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Tonight had been torture. It was a torture Pran had mandated himself, but look, if Pat had shown up at the right airport, they would’ve had an hour at his apartment before the reunion started and could’ve taken the edge off.
So it was Pat’s fault, really, how desperate they both were.
But of course, both of them loved games and gamesmanship. Even games like the one they played tonight, with the risk of a little heart-hurt to them. It made them feel closer when the game ended—like no challenge could break them, even the ones they set for each other.
Pran was never going to end up anywhere other than Pat’s tonight.
And Pran loved seeing Pat swallow when he opened the door, looking at Pran like Pat had been wandering in the desert, and Pran was a cool spring.
Pran usually didn’t stand for Pat’s manhandling, but it’d been a year, so he held onto Pat’s neck and let himself be yanked into his boyfriend’s apartment.
They didn’t get very far. Pat had him up against the wall by the door in seconds. Pran had a moment to glance back—yes, thankfully, it was shut—before all he could see was Pat. Pat’s hands were yanking Pran’s shirt from his trousers. He was sucking at Pran’s top lip, and Pran's hands moved from Pat’s shoulders to his neck, tangling in his hair—fuck, he’d missed Pat’s hair.
Pat steps away for a second to struggle with the buttons of Pran’s over-shirt, but Pat’s shaking, and Pran’s breathing so hard that his chest is leaping against Pat's hand. Pat groans in frustration and instead yanks Pran’s collar to the side to expose his neck and shoulder.
He sniffs him deeply, first—of course—then he’s kissing and sucking Pran’s neck, biting down over his collarbone, and yeah, that t-shirt’s definitely getting stretched out.
“Hey, Pat,” Pran starts to say, “Slow down, we…” Pat’s still panting into Pran’s neck as moves his hand under Pran’s shirt, grasping at his hips, his ribs, working up his side until his thumb reaches Pran’s nipple and presses down, rubbing in circles.
Pran can’t help it. His hands fall to Pat’s ass and he pushes them together. Now Pat’s moaning into his ear and Pran hears himself gasping, “Never mind, don’t slow down.”
Pat’s got one hand on Pran’s chest under his shirt, the other holding himself up against the wall. Their lips catch as they pant into each other’s mouths, and they’re both so hard, grinding against each other.
Pran wants so badly to feel Pat’s skin, his naked body under his, but right now he’s got two handfuls of Pat’s ass and his tongue in Pat’s mouth, so he’ll weather the discomfort of clothes between them just to feel Pat hard and hot against him, his length running up against the side of Pran’s through the layers, and they’re barely kissing now between Pat’s moans.
Pran squeezes his ass, hard, sucking Pat’s bottom lip into his mouth. “Ah, Pran,” Pat cries out, thrusting into him hard. “Ah, fuck, fuck.” Pat throws his head back, and Pran’s holding them together by Pat’s hips, still rutting against him.
Pat slams his hand into the wall by Pran’s head. Pran gasps and Pat groans, long and deep.
Suddenly Pat's falling into him, his face landing in the juncture of Pran’s neck and shoulder.
Pran’s basically holding Pat up by his ass, now, he realizes, and that’s...Pat’s cock, pulsing between them, and is that...?
“Wait,” Pran says, staring over Pat’s head into his kitchen. “Are you serious?” He turns his face towards Pat’s. “Did you just come?” Pat doesn’t say anything, mouth open and breath hot against Pran’s neck. “Seriously, baby, did you just come?”
“Don’t make fun of me,” Pat whines, nuzzling into Pran. He didn’t even get to touch Pat—what the fuck? But there’s something so hot about that that Pran can’t help laughing, a little giddy.
Pat whines again, and Pran holds him close, stroking his hair, rubbing his lower back.
“No, no, baby, I would never make fun of you.” I mean, Pran would, and probably he will later, but Pat’s needy right now, soft and pliant as Pran gently separates them. “Here, come on, let’s get you cleaned up."
“Mmm.” Pat pushes off of Pran, clumsy and loose-limbed, and obediently ambles off towards the shower, unashamed of the stain on the front of his pants.
