Pastillita Feliz

Advertencias: Contenido sexualmente explícito
Traducido al español por StSassa

Después de una resaca, Arthit toma una pastilla para aliviar su dolor … y obtiene más placer de lo que esperaba. 

A Arthit le gusta pensar que no es del tipo que se emborracha con facilidad, y la mayoría de las veces que esto sucede, por lo regular es el último aún algo sobrio luego de una particularmente revoltosa noche fuera con sus amigos. Es tanto una bendición como una maldición, porque aunque muy raras veces tiene resaca al día siguiente, a menudo se ve obligado a arrastrar a sus ebrios amigos de regreso a sus dormitorios al final de la noche.

Tutah suele ser el primero en perder la compostura, con frecuencia terminando la noche enroscado y llorando dramáticamente en una esquina por su solitaria situación sentimental y lamentando sus inexistentes relaciones pasadas.

A él le seguía Prem, quien se vuelve extrañamente callado y ve con intensa furia a su vaso de licor sobre la mesa como si estuviera convocando sus poderes telepáticos para romperlo en un millón de pedazos.

Bright se convierte en una exagerada versión de sí mismo, comenzando con coquetearle (sin éxito) a cada chica (y en una ocasión, a un chico) en su campo visual antes de pasar poco a poco a sus entretenidos intentos por seducir objetos inanimados.

Incluso Knot, quien todos han acordado que es el más sensato de su grupo, batalla para mantenerse despierto luego de tres cervezas.

Pero, quizá porque había estado de un particular buen humor esa noche, celebrando el final del semestre o porque sabía que por allí había alguien que lo llevaría a casa, Arthit había bebido más de lo que normalmente bebería. Cuando el alcohol se asentó en su cuerpo, Arthit se había metido de lleno en una sorprendentemente coherente lección sobre los fundamentos de la química orgánica y había enlistado las estructuras atómicas de variados polímeros sintéticos a todo aquel que quisiera escucharlo.

En esta ocasión en particular, el único miembro de su audiencia había sido nadie más que su novio, quien se había mantenido en su mayoría sobrio y escuchando cada palabra, asintiendo convincente a manera de apoyo y ofreciendo cumplidos reconfortantes en el sentido de Eso es fascinante, P’ y Eres tan inteligente, P’, dichos con honestidad y con una sonrisa entretenida y cariñosa. Kongpob apenas prestó atención a sus propios amigos, quienes estaban en variados estados de ebriedad.

Arthit había continuado con su lección todo el camino a su dormitorio, comparando las diferentes ventajas de los moldeos por inyección de polipropileno con aquellos métodos de extrusión. Kongpob había simplemente interpretado el rol del estudiante atento hasta que, al fin, Arthit se había sumergido en un pacífico sueño, murmurando algo sobre cómo esperaba que la tarea le fuera entregada en la próxima clase mientras Kongpob le prometía que sí, haciendo que tomara tragos de agua con la ayuda de un popote.

Cuando se despierta al día siguiente, hace un doble esfuerzo para abrir los ojos ya que la luz solar es especialmente cegadora. Su mente está un poco nublada y siente el inicio de un leve dolor de cabeza, pero es más uno que sentirías luego de colgar mucho tiempo bocabajo de los pasamanos en lugar de una fuerte migraña. Se ha sentido peor antes y agradece que su ligeramente excesiva ingesta de la noche anterior sólo le trajo este leve grado de sufrimiento.

Se rueda hacia su otro lado para darle la espalda a la ventana y se encuentra con el pecho de Kongpob. Su novio está sobre su costado, con la cabeza recargada sobre su mano apoyada sobre su codo.

—Buenos días, P’Arthit —dice en voz baja, colocando un mechón de cabello detrás de la oreja de Arthit. —O casi tardes, supongo.

Arthit echa un vistazo al reloj de pared detrás de Kong. En efecto, ya son las 11 de la mañana. Gruñe ligeramente y después se incorpora para quedar sentado; Kongpob hace lo mismo.

—¿A qué hora regresamos anoche? —parpadea somnoliento y se frota los ojos. Su voz está ronca y un poco áspera, tanto por el sueño como por el alcohol. Contempla el sin duda fresco estado de Kongpob. —¿Ya te duchaste?

—Casi a las 2 am. Y sí, ya me duché. Me desperté sólo un poco antes que tú.

