to Pat the day before the function, before Pat said, “How about I be your date?”

Pran stopped, and blinked at him. “What?”

Pat shrugged. “You need a date, I’m not doing anything tomorrow evening,” he said with a snort. “It’s a win-win.”

“But.” The idea of Pat and being Pran’s date made Pran’s brain short circuit. He couldn’t think of an argument against it. “Are you sure?”

“Come on,” Pat scoffed. “You’re doing all this stuff for me—feeding me, letting me stay at your place, buying me clothes.” He picked at the shirt he was wearing—a black Armani sweater that made him look particularly cozy. “It’s the least I can do,” Pat said.

Pran couldn’t argue with that—nor did he particularly want to—so the next evening saw them both in high-end tuxedos, Pran’s all in red, Pat’s all in blue. Pat even pointed out that in the workplace, red was a color of dominance and power, which represented Pran, being in such a renowned position, while blue was more common and submissive, representing honesty and hard work. Looking in the mirror together, Pat thought it was cool. Pran thought it was hot.

They had to hold hands, which Pran forgot about until they got there from the rideshare Pran had called. Pat grabbed his hand and said, “I’m your date, remember?” when Pran looked at him with confusion.

Pran nodded, and suddenly felt like he maybe didn’t know what he was going to be in for tonight.

He didn’t expect Pat to introduce himself to everyone as his boyfriend, for one—after they greeted one of the biggest architects in America, with Pat calling himself that, Pran pulled him aside and hissed, “What are you doing?”

“You said commitment, right?” Pat said with a shrug. “I’m committing.”

He grinned, and Pran pinched his arm. Pat didn’t even flinch.

They walked around, Pran discussing his work and what he knew about others’ when they met, Pat keeping easy small talk about music or movies or the World Cup. He was charming and still so good with people in a way that Pran had never been, that Pran just wanted to watch him talk all night more than anything else. They roamed and socialized but didn’t drink much, and when they sat down for dinner, Pat was attentive to him, going, “Do you want the steak, sweetie?” or “You should try this, babe, it’s so good,” and feeding him carrots from his plate. People aww’d at them and afterward, an architect Pran had admired since he was eighteen said that Pran and his boyfriend made a beautiful couple. Pran blushed and his stomach turned.

There were a few talks they could stick around to attend, but were entirely optional. Pat said he was interested, in case it would be helpful for his job search, so Pran did too, torn between wanting and not wanting Pat to get a job, and to stay together like this, so people thought they were dating. They still held hands, of course; Pat even leaned into his side, and whispered against Pran’s shoulder, “You smell good.” Pran shivered and tried not to let it get to him.

At the end of the night, they clambered back into their car ride home. Pat had drunk a little more, but Pran felt depressingly sober. Yet, separate and no longer holding hands in the backseat, Pat turned to him.

“This was really fun,” he said to Pran. “I hope you had a good time too.”

Pran swallowed. “Yeah, I did,” he admitted.

“I’ve been a bad boyfriend though,” Pat said, with a little smirk. “I didn’t even get to kiss you.”

Pran rolled his eyes. “We’re not even boyfriends anymore, Pat.”

“Yeah, but I can’t stop thinking about it,” Pat said, and Pran’s heart caught in his throat. “Can I? Kiss you, that is.”

The gap between them felt like miles, suddenly. Pat was looking at him with such a serious look on his face.

Pran swallowed.

“Sure,” he said.

And like it was nothing, like Pran hadn’t been thinking about this since he was fourteen, Pat leaned over and placed a palm on Pran’s cheek and kissed him gently on the lips. It was soft, at first, but Pat’s lips were so big, and red from all the alcohol, and Pran wanted to chase the taste, never let this go. He grabbed Pat by the back of the neck and kissed him deeper, so desperately that he didn’t want to breathe. Pat slipped his tongue into his mouth and Pran sucked on it like he could fuse their bodies together just with their mouths. Pat’s hands found their way into Pran’s hair as Pran clung to him, halfway into his lap as he kissed and kissed and kissed until all he could taste in Pat’s mouth was him.

Finally, they had to break apart to catch their breaths. Pat’s eyes were shimmering, but he was smiling too.

“Thanks,” he said to Pran, and drew away.

 

---

 

After that, it was like the kiss had never happened. Pat still wasn’t getting any luck with the job interviews, but he seemed like he was trying to make up for it at every function Pran brought him to.

They weren’t boyfriends, which was the painful part. Pran wanted to ask him about the kiss, but was afraid to know the answer. Did Pat even like boys? Did he just do that out of spontaneity? He didn’t try to kiss Pran again, but still acted like a great fake boyfriend, clinging to his arm and holding his hand. At home, he was the same as usual too, occasionally leaving a mess with snacks in the living room that Pran had to clean up, but eager to eat Pran’s cooking and listen to Pran as he rambled about his day as soon as he got home.

Pran wanted him so much. Pat had gained plenty of weight since their arrangement, and when Pran video called his mother without caring if she saw Pat in the background, Pat had waved at the camera and said, “Hi, Mae,” making Dissaya splutter and hand the phone off to her husband. It made Pran laugh, but why did Pat do that? Why was Pat doing any of this?