Pran takes a second to lean heavily against the wall. He adjusts himself, somewhat painfully, before following.
Whatever. They have all night.
—
It’s late when they get home. Pran feels warm and content, full of wontons and beer. The giddy edge to the evening is gone, and he’s looking forward to a soft bed and a night’s sleep with Pat in his arms, body hot against his. Finally.
Pat’s putting away his keys and wallet. Pran hugs him from behind, planting a kiss at the back of his neck. "Thank you for tonight."
Pat covers Pran’s hands with his, leaning back into him. “Go brush your teeth and get in bed. I’ll go second.”
That's rare—Pat's usually the one who has to be lifted bodily out of bed to wash his face after he's had a beer or two. But it doesn't matter.
When Pran’s finished, Pat slips into the bathroom behind him, blowing him a kiss before he closes the door. Pran hears the shower turn on.
—
Pran's lying on top of the covers in his pajamas, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. Pat’s been taking a while, now, and he’s getting cold. “Pat,” he calls out. “What’re you doing in there?”
“Just a moment, Mr. Pran, sir,” Pat calls back, mockingly. Pran rolls his eyes.
A few minutes after, Pat returns, a towel around his waist and another slung over his shoulder.
“You’re so fastidious these days, Mr. Pat.” Pat comes over to the bed, but instead of lying next to him, he nudges Pran's legs open to sit between them, kneeling with his hands on his knees. “Since when did you take this many showers?”
“Well, you see, it took many years. But I had this picky boyfriend, very picky, almost uptight, and he trained me to clean up after myself.”
Pran’s reaches up to pluck the towel from Pat’s shoulder. “And he didn’t teach you to dry your hair? You’re dripping all over.” Pran moves to sit up against the pillows, and Pat follows him,
Pran’s gentle with Pat, despite the teasing. He rubs Pat’s hair in soft circles with the towel, cradling his neck in his hand. Pat closes his eyes, all soft breaths and contentment, a dog in front of the fireplace. His hair was only damp, mostly dry already, but Pran knows how much Pat likes it when he does this for him.
“There, you’re all dry. Go hang this up,” he says, draping the hand towel back over Pat’s shoulder.
Pat hands it back to him. “Just leave it over there for now. I’m too cozy.”
“Fine.” As he shifts up to lay the towel out on the bedside table, Pat leans forward, too, and Pran suddenly feels him against his thigh, through the towel: Pat’s half-hard. His eyebrows lift.
Pat stares into Pran’s eyes, searching. “So that’s what does it for you?” Pran whispers, reaching up to run his fingers down a strand of Pat's hair.
“You’re what does it for me,” Pat whispers back, eyes smiling. Pran’s hands fall to Pat’s hips, thumbs just above the edges of the towel, but he doesn't bring them any lower. “If you’re too tired, we don’t have to do anything,” Pat says, suddenly sincere. He moves to get off of Pran, but Pran holds him in place.
“I’m waking up,” Pran says, voice soft and low. When Pat looks at him like this, the night seems darker and richer all around them, like it takes on the character of his eyes. “What did you want to do?”
“Can I just show you?” Usually, Pran's answer is no. Given the amount of phone sex they eventually started having (Pran draws the line at going on camera, although he's watched Pat before), it's no wonder that he's gotten addicted to hearing Pat tell him what he wants, and then begging him to give it to him. But they're here together now, body to body, so he nods.
Pat presses Pran back into the bed, bracketing Pran between his arms. His kiss is gentle this time, but deep, slow, coaxing Pran’s mouth open with his tongue. Pran brings his hands to Pat’s chest, his body solid and warm above him.
Pat breaks the kiss, tracing the shape of Pran’s bottom lip with his tongue. He gently takes Pran’s hand from his chest, dragging it down, down his side, and over the towel at his waist, all the way to his lower thigh, then up again.
Pat guides Pran's fingers hand underneath his towel, over the rise of his ass, and then down again, and Pran starts when he realizes that Pat is wet and slick between his legs.