Arthit asiente y con pereza deja caer sus piernas por el borde de la cama, exhalando un deshidratado suspiro antes de caminar lentamente hacia el baño. Se da una larga ducha multipropósito, cepillando sus dientes y orinando mientras el champú se enjuaga de su cabello.

Normalmente le disgustaría la idea de orinar en la ducha, pero está demasiado mareado como para que le importe. Aunque pronto, la mentolada pasta mental y la ducha caliente alivian algo del seco escozor en su garganta y le sirven para despertar un poco más sus sentidos.

Kongpob está en el escritorio, ordenando algunas montañas de papeles cuando Arthit sale del baño con un nuevo conjunto de ropa cómoda. Todavía hay una leve tensión en la parte delantera de su cabeza y masajea sus sienes por sobre la toalla mientras termina de secarse el cabello.

—¿Quieres un analgésico, P’Arthit? —Kongpob le quita la toalla y masajea con gentileza la suave tela sobre su cabello húmedo.

Arthit niega brevemente con la cabeza, observando el rostro de Kongpob mientras este frota con concentración la toalla sobre su nuca.

—Está bien, me he sentido peor luego de una noche fuera.

—Estabas bastante parlanchín anoche, P’ —Kongpob sonríe con burla, acomodando la toalla en el respaldo de la silla del escritorio. —Aprendí mucho sobre diferentes polímeros.

Arthit entrecierra los ojos en una poca entusiasta mirada furiosa.

—Al menos no soy un borracho pervertido o enojado. A nadie le hace daño un poco más de conocimiento.

—No me estoy quejando, P’Arthit.

Se sientan en el borde de la cama, con Arthit subiendo sus piernas al colchón para sentarse de piernas cruzadas.

—¿Algún plan para hoy?

Kongpob niega con la cabeza, apoyándose sobre sus muñecas.

—Estaba pensando que de rato tal vez podríamos salir al campus para comer. ¿Suena bien?

—Sí, está bien —Arthit sigue frotando sus sienes con sus manos en un intento de estimular el flujo sanguíneo fuera de su cabeza y hacia el resto de su cuerpo. —Pero primero tengo que limpiar mi dormitorio. Es un desastre y no he lavado la ropa en una semana.

Kongpob asiente y retira las manos de Arthit de su cabeza, agachándola para dejar un beso furtivo en su frente. Arthit se aparta, ligeramente sonrojado por lo cual su novio sólo ríe.

—¿Seguro que no quieres un analgésico? Te ayudaría más que frotar tu cabeza sin cesar.

Arthit entrecierra los ojos brevemente. Tal vez, sólo tal vez, algo de alivio le vendría bien.

—De acuerdo —dice. —Hay algunos en el armario del baño.

Kongpob asiente y va a traer un vaso con agua mientras Arthit comienza a recoger prendas de varias superficies para apilarlas en su cesto de ropa sucia. Deja el cesto a un lado cuando su menor sale del baño con una pequeña cápsula blanca y le ofrece el vaso.

—Bébela toda. Es probable que también estés deshidratado.

Echándose la pastilla a la boca, Arthit bebe el vaso entero como si fuera lo mejor que ha probado. La humedad alivia su garganta seca al instante.

—Llevaré esto a la lavandería —dice Kong, levantando el cesto lleno. —Vuelvo en unos diez minutos.

Arthit asiente, pasando a tender la cama cuando la puerta se cierra. Sonríe brevemente para sí mismo, en secreto feliz por que su novio se haya quedado con él durante la noche para cuidarlo. No es como si alguna vez fuera a admitirlo, pero le gusta ser consentido de vez en cuando y, en su estado actual, no está realmente de humor como para rechazar el afecto que Kongpob está a dispuesto a darle.

Mientras extiende la sábana sobre el ancho del colchón, percibe el familiar aroma de la limpia y almizcleña esencia de Kongpob. Pasa una mano sobre la sábana para alisarla y empieza a sentirse ligeramente sudado; su piel cosquilleando por la ligera humedad. Debe estar desarrollando una fiebre leve, de ahí el dolor de cabeza, y el analgésico lo está ayudando a transpirarla. Aunque nunca antes le habían hecho efecto tan rápido.

Mientras acomoda las almohadas, golpeándolas repetidas veces para que estén lo suficientemente acolchonadas, la cama cruje con ligereza por el impacto. Su pecho comienza a sentirse tibio con una sensación que se le hace familiar, pero que por el momento no puede identificar. La ignora, pasando a recoger sus desordenados libros de texto para apilarlos en la mesita auxiliar.