It was hard to marry the image of Pat he had always had in his head—untouchable, unattainable, his competition in so many ways but out of reach in so many others—to this one, who’d been down but picked himself up again, who didn’t let Pran help him until he did, who wormed his way so close and into Pran’s life that Pran was dreading the day Pat would ultimately find a job and his own place and leave. This was nearly ideal: seeing Pat every day and teasing and getting teased by him at every waking moment. Making more than enough money that Pat could take a break from job hunting to just watch movies or play PC games until Pran came home. Pran didn’t want anything else.

Well. The only thing he wanted more was being able to slide into bed with Pat at night, and in the morning, and any time he really wanted.

But Pat didn’t seem to feel the same way. He didn’t try dating, either. When Pran had to go back to Singapore to take care of some business, he left one of his credit cards and house key with Pat, bought him a new smartphone instead of his outdated one, and told him to call him if he needed anything.

He kept checking his phone during his whole trip in Singapore, but didn’t get a thing. They’d added each other on LINE, but all Pat had done was send, have a safe flight! and a little dog sticker doing a peace sign. When he told Pat he was about to get on his returning flight after the weekend, Pat immediately responded, alright, see you soon! and another sticker of a dog wagging its tail eagerly.

Pran could feel his heart trying to burst from the cage of his chest.

When he got home, he wasn’t ready for the sight that greeted him in the entrance of his apartment—Pat had gotten out one of Pran’s shirts that Pran had forgotten to clean last week, wearing an apron over it, and was singing loudly off-key to some song on the radio while vacuuming the living room. Pran’s heart felt like it was escaping his body and soaring into Pat as he barely slipped off his shoes, dropped his bag, made his way over, and grabbed Pat by the hands.

Pat startled, having not heard him over the music. “Pran?” he said, but Pran ignored him and kissed him.

Pat dropped the vacuum cleaner to the floor and kissed him back. Pran laughed against his mouth, so overwhelmed and filled with so much joy that he was almost delirious. “Turn the vacuum off,” he said to Pat.

Pat beamed. “Yes, sir,” he said. He quickly picked the vacuum back up to switch it off and prop it against the nearby shelf. Just as he was done, Pran turned him around and kissed him again.

It felt like he could kiss Pat forever. Pat’s hands were hungry and desperate, making their way around Pran’s body, under the lapels of his jackets, down his back so they rested right above his ass. When Pat pulled his lips away from Pran’s, he said, “I’m in love with you.”

Pran laughed again, and when Pat kept trying to kiss him, Pran was smiling so hard that it was difficult to kiss back. “I’ve always been in love with you,” Pran confessed. “I want you to stay. I never want you to leave, and I want to spoil you for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, that confession was so much better,” Pat said mournfully, and Pran just laughed and laughed.

They went back to kissing, Pran pulling at Pat’s hair to get even more of him. Pat dragged Pran into the guest room, by the tie around his neck. “I saw you that night, you know,” Pat breathed against his mouth. “When you saw me masturbating.”

Pran’s ears went hot, but he was too busy sucking a hickey at Pat’s jaw to care. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” Pat shot back, and he slid Pran’s outer shirt off. “I thought you might’ve been embarrassed.”

“I was,” Pran admitted. He pulled back and eyed his own t-shirt shirt on Pat’s body. “And what’s this? Aren’t you embarrassed?”

“Of you? Baby, I would never,” Pat said with a grin. “I just missed you. And I missed your smell. I told you you smell good.”

“You’re so weird,” Pran said, crinkling his nose, and Pat bit it.

They stripped each other’s clothes off, then Pran pushed Pat onto the bed so that he was lying on his back. “You have lube?” he asked. Pat nodded eagerly, grabbing it from the side table.

Pran popped the bottle open. “Hands and knees,” he said to Pat, and Pat obeyed, turning around, his beautiful ass in Pran’s face. There was so much skin, and he already saw how Pat’s cock was leaking. Pran was already so hard in his underwear, but he wanted to take his time. He had plans before, but the sight of Pat’s dark, flexing hole was so tantalizing that Pran couldn’t help himself and swipe his tongue over it, then again, licking up from Pat’s perineum to the top of his crack.

“Fuck,” Pat swore, like he hadn’t expected it. Pran grinned. He did it again, getting his face in between Pat’s ass cheeks, gripping onto him like he was trying to bring him closer, eating as much of Pat as he could. Pat moaned, and Pran could feel him punch the mattress beneath his knees. Pran brought him closer, kissing the plush meat of one of his cheeks, sucking and leaving hickies down his thighs. He wanted to see Pat like this tomorrow, forever, marks and bruises and a constant reminder that he was Pat’s. He went back to Pat’s hole and dipped a lubed thumb inside, opening Pat up so he could slide his tongue into Pat’s body, making Pat writhe on the mattress.

“Pran,” he gasped. “Pran, please.”

Pran squeezed one of Pat’s ass cheeks, then smacked it. Pat gasped. “Patience, doggy,” Pran said, and Pat whined.