He can't imagine, hasn't imagined Pat doing that alone, to himself, much less with Pran just sitting there, unknowing, in the next room. Pran's never done that, opened himself up, without Pat there. But Pat’s miles ahead of him, pressing on Pran's fingers with his, helping him feel just outside his rim. Pran feels how easy it would be to slip inside.
Pat holds Pran's gaze as he guides one of Pran's fingers into him. He’s slick inside, too, so ready that it takes nothing for Pran to press even deeper. Pat groans. “That’s what you were doing?”
"Yeah. Another," Pat demands, and it's just as easy for Pran to curl a second in beside the first.
Fuck. He's amazing.
Pran surges up one elbow to kiss him again, still fucking into him with his fingers.
Pat gasps into his mouth. Pran moves to sit up more, and Pat pushes him back down. “Let me take care of you, okay?” Pran's hand slips away as Pat reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing another bottle of lube from the drawer and leaving it on the bed beside them.
Um. “How many of those do you have stashed around your apartment?” Pran asks, grinning.
“It’s been a year, okay? I’ve had time to think through some…scenarios.” And that’s just ridiculous, but also hot, and it touches him, that that's who Pat becomes when he's away. A planner.
Pat reaches for the bottom of Pran’s t-shirt; he sits up to let Pat take it off, before reaching for Pat’s towel. Pat smirks when Pran tosses it to the floor. Pat likes it when Pran stops thinking.
He lies back, looking at Pat’s body, raised over him on his knees. Pat’s grin deepens, smug. He takes his cock in his hand, letting Pran watch as he strokes himself. Pran’s been half-hard since Pat let him feel inside of him, and he feels himself twitch in his boxers.
Pat has a beautiful cock, thick and uncut, but when he’s hard like he is now his foreskin pulls back all the way, and Pran loves looking at the flushed head, watching Pat's come bead at the tip. Pran darts between watching the head of Pat's cock disappear into his hand and the look on Pat’s face, eyes dark and shining, lips wet, mouth open. Pran’s hips move involuntarily underneath him.
“Your turn,” Pat says, moving down Pran’s body to pull down his boxers. Pran kicks them off, and Pat crawls forward between his legs. He quickly slips his hands under Pran’s thighs, holding them open, and suddenly he's swallowing Pran’s cock.
It happens too fast for Pran to follow, and Pat's already taking Pran down to the hilt before Pran can react beyond a choked gasp. The pace Pat sets is slow and steady, but it's too much already. Pran writhes under the lick of his tongue amd the suction hold of his lips, but the way Pat's holding his thighs apart, there's nowhere he can go. Pat lets him get used to his mouth before bringing a hand over to hold Pran at his base, palming under his balls, the way Pran likes, meeting his mouth to his hand every time he takes Pran all the way in. Pran throws his head back into the pillows, moaning his lover's name.
Pat hums around him. Pran’s not quite as thick as Pat but just as long, and he wonders if Pat’s been working up to taking him this deep, during their time apart. Pran feels a pang of regret, and even a bit jealous, not having been there to see that, and then he remembers: whatever his well-laid plans, it'd only taken Pat five minutes to abandon them once Pran came through that door. Ha.
Pat pulls off to circle the head of Pran’s cock, before pressing his tongue against the back of his shaft and sinking back down. He looks filthy and beautiful, his unstyled hair falling into his face and his cock still hard, jutting out from where he kneels between Pran’s legs.
“Pat,” Pran gasps, “Come up here.” He opens his arms to Pat, and Pat crawls up the bed until they’re lying side by side.
He wraps one arm under Pat, hauling him up by his lower back until he can reach Pat’s chest with his mouth. He pulls him closer, sealing his lips over one of Pat’s nipples, flicking it with his tongue. “Pran,” Pat’s saying above him. "Fuck, that feels good." He grips Pat's cock between them, jerking him off slowly.
But he wants him closer, even closer than this; he's wanted him for hours. Pran lifts Pat’s thigh, slinging his leg over Pran's hip, and reaches down to line himself up underneath Pat's balls, rutting against his crease.