Sin embargo, es cuando se ve al espejo de la mesa auxiliar cerca de la puerta que ve sus pupilas dilatadas; su respiración se siente pesada y su sangre corre por sus venas como una corriente de agua tibia sobre sus nervios. Su nuca está empapada, no por su cabello recién lavado, sino por el sudor.

Pronto, Kongpob abre la puerta y coloca el cesto de ropa bajo el lavabo del baño antes de notar que Arthit se ha quedado mirándose a sí mismo en el espejo de la mesita auxiliar.

—¿P’Arthit? ¿Estás bien?

Kongpob se mueve para tomar la mano de Arthit, tirando de él para mirar su rostro, con sus ojos bien abiertos por la preocupación. Arthit no responde, se encuentra mirando directo a los brillantes ojos de Kongpob; sus propios párpados se encuentran entreabiertos mientras su mirada baja a los rosados y tentadores labios de su novio.

Kongpob sólo sonríe y se inclina hacia adelante para presionar con suavidad sus labios sobre los de Arthit en un beso dulce y paciente, con sus bocas moviéndose una sobre la otra en un tranquilo ritmo. Algo parece agitarse dentro de Arthit cuando siente los brazos de su novio envolviéndose alrededor de su cintura; una más intensa oleada de hormigueo lo ataca y entonces reconoce la bastante familiar sensación que se ha estado formando en su pecho durante los últimos minutos.

El ligero sudor, el tibio cosquilleo en su piel, el hormigueo.

No tiene fiebre. Está… caliente.

Y en vez de hacer una pausa para preguntarse el porqué, principalmente porque ya están besándose y porque detenerse para Googlear sus “síntomas” en este momento de alguna forma sería más vergonzoso que admitir que está excitado, decide sucumbir ante los deseos de su cuerpo. Kongpob casi se aleja sobresaltado cuando siente a Arthit exhalar pesado y tirar de él para acercarlo, profundizando el beso simple para convertirlo en uno ardiente y desesperado.

Se alarma incluso más cuando Arthit es quien hambriento captura sus labios de nuevo, tragándose su jadeo de sorpresa cuando su espalda choca con la pared cercana a la puerta principal. Arthit no está seguro de qué está pasando, pero todo lo que sabe en este momento es que siente una sed mortal que sólo puede satisfacer al besar a su novio. Sus manos parecen tener mente propia, sujetándose del material a los costados de la camisa de Kongpob mientras su boca se mueve hacia abajo para dejar húmedos roces sobre la afilada mandíbula de su menor.

—P-P’Arthit… —Kongpob exhala un susurro, alzando sus manos para enterrar sus dedos en el cabello de Arthit. —¿Te… te sientes bien?

—Cállate, Kong —respuesta viene baja y casi en un gruñido mientras sus manos hacen su camino hacia el dobladillo de la camisa de su novio, tirando de la tela hacia arriba por su pecho mientras baja la cabeza para dejar más besos calientes y húmedos en la piel bronceada. Pronto, tira de molesta camisa para sacarla sobre la cabeza de Kongpob y se saca la propia antes de lanzar ambas a su lado sobre el piso, para la gran pero comprensible sorpresa de su pareja.

Él ya puede sentir su erección creciendo dentro de sus bóxers, suplicando cualquier tipo de contacto. Sus labios se toman un descanso de los de Kongpob, apartándose apenas un poco para mirar sus pupilas dilatadas, intentando comunicar sin palabras su desesperación por ser tocado.

Por suerte, el más joven parece entender su silenciosa súplica, haciendo avanzar a Arthit de espaldas hasta que este está recargado contra la otra pared; con manos yendo a tientas por la piel pálida y lechosa y pulgares rozando oscuros pezones rosados, duros incluso desde antes del ardiente contacto.

La desesperación de Arthit se exterioriza con ahogados gemidos y con su respiración rápida y agitada, intentando empujar de forma sutil la cabeza de Kongpob más hacia abajo hasta que su novio se da cuenta de qué es lo que quiere de él.

—P’Arthit, nunca te había visto tan… —Kongpob respira, llegando frente a la dolorosamente dura longitud de Arthit que hace una carpa dentro de sus bóxers— …necesitado.

