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“Hey, what are you getting? Tan?”
Tan startles from his wandering, love-struck thoughts. Both the server and Khaofang are waiting for him to order, the latter with a small, knowing smile that Tan has learned to notice.
“Oh, uh, sorry. This please.”
The server bows and takes their menus. Fang leans forward on the table, supporting his head on a hand, and watches the sun touch the watery horizon. It’s the most coveted seat in the restaurant, and Tan is grateful he had booked it in advance because his boyfriend is breathtaking in the golden light of dusk.
Boyfriend. Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend. Two weeks later and he can still hardly believe it. Tan hadn’t planned to ask Khaofang out so boldly at Loy Krathong, but how could he have resisted when Fang looked so beautiful by the riverside, when he had met Tan’s wide smile with an adorable, shy one of his own. He had pined and flirted for long enough—he had to try.
And now here they are, on their first official date because a last minute class assignment had unfairly robbed Tan of Fang’s company for two entire weeks. Fourteen, grueling days where Tan could have been making out with Fang between classes, spending some quality time at the park or a cute cafe. Instead, Fang had insisted he be left alone, initiating a lingering kiss (their first!!) as apology for the impending drought. And because he hadn’t yet told his friends, Tan was forced to sulk by himself, checking his phone every five minutes for a text from Fang that would inform when he’ll be free from hell.
Khaofang is always a sight for sore eyes, but Tan is giddy with the knowledge that he had put in extra effort for the evening. The glimmering top he has on drapes elegantly off his shoulders, exposing much more neckline and collarbone than can be seen with his uniform. Tan choked on his compliment when he had picked him up, but Fang only smiled as he lowered himself through the passenger door that Tan was holding open.
Tan isn’t modest by any means—he knows he’s handsome, and he’s not afraid to admit it (he’s sure his line of exes would agree). But Fang is…well, Fang. Dignified, glamorous, with a face that nations would go to war for, and the man that Tan has liked for longer than he can remember. Tan is confident, but some days he can’t help but recall Phum’s You aren’t Fang’s ideal type. He would be lying if he said it didn’t have a blow on his ego.
Only a little though, because Tan isn’t blind to the subtle glances in the dim, romantic atmosphere of the restaurant. His sheer black button-up was a good choice.
“You’re staring,” Fang mumbles, colour high on his cheek and deliberately not meeting Tan’s gaze.
Tan grins, reaching out to take one of Fang’s hands. He expected some resistance but is absolutely delighted when Fang lets him interlace their fingers. “I can’t help it when my boyfriend is so beautiful,” he says, adding a sloppy wink for some extra charm. Fang rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away, and that is more than enough for Tan.
He’s loathe to let go when their food arrives. His mocking pout makes Fang giggle and it’s music to his ears, so Tan can forgive the irritating etiquette and convenience of eating with two hands in a formal setting.
They catch up on the years between high school and when they met again at P’Ueai’s bar. Fang talks about his gap year, his parents, and always putting Phum first; he talks about falling in love with architecture, refusing to follow the path his inheritance demanded of him. Tan talks about his brilliant friends and how they all applied to and accepted offers to the same university; he talks about running into Phum on his first day of class and resisting the urge to inquire after Fang for reasons he hadn’t understood.
He talks about realizing that Fang is the one his heart had been yearning for all this time.
“Took you long enough,” Fang mutters, and before Tan can open his mouth to apologize, “you’re lucky I didn’t strangle some sense into you in high school.”
It’s a slip of the tongue, because Fang’s eyes widen and he turns away in embarrassment. Tan takes an extra second to process those words, as that would mean…
“How long have you liked me?” he asks, in disbelief.
Fang shrinks further into his chair. “I don’t like you.”
“Teerak—”
“You didn’t hear anything.”
“Since high school? There’s no way!”
Fang glares at him and Tan is momentarily transported back to that blistering sunny day on the soccer field. He remembers the smug animosity on Fang’s face and being unable to shake their encounter from his thoughts for days.
“You were so oblivious, Tan,” Fang says. He jabs at a piece of chicken on his plate. “To me, and to yourself.”
Their knees were already touching beneath the table. Tan nudges Fang. “I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” Fang’s returning smile and his soft I know is, quite frankly, everything.
