Behind Closed Doors & Open Windows
Warnings: Sexually Explicit Content, Exhibitionism…kind of.
Midterms are around the corner, and Kongpob and Arthit can barely find a minute to spend with each other. Separated by the windows to their dorms, they have to get creative to get intimate.
If Kongpob could put his finger on one thing that had changed between him and his boyfriend in the last year, it would be that Arthit no longer shied away from his every touch. Behind closed doors, at least.
It had taken a month or two for the prickly senior to let Kongpob lace their fingers together on campus without getting antsy and snatching his hand away at the mere sight of one of their friends in the distance. It had taken another few months for him to let his cheeky boyfriend pull him behind the faculty building, hold his face in warm hands and kiss him softly. He would try to enjoy himself, but he’d occasionally peek an eye open lest one of their juniors decided, for whatever reason, to take the back stairs usually reserved as a fire escape route. Even now, he would scowl and tell Kongpob he was ridiculous, but not without being faintly pleased, Kong’s favourite sight of rosy blush creeping into Arthit’s pale cheeks.
In Arthit’s dorm, the door locked and curtains drawn closed, Kongpob revels in the way his boyfriend responds hungrily to any and all of his advances, even going so far as to make the first move sometimes. The first time they had tried to have sex, Kongpob had spent half an hour sitting naked outside the bathroom door reassuring his extremely embarrassed lover that it was okay for him to have finished so quickly, and that he was, in fact, flattered. Over time, though, the two could barely keep their hands and mouths off each other, and Kong now has a semi-permanent hard on just thinking about being in Arthit’s room.The junior remembers the shiver up his spine that he had felt when a normally silent Arthit had pulled him into his room one evening and straight up asked – no, begged – to be fucked against the wall.
So to say that their upcoming midterms had cast an extremely dry spell on their love life is an understatement. Nights usually spent rolling around and gasping out each other’s names between the sheets are now replaced by hours grumbling over math problems and gnawing at highlighters, coffee cups piling up in the trash can.
Tonight is one such night.
It’s past midnight – a little past 1AM, in fact – and Arthit has decided that no amount of studying he does now will even be digested properly anyway, not to mention that he has a 9AM lecture (ugh) the next morning. He stands up and stretches, vaguely glancing outside to find that Kongpob’s lights are still on, the only one on his side of the building.
Kongpob picks up after about five rings.
“Hmm? P’, what’s up?” he doesn’t sound like he was asleep, but he definitely sounds fatigued.
“Why are you still awake?”
It comes out a bit like a scolding, but Kongpob just smiles.
“What time is it?” he says. The weariness is heavy in his voice, his throat irritated from having practised his presentation in the mirror for three hours straight.
“Kong, it’s almost 1:30 in the morning. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“You’re awake, too, P’Arthit.”
“I know, because I was up studying. I was about to call it a night and saw your lights still on.”
“You were watching me, P’?” his boyfriend teases.
“I’m going to bed.” Arthit scowls at nobody.
“Aww, I’m sorry. Don’t hang up yet.”
Kongpob’s smoother-than-silk voice would be considered a lethal weapon if Arthit had his say. Far too many times, he had found himself agreeing to things he didn’t even really like because Kongpob’s stupid dulcet tones had coerced him into them. Like the time he’d somehow said yes to taking his boyfriend to a fairground theme park, thinking they’d play dart games and he’d win Kongpob a teddy bear or something equally pointless and disgustingly cute. Not only was he completely shit at darts, but Kongpob had felt guilty for weeks after seeing Arthit violently throw up as soon as they’d come off a particularly terrifying rollercoaster.
“What do you want to talk about then?” he sighs, flopping down onto his bed, his legs hanging off the edge.
“I miss you, P’.” Kongpob says, his voice quiet and breathy. Arthit knows he isn’t just saying that, because usually, such a declaration would be dripping with flirtation. This is just pure and honest, spoken as truth rather than to get a reaction.
“Yeah…me too.” Arthit admits.
They really hadn’t had much time for each other in the past three weeks. It seems increasingly hard for them to even meet for lunch on campus these days, let alone spend the night in each other’s rooms. Their interactions are limited to quick pecks and fleeting grasps of the hands as they passed in corridors or hurried texts and brief calls good night. Arthit won’t admit it out loud, but he kind of longs for the constant teasing and flirting that comes with the territory of being in a relationship with Kongpob Sutthiluck.