—Lo juro por Dios, Kong… —gime Arthit. Su pulgar juega con el elástico de sus propios bóxers, pero aún manteniendo un rastro de su usual indecisión. Su pecho, entrepierna e incluso su rostro le duelen por el deseo, y si Kongpob no hace algo pronto, él va a… —Oh, maldición

Su voz tiembla cuando Kongpob se apresura a bajar el material azul y no pierde el tiempo para tomar el rojo e inflamado largo en su boca, chupando suavemente la cabeza que ya está cubierta de preseminal. Arthit enreda sus dedos en los oscuros mechones de Kongpob, intentando no tirar muy fuerte, pero sintiendo la necesidad de sujetarse de algo.

Kongpob da un provocador lengüetazo desde la base del falo de su pareja, con su lengua apenas rozándolo y deteniéndose de forma ocasional para presionar suaves y pausados besos a lo largo de la sobresaliente vena.

—Maldita sea, deja de jugar, Kong —Arthit dice ahogado, entre dientes. Su agarre en el cabello del menor no puede ser más apretado. Kongpob está un poco aturdido, pero lo toma en su boca, con sus labios estirándose alrededor de su circunferencia y con la punta de su lengua haciendo círculos bajo el largo antes de jadear, siendo halado con brusquedad por los cabellos de su nuca y con su boca volviendo a chocarse voraz con la de Arthit.

—¿Cama? —Susurra Kongpob sobre la mejilla de Arthit mientras el mayor le saca los shorts y la ropa interior de una sola vez, tomando con firmeza entre sus manos sus glúteos pequeños pero firmes. Arthit niega rápido con la cabeza, con un dedo recorriendo descuidado la longitud goteante de su novio. —¿Estás seguro? Será más cómodo.

—Yo… eh… acabo de tender la cama —Arthit echa la cabeza hacia atrás con un gruñido mientras Kong ríe; su aliento se siente caliente sobre el hueco del cuello de su novio, enviando temblores a todo su cuerpo. Apenas empezaron a besarse hace unos pocos minutos, pero un hambre voraz por el contacto se propaga por su cuerpo y bien podría explotar por la necesidad si no se le satisface pronto.

—Pero… lubricante… y condones… —Kong susurra débilmente mientras empieza a frotarse a ciegas contra su novio; sus erecciones se deslizan descuidadamente una contra la otra, arrancando el más hermoso gemido de los labios de Arthit.

—No me importa. Sólo… sólo hazlo aquí.

—¿Estás seguro? Está justo a…

Maldita sea, Kong, ¡no voy a quedar embarazado!

El normalmente impasible hazer toma la mano de Kongpob y se la lleva a la boca, chupando con entusiasmo los dedos morenos y delgados mientras siguen meneando sus caderas. Su menor sólo se queda mirando incrédulo a los hinchados y rosados labios entre los cuales desaparecen sus dedos, aún intentando procesar lo que está sucediendo, pero sin quejarse de ninguna forma. Decidiendo que los dedos están lo suficientemente húmedos, Arthit se gira; con una mano se sujeta a la pared y la otra empuja la mano de Kongpob hacia abajo a su arrugada entrada.

Por supuesto, Kongpob se toma su tiempo, insertando con gentileza el primer dedo con tentadores y leves movimientos; su boca está presionada bajo la oreja de Arthit, succionando la piel de allí y provocándole necesitados jadeos en tono alto.

—¿Estás seguro de que no sigues ebrio, P’? —dice, moviendo un segundo dedo dentro del agujero caliente y húmedo, haciendo tijeras poco a poco y con cuidado.

—¿Me oyes h-hablándote de… ahhhh, polietileno? —gimotea, aún intentando sonar de cierto modo intimidante a pesar de su dolorosamente dura longitud nublando sus pensamientos.

—No me molestaría —Kongpob ríe ligeramente, tomando el lóbulo de Arthit entre sus dientes y mordisqueando la piel con suavidad. —Eres muy sexy cuando me hablas de ingeniería de polímeros.

—¡Kongpob! —Intenta regañar a su menor, pero sale más como un chillido de placer. —¡D-Deja de hablar y tómame ya! —grita en un susurro, dándose la vuelta y trayendo a su estupefacto menor hacia él.

—Yo… ¡S-Sí, P’!

Kongpob tartamudea, pero se acerca más y engancha la pierna de Arthit tras su espalda antes de alinearse a su entrada. Escupe en su mano, dándole a su propio pene palpitante unas caricias más antes de introducir lentamente la punta, ganándose un siseo (¿de placer? ¿de dolor?) por parte del mayor, cuyos ojos están fuertemente cerrados. Kongpob se estremece por la sensación de carne con carne, sintiendo por primera vez la calidez de la apretada caverna de su pareja en su totalidad, con la respiración temblorosa cuando está todo dentro.