Tan pays for dinner like the gentleman that he is and they step into the cooler, moonlit air.
Discovering that their feelings have been mutual for so long makes him want to draw out their date night forevermore—what else does he not yet know? He wants to spend every waking moment with Fang, learn his every tell, his likes and his dislikes. He needs to take Fang to bed and love on him in the biblical sense, however he desires.
But it’s Fang’s first day of relief after two weeks of relentless schoolwork. He must be tired, and Tan only ever wants Fang to be at ease with him. He can be patient. They have time, after all.
“Teerak, let me drive you back to—”
“Take me to your condo.”
It seems like Fang will never stop rendering Tan at a loss for words. He stands, frozen, as Fang looks around for any passersby before leaning in to whisper in his ear, “I’ve waited long enough. I want you, Tan.”
And, well.
Who was he to deny Khaofang?
Tan nearly drops his key three times before he gets his front door open. He grins sheepishly at Fang as he lets him inside. “Sorry, nervous. And excited! I still can’t believe—mmph.”
Fang pushes him against the door and slots their lips together. He wastes no time, tongue seeking entrance, and he’s helpless but to oblige, the heat of the kiss setting his body aflame. It’s aggressive and passionate, a startling but welcome contrast to their first kiss; it reminds him of their meet-not-cute, and Tan is a changed man when he thinks about the inherent homoeroticness of a violent back-and-forth, especially as Fang is kissing him like a dying man in desperate need of oxygen in the shape of Tan’s mouth.
He wraps his arms around Fang’s shoulders, responding with the same enthusiasm and bringing them closer together. The slight height difference drives him insane in a way he can’t adequately describe, and he can tell by the hardness pressed against his own that Fang likes it too. Tan experiments with a roll of his hips, and the moan it elicits from Fang is ruination.
They break the kiss to catch their breath, panting heavily into the infinitesimal space between their lips. This feels like a dream; Tan never wants to wake up. He can’t wait to experience all of Fang’s kisses, the full range of them.
Fang runs his hands down Tan’s sides to his hips. “May I?” he murmurs, and Tan nods. He would agree to anything and everything Khaofang wants to do to him at this moment.
His belt falls with a clink to the floor. Fang unbuttons his slacks and tugs them down alongside his briefs, freeing his cock. Without any preamble, he drops to his knees and takes all of Tan down his throat in one go. He draws back slowly, sucking, until only the head is still enveloped in the heady warmth of his mouth, before gripping the back of Tan’s thighs and setting a steady rhythm that has Tan scrabbling for purchase. There’s a twinge of jealousy, as Tan figures his skill comes from at least some past experience, but it’s brief—Fang is currently kneeling on the tiles of his entrance hall, after all.
“God, babe,” Tan gasps, bringing a hand up to cup Fang’s face where he can feel his jaw working to accommodate the shape of him. Fang looks up, their eyes meeting, and the debauchery of a spit-covered cock disappearing into such an open, angelic face seems almost sacrilegious.
Fang pulls off before Tan can come, a string of precum following until it breaks and hangs down his chin. Tan feels weak, his legs only barely holding him up. He helps Fang to his feet and tugs him towards his bedroom, shucking off his shirt and pants in the process.
Fang is still fully clothed by the time he’s pushed onto Tan’s bed, erection trapped painfully within the confines of his jeans. Tan helps him out of each article, kissing the moles littered across his body as he does so: between his clavicles, on his right rib, the junction of his thighs. When he’s naked among his mussed sheets, Tan steps back to admire his boyfriend. “You’re so gorgeous,” he whispers. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”
“I won’t be for very long if you don’t come here.” Fang pulls him down by the wrist, bringing Tan on top of him. Their bodies align, shoulder to navel to legs, and the sweet friction as they kiss, all wet tongue and messy spit, is an intoxicating cloud that fogs Tan’s mind. He can barely think, fixated solely on Fang’s hands around his bare, undulating ass and the minute gasps between kisses.
With a twist of his hips, Fang reverses their position and sits astride Tan. His eyes are heavy with desire as he runs his fingers down Tan’s chest in a line of fire. Tan would die happily in this moment, seeing Fang so desperate and needy for him. He wishes he were an artist so he could paint the hallowed image of Fang on the throne of Tan’s waist, cock leaking hungrily onto his stomach.