“Wait,” Pat says, leaning over Pran for the lube, warming it between his palms behind Pran's back as Pran kisses his chest. Pat reaches around to slick Pran's cock and push it back up against him, wrapping his leg around Pran to open himself further. They both moan as Pran drags slickly between them, head almost reaching to Pat’s hole, setting a rhythm.
Pran loves holding him like this, having Pat so close, all over his body. Pat's cock is sliding over his stomach as he laves his tongue across Pat's chest, as he holds him in his arms, as he grazes Pat’s nipple with his tongue and his teeth.
Pran reaches down to his cock, shoving it deeper into Pat's cleft, slapping it a few times between cheeks of Pat’s ass. It’s filthy, but Pran knows Pat loves the sound, loves feeling how hard and eager Pran is for him.
And it’s a signal Pat knows how to interpret because he presses Pran down, flipping him back into the bed to straddle him again.
“Come on,” Pat says, sitting up as he reaches behind him for Pran’s cock.
Pran can’t help it, Pat’s so close to his mouth in this position, so he leans forward to take him in. “Damn it, Pran!” Pat says, grip faltering as Pran bends forward and sucks. Pat lets Pran bob his head on his cock, for all that he whines.
Pran takes advantage of his free hands to knead Pat’s ass, pushing Pat deeper into his mouth. “Oh, fuck,” Pat moans, as Pran trails two fingers down and then slips inside of him. Pran loves this, having Pat trapped between the pleasure of fucking into his mouth and getting fucked by his fingers.
Pat loves it, too—too much. “Pran, stop,” he says voice deepening for a moment, so Pran knows he’s serious.
Pran releases him, leaning back into the pillows. “Okay,” stroking Pat’s cock a few times before letting him go.
"Let me take care of you." Pran can allow that.
He runs his hands up and down Pat’s sides, the hard planes of his chest. “Ok. Take care of me.”
Pat leans forward once to kiss Pran, wet and deep, before reaching back to hold himself open. Pran holds his cock steady by the base as Pat kneels back slowly, slowly sinking down onto him.
Pran tries not to move into that heat he’d missed so much, letting Pat take control. He knows how intense this feels, knows it firsthand, and if they can stay awake long enough, he wants Pat inside him, too.
The pleasure starts to close his eyes but Pran forces them open; he doesn’t want to miss a second of Pat looking like this, feeling every inch of him, sweat starting to plaster his hair to his forehead, eyes wet at the corners.
Pran hands fall to caress Pat’s hips. “Tell me how it feels."
“So good. I missed you.” Pat's seated, now, getting his breath back, one hand braced Pran’s on chest.
“Show me." Pran's voice is reverent as Pat starts to move, slowly, barely canting his hips forward an inch so that Pran stays locked deep inside of him. “Show me how much you missed me.” Pat moans a little each time he brings Pran in, sighs every time he moves back.
“Show me how much you like it.” Pat starts to stroke himself as he fucks Pran, looking back at him with those fierce eyes. Watching Pat like this, half-lost in pleasure, makes Pran crazy, he doesn’t know if Pat even realizes how much.
“Kiss me,” Pran says, sitting up, and the sudden change in angle makes Pat cry out. Pat leans down, letting Pran press his body closer, bringing his hands around Pran’s neck.
For a moment they embrace, just like that, Pran deep inside Pat, only their mouths moving against one another, feeling every touch of each other's lips. Pran feels Pat everywhere, his hands, his neck, his tongue, his hair, around him and inside of him, like they’ve never been this close, and being this close, he might never have to be far from Pat, ever again.
They stay like that, just kissing, until Pran shifts his hips beneath Pat and Pat moans into his mouth, and he knows he’s brushed that spot in him when Pat gasps, mouth falling away from Pran's.
Pran moves one hand under Pat’s throat, pushing him back onto his heels, deeper onto Pran’s cock.
“Pran,” Pat moans, and Pran feels him swallow under his grip. “I need...,” and Pran knows what he needs. He thrusts up under Pat, hitting his prostate again. Pran digs his heels into the bed, and he's fucking Pat as much as Pat's fucking him.