Arthit atrae hacia él el rostro de su pareja, sintiendo la necesidad de besarlo tanto para ocultar su propia vergüenza como para aliviar la penetrante sensación en su parte baja. Se quedan uno contra el otro por algunos momentos, sólo respirando con tranquilidad sobre la boca del otro y rozando sus narices. Algunos jadeantes besos más y entonces las piernas en alto de Arthit lo atraen más cerca, indicándole a Kong que debe moverse.

Los labios de ambos chicos estallan en audibles y urgentes gemidos conforme Kongpob lentamente adopta un ritmo constante, con una mano presionada contra la pared a un lado de la cabeza de Arthit para sostenerse.

—Mmm… Kong… —Arthit apenas puede mantener los ojos abiertos, con su cabeza chocando con la pared detrás de él mientras su próstata es golpeada repetidas veces. Su inminente clímax crece más rápido de lo que sucedería normalmente, pues sus cuerpos sólo han estado unidos por menos de un minuto. Ahora jadea por aire, emitiendo agitados alaridos de deliciosa angustia conforme los movimientos de Kongpob empujan su cuerpo hacia arriba con cada estocada. —Voy a… ¡mmrnnnaghhh!

Amortigua su grito en el hombro de su novio, con su cuerpo entero apretándose alrededor del largo de Kongpob. Erupciona repetidas veces sobre el estómago de Kongpob, paralizado momentáneamente por su abrumadora liberación. Nunca había sentido un orgasmo así de intenso y ahora está inmóvil y entumecido contra la pared, apenas temblando cuando siente que las caderas de Kongpob tiemblan contra las suyas y que tibios chorros de semen se derraman dentro de él, indicando el final de su pareja.

Pasa alrededor de otro minuto con Kongpob sosteniéndolo antes de que Arthit pueda volver a sentir las piernas lo suficiente como para sostenerse de pie por sí mismo. Hace una ligera mueca por el dolor cuando Kongpob sale de él, besando lentamente su jadeante boca a manera de distracción.

Kongpob está ahora recuperando su propia respiración, con ambos resplandeciendo por el sudor.

—Estás… duro de nuevo, P’ —dice en voz baja, mirando hacia abajo entre ellos. En efecto, la longitud de Arthit sigue sacudiéndose erecta, aunque para nada tan ansiosa por el contacto como lo había estado antes.

Su rostro se sonroja y le da gusto poder echarle la culpa parcialmente a su actividad, pero incluso así escapa del espacio entre Kongpob y la pared antes de ir hacia el baño, cerrando la puerta detrás de él. Avergonzado se pasa una mano por el rostro, sintiendo un hilo de semen que baja por su muslo; después entra a la ducha por segunda vez esa mañana.

¿Qué rayos le dio para atacar así a su novio y comportarse como un desvergonzado? Gruñe por la humillación mientras enjuaga la espuma de su cuerpo, alcanzando su parte trasera para limpiar la adolorida entrada un poco más a fondo.

Es cuando se está mirando al espejo que recuerda que se suponía que saldrían a comer, así que luego de vestirse y con una toalla alrededor de los hombros, abre el armario del baño para buscar su gel fijador. Pero algo más le llama la atención.

Toma un paquete de analgésicos y entrecierra los ojos por la confusión. El paquete sigue lleno, ni una sola pastilla ha sido extraída, lo cual significa que…

Vuelve a levantar la cabeza y entonces lo ve. Es otro paquete con pastillas blancas que son casi idénticas. Nunca sabrías la diferencia a menos que te tomaras el tiempo de leer la pequeña impresión azul en el brillante aluminio.

—Kong —dice a secas, saliendo del baño.

Su novio simplemente se ha vuelto a colocar sus bóxers, listo para su propio turno bajo la ducha. Levanta la mirada al oír que lo llaman por su nombre.

—¿Uhmm?

—¿Qué me diste hace rato? —Sostiene en alto los dos paquetes.

Kongpob mira los dos paquetes plásticos y se encoge de hombros, con el ceño fruncido en pregunta.

—¿Analgésicos?

Arthit cierra los ojos con incredulidad, presionando el puente de su nariz. Sostiene en alto el paquete sin abrir, mostrándolo a su menor.