“Where are your condoms and lube?”
“Babe,” Tan has to fight to get any coherent sentences out. “We should go to the bathroom first—”
“I cleaned myself already. You only need to prep me.” And wow, Tan will commit that flush on Fang’s cheek with those words to memory.
“Oh, you wanted this today, huh?” he smirks, gesturing to the bottom drawer of his bedside cabinet. Fang rolls his eyes and reaches over the edge of the mattress. He pours a generous amount of lube onto Tan’s shaking fingers before bringing them around him.
He kisses Tan, once, twice. “I’ve wanted this for years, idiot,” he says, and sinks back on Tan.
His fingers aren’t as long as Fang’s, but he makes good use of them, thrusting and curling and stretching. Fang grips the headboard above him, eyes shut and mouth open, soft groans falling from his lips.
When Fang deems himself ready, he rolls them over again. “Like this,” he says, and of course Tan will bestow anything he asks for, always. Tan settles between his spread legs, wide and obscene. He can’t take his eyes off the way his aching cock slides deliciously against Fang’s hole.
“It’s been a while, baby, I don’t know if…” I can make love to you the way you deserve. Because it’s Khaofang, who only deserves the very best, who chose Tan despite the many, many people who would undoubtedly prostrate themselves before him, who he has liked loved all this time and he doesn’t know how sex is going to be with so much history behind them.
Fang taps his nose, and it’s so endearing Tan wants to cry. “You’re not going to hurt me, Tan. It’s alright.”
He nods, takes a deep breath, and pushes in past the tight furl of muscle. The heat that envelops him is overwhelming. He collapses forward, gasping into Fang’s neck. Tan has had his fair share of lovers and one-night stands, but none of them felt like this. Being inside Fang is homecoming. “Shit— I’m so— fuck, Fang.”
A laugh rumbles through Fang’s body and Tan senses fingers carding through his hair. They stay like that, adjusting, until Fang shifts his hips and lets out an impatient noise. “I need you to move. Please,” he whines, and god, Tan is completely defenseless to any sort of begging (or anything to do with Fang, really). “Fuck me, Tan. Make me yours, inside and out.” The words are pressed into his temple.
Tan doesn’t need any more encouragement. He snaps his hips forward. Again. And again. And again. The pleasure is indescribable, and from the way Fang’s moans reverberate around the confines of the bedroom, Tan is giving it to him just as good.
He rises onto his knees for a better angle, and the movement makes Fang arch off the bed with a shout. Like this, his thrusts speed up, rhythmless and without pretense because Tan simply could not focus on anything aside from the way Fang is stretched around his cock. “You feel so good, baby,” he says, “so good and tight and beautiful for me.”
Tan watches Fang’s expression, slack-jawed in carnal ecstasy, as their bodies rock together. He supposes he doesn’t look much different, lost in his own bliss. Helplessly, Tan brings a hand up to caress his cheek, thumb hooking into Fang’s open mouth. Fang opens his eyes blearily. “I’m close,” he sighs, tugging on his own cock while turning to press a kiss to Tan’s palm.
Tan grits his teeth when he feels Fang constrict around him. He comes with his legs trembling, splattering across his abdomen. Tan drives his hips forward with abandon as he chases his own orgasm. Fang’s whispered Come for me, Tan is what finally sends him over the edge, pressing forward as deep as he can possibly go (and it’s still not enough—he wants to meld himself to Fang, so that no one would be able to tell where he ends and Fang begins) and emptying into the condom with a low groan.
They stay like that, two perfectly fitted puzzle pieces, in the aftermath. Fang looks absolutely magnificent, a vulgar picture of glistening sweat and drying cum. Tan revels in their sexual compatibility and how, if Fang wishes, he will be the only one to see him like this from now on.
As Tan pulls out gently, Fang tilts his head back against the pillow and says, “It’s my turn, next time.”
Tan can already imagine falling apart on Fang’s cock—held up against the wall, maybe, or nothing at all, suspended at the mercy of his boyfriend’s coiled strength—and nods eagerly. Next time.