“P’, I want to see you.” Arthit hears shuffling in the background.
“It’s almost 2AM, Kong. I’ve got a 9AM class.”
“Come to the window, then.”
Arthit sighs but obliges. He heaves himself off the mattress, and shuffles to the window. He draws his curtains open wide, to see Kongpob looking back at him, his fingers pressed against the glass.
“Hi,” Kong smiles lovingly, giving a brief wave. Arthit can’t help but smile back.
“Hi,” he says back, placing his own hand to meet Kongpob’s.
It’s the first time they’re properly looking at each other in the past two weeks, and Arthit feels a dull ache in his chest at the realisation that he really, truly just misses seeing and holding his boyfriend.
“How are you, P’Arthit?” Kongpob leans against the window frame.
“Um. Tired? I can’t wait for midterms to end so I can stop reading this stupid textbook.” he gestures vaguely at the desk, trying to choke back any tears that might have bubbled up in his throat. It doesn’t matter how open they’d become with each other, he doesn’t want Kongpob worrying about him just because he’s a little stressed.
“It’ll be over soon. Then maybe we can go to that shabu-shabu place you like. My treat.”
Arthit chuckles. “Okay, sugar daddy.”
“Anything for my sugar baby.” Kongpob laughs, too.
Arthit watches as the tall, tan figure pushes off the frame and moves to the glass again. They gaze longingly at each other for a while longer, before Kongpob sighs noisily, looking down at his feet, his hand on the window curling into a fist.
“I want you so bad, P’.” his junior almost whispers, catching Arthit off guard.
The senior’s cheeks bloom with heat, bashful about his boyfriend’s frankness.
“Kongpob!” he sputters.
“What? It’s been a few weeks already.” he whines.
“Go take care of it in the shower, then.”
“I can’t, it’s not the same.”
“I’m really tired, okay, Kong? It’s not that I don’t want to come over.” he says. It’s true. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to engage in a little rough and tumble followed by cuddles and sweet kisses to his forehead, but he can’t afford to let his grades slip and lose his scholarship for something as trivial as being horny.
“You don’t have to.” comes Kongpob’s response, his voice low. He’s staring intently at Arthit, eyes glistening even in the dim light, ten metres away.
“What do you mean?”
He sees Kongpob come closer to the glass and look up to his left, then right, then scan both directions below him.
“The coast is clear.”
“What are you talking about, Kong?”
The line goes quiet and Arthit takes a step closer to his own window, before almost choking at what he sees.
It’s dark and he can really only make out Kongpob’s usually sharp features roughly, but he is unmistaken at seeing his boyfriend sneak a hand into his sweatpants and touch himself, all the while staring intently, straight at Arthit.
“K-Kongpob! You’re at the window! Anyone could see you!”
Arthit’s breath hitches, and he subconsciously pokes his tongue out to lick at his bottom lip, his breath shaking.
“I’ve already checked, P’Arthit. You’re the only one still awake.” Kongpob’s voice is breathy, needy, and Arthit swallows as he watches the handsome figure pull himself out of the waistband and push the offending garment down his hips, hard cock snapping out of restriction and hanging freely over the elastic.
A warm, tingling heat spreads in Arthit’s abdomen, and he feels his own erection straining in his own shorts. He opens his mouth to protest, but he can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away at the sight of his insatiable lover who now sucks greedily at his own fingers, a wet popping sound coming through the phone as they leave his mouth. Arthit has forgotten how to form words.
“P’…I want you in my mouth.” The same hand, wet from his mouth, trails down his front and makes its way under the hem of his grey sleep shirt, reaching up smooth olive skin stretched over taut muscles to tweak at one of his dark nipples.
“Kong…I-” he chokes out but anything he’s about to say fades away in the fog that has clouded his logic.
“Touch yourself for me, P’. I want to see you.”
Arthit is gripping hard onto his phone and he manages to look away from the unbelievable sight in front of him for several seconds to scan the surrounding windows again. Indeed, no other room has their lights on or their curtains open.
“Please, P’Arthit…” Kongpob’s trembling voice alerts Arthit back to him, and he’s wrapped his long, slender fingers around his hard length again.