—Estos —lo sacude en énfasis— son analgésicos. Estos —alza el otro paquete abierto— son…

Baja la voz, no queriendo creer siquiera que tiene que decirlo en voz alta.

—¿Qué son, P’? —Kongpob se pone de pie, quitándole el segundo paquete y entrecerrando los ojos para inspeccionar las pequeñas letras. —¿Qué es Spanish Fly?

—¡No las compré yo! —Protesta. —Bright los compró como una broma… cuando recién empezamos a salir.

—¿Qué? No entiendo. ¿No son analgésicos? Entonces, ¿qué son?

—Son… —suspira y gira los ojos, sintiendo las mejillas tibias hasta las orejas. —Un afrodisíaco.

La expresión de confusión de Kongpob se vuelve una de auténtica diversión antes de reír alto, trayendo el ahora muy rojo rostro de Arthit hacia él y besando la arruga que se ha formado entre sus furiosas cejas.

—Owww, P’ —ríe cuando Arthit lo empuja por el hombro.

—Voy a matar a Bright —murmura, quitándole el paquete en un intento de tirarlas a la basura antes de que Kongpob lo tome del brazo para detenerlo.

—Bueno, P’Arthit… —dice, acercándose un paso y con una sonrisa maliciosa formándose en sus labios. —Al menos tu dolor de cabeza se fue. Tal vez deberías tomar una de nuevo la próxima vez que tengas resa…

—¡Kongpob! ¡Ve a ducharte y vístete!

Disclaimer: Esta historia fue escrita exclusivamente con fines de entretenimiento. Por favor no tomen afrodisíacos sin indicaciones médicas… aunque suelan ser inofensivos en pequeñas dosis (como en este caso), a veces tienen dañinos efectos secundarios. Bright como amigo a veces es un dolor de cabeza (en un juego de palabras no intencional).

Traducido al español por StSassa

Happy Little Pill

Warnings: Sexually Explicit Content, Non-Narcotic Drug Use

Nursing his hangover, Arthit takes a pill to ease the pain…and gets more pleasure than he asked for.

Arthit likes to think that he’s not the type to get drunk easily, and more often that not, he’s usually the last one still somewhat sober after some particularly rowdy nights out with the guys. It’s both a blessing and curse, in that while he rarely feels hungover the next day, he’s often stuck with the task of hauling his inebriated friends back to their dorms at the end of the night.

Tootah is usually the first to lose his composure, often ending the night by curling up and dramatically crying in one corner over his solitary relationship status and mourning his non-existent past relationships.

He’s closely followed by Prem, who becomes oddly quiet and vehemently glares at his liquor glass on the table as if conjuring up telepathic powers to break it into a million shards.

Bright becomes an exaggerated version of his usual self, starting by (unsuccessfully) hitting on every girl (and one time, a guy) in his line of vision, before gradually moving on to rather entertaining attempts at seducing inanimate objects .

Even Knot, who is unanimously agreed to be the most level-headed member of their group, struggles to stay awake after about three beers.

But, possibly because he’d been in a particularly high spirits that night, celebrating the end of the semester, or because he knew that someone would be around to take him home, Arthit had had a few more drinks than he normally would. As the alcohol settled, he’d launched into a surprisingly coherent lecture for anyone who would listen to him about the basic principles of organic chemistry and listing off the atomic structures of various synthetic polymers.

In this particular instance, his sole audience member had been none other than his boyfriend, who’d remained mostly sober, and had listened to every word, convincingly nodding in encouragement and offering reassuring compliments to the effect of That’s fascinating, P’, and You’re so smart, P’, delivered in earnest with an amused, endearing smile. Kongpob barely even pays mind to his own friends, who are in various states of drunkenness themselves.

Arthit had continued his lecture all the way back to his dorm, comparing the different advantages of injection moulding of polypropylene versus those of extrusion methods. Kongpob had simply played the part of the attentive student until finally, Arthit had slowly drifted off into a peaceful sleep, muttering something about how he expected the supposed assignment to be turned in next lecture while Kongpob had promised him as such, feeding him sips of water through a straw.

When he stirs the next day, he tries twice as hard to force his eyes open, the daylight especially blinding to him. His head is a little foggy and he feels the beginning of a minor headache, but more in the way that one might feel after hanging upside down from a monkey bar for too long rather than a full on pounding migraine. He’s felt worse before, and is grateful that his slightly excessive intake the previous night had only brought him this minor extent of suffering.