Pran lubed up his dick, then slid into Pat’s body slowly, moaning all the way. Pat did too, gasping and whining, “Pran,” and, “It’s so,” and, “Fuck.” He looked so good, sounded so good speared on Pran’s cock that Pran couldn’t help himself, fucking into Pat almost immediately. Pat was loud and talkative, going, “Yes yes yes,” and, “Please, please, Pran,” and when Pran smacked his ass again, Pat yowled.

“Pat, you’re so tight,” Pran said through gritted teeth. He was holding onto Pat’s hips for dear life, so hard that he was sure his fingers were going to leave bruises in the morning. The sight of his cock disappearing into Pat’s body, taking him in so greedily, like this was what his hole was made to do, made Pran so dizzyingly hard that he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to last. Pat arched his back forward, meeting Pran thrust for thrust, squeezing and clenching around Pran’s dick like he couldn’t get enough of it. “Fuck, Pat.”

“Yeah, yeah, come in me,” Pat gasped out, and it was all Pran needed before his brain whited out and he came, thrusting arrhythmically into Pat as he filled him up, hot and white and thick. Pat moaned, too, but even through his orgasm Pran held his wrists back, so he couldn’t touch himself. Pat whined as Pran bit his shoulder.

“You wanna come, baby?” Pran asked him, and felt Pat nod against him. “Alright.”

With their legs tangled together, Pran half successfully flipped them over, so that Pat was on his back and Pran was on top of him. Pran took the cum from Pat’s hole—his cum—and Pat’s still leaking dick, then fingered himself open with it, gasping as he reached deep inside himself. Pat watched him with stars in his eyes, mesmerized.

“Fuck, you’re so hot, Pran,” he said, grabbing onto Pran’s waist.

Pran smiled, then his jaw dropped as he brushed against his own prostate. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he said.

Pat said, “I’ve never—with girls, I’ve slept with, but you’re the first guy—”

He didn’t even need to finish his sentence for Pran to feel the fire in his belly again. “Shit, Pat,” he said, and then rubbed Pat’s dick with his slick hand once, before pushing it in, getting himself seated.

Pat jolted so sharply, Pran thought he might buck him off. “Fuck,” Pat breathed, exhaling through his nose. “Fuck, fuck Pran, you feel incredible.”

“Better than a girl?” Pran asked, as he slid Pat in and out of his body, watching the way Pat’s abs flexed and tensed with each torturous motion.

Pat asked, “You want me to say yes?” and assisted Pran, with his hands on Pran’s waist this time, as Pran fucked himself up and down. The sound of Pat’s cock inside him squelched in the room, and it made Pran so hot to be so messy like this. He tightened his hole around Pat’s cock and watched Pat’s mouth hang open like he was holding himself back from coming immediately.

Pran loved it; but he knew what he wanted more, as he slumped forward against Pat’s chest, letting the length of Pat’s cock slip out of him slightly. “You can fuck me as hard as you want,” he said to Pat, this close. “Go on. I can take it.”

Pat made a noise between a moan and a growl—then he was grabbing Pran’s ass and fucking into him without abandon, driving his long, thick cock into Pran that Pran could practically feel it in his throat. Pat was going to turn him inside out like Pran had done to him, and Pran met Pat’s lips with his own, gasping and moaning against each other Pat continued pounding into him. They weren’t kissing much so much as they were breathing, giving and stealing oxygen like it was the only way to live; and finally when Pat came, it was with a loud grunt and an uncontrollable jolting of his hips, trembling all around Pran as he filled him up to the brim. Some of his cum was dripping out when he was done, and Pran reached behind himself to slip it back into his body.

His fingers brushed along Pat’s cock at this, and Pat’s breath hitched. “Fuck, Pran,” he said, and Pran just kissed him.

“I think you mean your boyfriend,” he said, sliding his messy fingers through Pat’s hair.

Pat caught his fingers with his mouth, and sucked on them. “I think you mean your boyfriend,” he said.

They were talking nonsense, but Pran couldn’t stop smiling anyway. “We should turn this room into your study room,” Pran said. “Even if you don’t find a job, you can still hang out here.”

Pat pecked Pran’s mouth, then widened his eyes in faux innocence. “Then where am I going to sleep?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Pran said, propping his elbows on Pat’s chest and looking up in mock thought. “Where indeed…”

Pat giggled. He nosed into Pran’s cheek affectionately. “How did I get so lucky to get a boyfriend who’d spoil me?” he said. “I missed you so much, I can hardly believe it.”

Pran stroked his messy hands through Pat’s hair again. Later, they would take a shower and make love again, then Pran would cook dinner and they would make love in the kitchen, then Pran would put on a movie and they’d make love on the living room floor. And even later, Pran would bring Pat to functions where they’d escape more than once together into the bathroom, then maybe Pran would reintroduce him to his mom as his boyfriend, then they would wave hi to Pa as they took a stroll through their old neighborhood, completely ignoring Pat’s dad.

But right now, Pran loved Pat so much he didn’t care about the future. He didn’t think about it at all.

“You’ve always had me, baby,” he said to Pat, and Pat beamed at him, brighter than gold.