Arthit feels his cheeks and ears burn as he lifts the hem of his own shirt and tucks a thumb under the waistband of his boxers and shorts. I must be losing it, he thinks. Slowly and shyly, he pushes them down to his knees, and palms at himself hesitantly, although the mere sight of Kongpob already has him painfully hard. They’d masturbated in front of each other before, but it was one thing to stare at each other through the steam of the shower, and another to have a potential audience of about 80 other students in their dorm complex. He’s glad his horny little shit of a boyfriend has essentially no shame in this moment, because while their sexual escapades in bed thus far had been far from vanilla, Arthit still feels like a prostitute in a church.
“What I would give to be inside you right now…fuck.” Kongpob has an elbow against the glass to hold himself up, and Arthit thinks he might pass out when he sees his lean, athletic junior begin to grind against the glass, squeaking and gliding with his own precum.
“Fuck…Kong…” he pants, never one for many words. And then any hesitation he might have had about peeping eyes from neighbouring rooms melts away as his eyes glaze over with lust at Kongpob’s completely debauched state. The campus moon’s expression is one of both anguish and concentration, eyebrows pinched together, eyes piercing with desperation at Arthit, his bangs damp with sweat against his forehead.
Arthit is completely entranced by the thick flesh smoothly sliding up and down, and before he can convince himself otherwise, he laps sloppily at his own fingers before allowing them to timidly drift behind him, his recently neglected hole begging to be filled, the opening pulsing with every beat of his pounding heart.
He inhales sharply at the pressure of the first finger – easy enough because it’s just one, but spit is a less than ideal lubricant. The second finger makes him wince, but he doesn’t care because he just needs to feel something, anything. He knows he could technically forgo this process, but months of their late night explorations had taught Arthit that, in fact, he loves bottoming, and loves the way Kongpob plants satisfied kisses on his chest when he comes untouched.
“P’Arthit…holy…fuck, are you opening yourself up for me?” comes the desperate whine in his ear. Arthit is amazed at himself for still being able to stand, his eyes brimming with tears at the overwhelming sensation of watching his usually composed boyfriend come undone in front of him, and at his own hand scissoring into his tight warmth. “That’s…mmmph. Look at you…”
“I want to be ready for you – ahhh…” he groans hoarsely as his fingers graze over that spot.
“Come closer…against the glass.” Kongpob has slowed his thrusts now, his free hand cupping his balls.
Arthit does take a step closer, but his length remains away from the window. He’s gasping now, quiet whimpers escaping his mouth as he grinds against his own fingers.
“P’, I’m so close…” Kongpob steps back and wraps his fingers around his own length now, frantically pumping himself, eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open in a silent scream before he releases with an anguished cry, spurting hot and sticky against the glass.
His senior feels his knees growing weaker and weaker as he quirks his fingers inside himself.
“Come for me, P’…you’re so beautiful.” his boyfriend breathes heavily into the receiver, still coming down from his high.
And with that, Arthit groans through his own shaking orgasm, all the blood in his body delivering a warm wave that rushes over every single nerve. He pulls the phone away from his ear now, heaving as he leans against the glass, his warm breath leaving a patch of condensation. It’s only as his hooded lids slowly flutter open that he can see the mess he’s made in front of him.
Kongpob, equally spent from the activity, hears a loud clatter, and startles, looking up to find that Arthit has disappeared from the view of the window. He worries briefly that he might have gone too far and crossed a boundary Arthit hadn’t been ready for.
Soon, however, the fluffy-haired figure returns to the window, this time with a washcloth, haphazardly mopping up the white splatter of cum dripping down the glass. Through the phone, Kongpob can hear Arthit’s faint mutters of never getting my deposit back! and ruining the tile!
He hasn’t pulled his shorts up, and Kongpob can’t help but giggle at the sight. He pulls up his own pants and grabs a few tissues off the desk, cleaning up his own mess.
“You’re adorable, P’.” he says lovingly into the speaker when he sees Arthit pick the phone up off the floor again.
Arthit grumbles something about having to shower again, and tugs his shorts back up, refusing to face the window.
“I love you, P’Arthit. Good night.”
“Uh…” Arthit sits on the edge of his bed now, pulling his knees up to his chin. “Love you, too.”
Kongpob’s smile reaches his ears at this, warmth filling his belly and chest.
“Same time tomorrow night?” he says, a cunning edge to his voice.
“Kongpob! I’m hanging up!”
Unfortunately for Kongpob, they aren’t the only ones up late studying the following evening. Midterms would be over soon, anyway.