He rolls onto his other side to face away from the window, and is met with Kongpob’s chest. His boyfriend is lying on his side, head resting on his propped up hand held up by his elbow.

“Good morning, P’Arthit,” he says gently, tucking a tuft of hair behind Arthit’s ear. “Or, almost noon, I guess.”

Arthit squints at the clock on the wall behind Kong. Indeed, it’s already 11AM. He groans slightly, then shifts himself up into a sitting position, Kongpob doing the same.

“What time did we get back last night?” he blinks blearily and rubs his eyes. His voice is hoarse and a bit scratchy, both from sleep and the alcohol. He takes in Kongpob’s decidedly fresh-looking state. “Did you already shower?”

“Almost 2AM. And yes, I’ve already showered. I only woke up a little bit before you.”

Arthit nods, and lazily drops his legs over the edge of the bed, heaving a dehydrated sigh before slowly padding to the bathroom. He takes a multi-purpose, all-encompassing shower, brushing his teeth and peeing while the shampoo rinses out of his hair.

Normally, he’d be grossed out at the idea of taking a piss in the shower, but he’s too groggy to care. Soon enough, though, the minty toothpaste and hot shower alleviate some of the dry burning in his throat, and serve to awaken his senses just a little more.

Kongpob is at the desk, tidying up a few stacks of papers as Arthit comes out of the bathroom in a fresh set of comfortable clothes. There’s still a mild tension in the forefront of his head, and he rubs his temples through his towel as he finishes drying his hair.

“Do you need a painkiller, P’Arthit?” Kongpob takes the towel from him and gently massages the fluffy cloth over his damp hair.

Arthit shakes his head briefly, watching Kongpob’s face as he intently rubs the towel at the nape of his neck.

“It’s fine, I’ve felt worse after a night out before.”

“You were very talkative last night, P’,” Kongpob grins teasingly, draping the towel over the back of the desk chair. “I learned a lot about different polymers.”

Arthit narrows his eyes in a half-hearted glare.

“At least I’m not a perverted or angry drunk. Nobody ever got hurt with a little more knowledge.”

“I’m not complaining, P’Arthit.”

They sit at the end of the bed, Arthit pulling his legs up on the mattress to sit cross-legged.

“Any plans for today?”

Kongpob shakes his head, leaning back on his wrists.

“I was thinking maybe we could go off campus for lunch later. That sound good?”

“Yeah, okay,” Arthit continues rubbing at his temples with the heels of his palms, an attempt to stimulate blood flow out of his head and through the rest of his body instead. “But I need to clean my room first. It’s a mess and I haven’t done laundry in a week.”

Kongpob nods, and pulls Arthit’s hands away from his head, pulling it down to plant a furtive kiss on his forehead. Arthit shuffles away, slightly pink, at which his boyfriend just chuckles.

“Are you sure you don’t need a painkiller? It would help more than endlessly rubbing your head.”

Arthit squeezes his eyes shut briefly. Maybe, just maybe, he could do with some relief.

“Fine,” he says. “There are some in the bathroom cabinet.”

Kongpob nods, and goes to fetch a glass of water as Arthit begins picking up stray clothing items off of various surfaces and piling them into his laundry basket. He sets the basket aside when his junior comes out of the bathroom with a small, white capsule and hands him the glass.

“Drink all of it. You’re probably dehydrated, too.”

Chucking the pill back, he glugs down the entire glass as though it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Instantly, the moisture sends relief down his dry throat.

“I’ll take this to the laundry room,” Kong says, picking up the full basket. “Be back in about ten minutes.”

Arthit nods, moving to make the bed as the room door clicks shut. He briefly smiles to himself, secretly glad that his boyfriend had stayed with him overnight to look after him. Not that he would ever admit it, but he liked being pampered every so often, and in his current state, he’s not really in the mood to refuse whatever affection Kongpob is willing to shower him with.

As he’s lifting the blanket over the width of the mattress, he catches a familiar whiff of Kongpob’s clean, musky scent. He runs a hand over the blanket to smooth it out, and begins to feel himself sweat slightly, his skin pricking with the faintest sheen of moisture. He must have been harbouring a mild fever, hence the headache, and the painkillers are helping him sweat it out. He’d never had them take effect so quickly before, though.