“Yes,” Pat hisses. “Fuck, yes. Please.” Pran drops both hands to Pat’s hips, lifting him up between thrusts, helping him get the leverage they both need. “Yeah, just like that.”
Pat doesn’t have to beg, but he knows what it does to Pran to hear Pat ask for it—and Pran knows what it means to Pat, for Pran to give him what he asks for. Pat's thighs are tight around his body, his whole body clenching and releasing around him every time Pran hits that spot.
Pat’s bouncing on his cock now, gasping Pran’s name, calling him baby every time he lands. They’re being loud, Pran knows, but every slap of skin is getting him closer and he can’t get enough of the way Pat calls out to him as if that could bring him deeper inside.
Pran's torn between watching himself disappear into Pat's body and watching Pat as he comes apart all around him. He can feel Pat’s rhythm sweeping them both away. “Ah, Pat.” Pran clutches his hips tighter, arching into him. “Pat, I’m close.”
“Please,” Pat begs. “Please.” Pran reaches down to grip Pat’s cock in his hand, loving the way his pre-come feels under his hand, the way he gets wetter when Pran doesn't relent, doesn't stop fucking him
He’s moving his fist fast around Pat, and Pat’s watching him do it, his hair falling into his face, breathless, gasps coming one on top of the other.
“There,” he says, as Pran tilts Pat’s hips forward with his other hand, angling him to hit his prostate harder with each thrust. “There, there, there.”
"Come for me, that's what I want, please," and Pran's the one begging now, and Pat obeys.
Everything about Pat clenches around Pran, and Pran wishes he could see it but he’s coming, too, back arching and head thrown back into the pillow, gripping Pat’s hips as he grinds his release into him. Pat rides him through it.
As Pran comes down, Pat’s still sobbing, a little; he covers Pat’s hand with his own, squeezing him gently. Pran thumbs over the head of his cock with the last of Pat’s come until Pat collapses onto Pran's chest, overstimulated.
“Unf,” Pran says. The weight of Pat’s body can feel so light sometimes, but it’s so heavy now that Pat’s not doing his half of the work. Pat nuzzles into him, disregarding the mess he's left all over Pran. “Gross, Pat.” Pat just slides his hands under Pran’s shoulders, holding him tighter.
Pran can't help it. He hugs him, too, hands meeting across Pat’s broad back. Pran’s a bigger cuddler than Pat is, really—they both know it—although he prefers to clean up first. “You want to have to take another shower?”
“I already will have to take a shower,” Pat says into Pran’s chest. “You covered me in spit and came inside me."
Pran slaps his shoulder. Post-coital Pat has never heard of a euphemism. “What was I supposed to do? You didn’t give me a choice.” Both of them groan as Pran slides out of him. Pran reaches over to the damp towel on the bedside table, handing it over to Pat to start cleaning himself off.
“So, Mr. Pran," Pat asks, a few moments later. "Did that last long enough for you?”
“No,” Pran says, honestly. Pat smacks him in the chest, indignant.
“What’re you talking about?! We did everything—we did everything, like, twice!”
Pran casts his eyes up at him, gives him the look. “By no means did we do everything.” Pat swallows like he did at the door. “Besides, Pat, it’s a misconception that sex ends when somebody orgasms. Or even when both people do.”
Pat grins. “So if you were to maybe join me in the shower, and we kept on touching each other, you could say we were still having sex.”
“Some people might say that.”
Pat’s grin deepens. “And then if we were to keep going, after that…”
Pran rolls his eyes. “What, are you going for a record? You want a stopwatch?”
“Maybe. It's helpful data!” Pran grabs the towel and starts rolling it up between his hands. “It’s just data! We could optimize our procedures, you know? Eliminate wasted water!” Pat scrambles off the bed and towards the bathroom, Pran snapping the towel behind him.
—
The water is still warm, cascading over both of them. Pat’s eyes are sleepy as Pran soaps his chest, but he’s half-hard again against him. “We still have all night, right?”, Pat asks him.
Pran kisses his shoulder. "It's almost morning."
"That's alright," Pat says into Pran's neck. "We have forever."