As he’s adjusting the pillows, smacking them repeatedly so they’re just the right amount of fluffy, the bed creaks slightly from the impact. His chest begins to warmly tingle with a sensation that he’s familiar with, but can’t at that moment quite put his finger on. He ignores it, moving to stack his loosely strewn textbooks into a pile on the end table.

However, it’s as he looks at himself in the mirror at the end table near the door, that he sees his pupils blown wide, and his breath feels heavy, his blood trickling through his veins like a gush of warm water over his nerves. The nape of his neck is damp, although not from his washed hair, but from sweat.

Soon, Kongpob pushes the door handle open, placing the laundry basket into the bathroom under the sink, before noticing that Arthit is just staring at himself in the end table mirror.

“P’Arthit? Are you okay?”

He moves to take Arthit’s hand, pulling him towards him to look at his face, eyes wide with concern. Arthit doesn’t answer, finding himself looking straight into Kongpob’s bright eyes, his own half-lidded as his gaze flickers down to his boyfriend’s alluring, pink lips.

Kongpob just smiles, and leans forward to press his lips softly against Arthit’s in a sweet, patient kiss, mouths gently nibbling at each other at a comfortable pace. Something seems to stir in Arthit as he feels his boyfriend’s arms snake around his waist, the wave of tingling nerves washing over him even more intensely now, and he recognises the well-acquainted sensation that’s been building up in his chest for the past few minutes.

The faint sweating, the heated prickling of his skin, the tingling nerves.

He doesn’t have a fever. He’s…horny.

And rather than pausing to question why, mostly because they’re already kissing and stopping to Google his ‘symptoms’ right now somehow seems more embarrassing than admitting that he’s turned on, he decides to give in to his body. Kongpob almost startles back when he feels Arthit exhale heavily and pull him closer, deepening their simple kiss into a searing, desperate one.

He’s further alarmed when Arthit is the one to hungrily capture his lips again, drinking in his gasp as his back hits the wall near the front door. Arthit isn’t sure what’s happening, but all he knows is that right now, he feels a dying thirst that can only be quenched by kissing his boyfriend. His hands seem to have a mind of their own, grasping at the material at the sides of Kongpob’s shirt as his mouth moves down to leave wet, open mouthed grazes against his junior’s sharp jaw.

“P-P’Arthit…” Kongpob whispers breathily, bringing his hands up to dig his fingers into Arthit’s hair. “Are…are you feeling okay?”

“Shut up, Kong,” comes the response, low and almost growling as his hands work their way to the hem of his boyfriend’s shirt, shoving the soft fabric up his chest as he lowers his head to leave more hot, moist kisses on tanned skin. Soon, he’s pulling the offending shirt over Kongpob’s head, and wrestling his own off before tossing both on the floor beside them, much to his lover’s understandable shock.

He can already feel his erection growing in his boxers, begging for any sort of contact. His lips take a break from Kongpob’s, pulling back only slightly to look into his fully blown pupils, trying to wordlessly communicate his desperation to be touched.

Thankfully, the younger male seems to receive his silent plea, walking Arthit backwards until he’s leaning against the other wall, hands groping their way down pale, milky skin and thumbs grazing over pinkish-brown nipples, hard even before the heated contact.

Arthit’s desperation comes out in choked whimpers, his breaths sharp and quick, trying subtly to push Kongpob’s head further down until his boyfriend realises what it is he wants from him.

“P’Arthit, I’ve never seen you so…” Kongpob breathes, coming face to face with Arthit’s painfully hard length tenting in his boxers. “…needy.”

“I swear to god, Kong…” Arthit groans, his thumb toying with the elastic of his own boxers, but still maintaining a trace of his usual hesitance. His entire chest, groin and even his face is aching with desire, and if Kongpob doesn’t do something soon, he’s going to-

“Oh, fuck…” his voice trembles as Kongpob makes quick work of pulling down the sheer blue material and wasting no time taking the angry red length into his mouth, sucking softly at the head that’s already glazed with pre-cum. Arthit tangles his fingers in Kongpob’s dark locks, trying not to pull too hard, but needing to hold onto something.

Kongpob runs a teasing lick from the base of his lover’s shaft, his tongue barely darting out, and occasionally he pauses to press soft, deliberate kisses along a protruding vein.

“Quit fucking around, Kong,” Arthit chokes out through clenched teeth, his grasp on the younger’s hair impossibly tighter. Kongpob is a little stunned, but takes him into his mouth, lips stretched around the girth and circling the tip of his tongue under the length, before he gasps, harshly being pulled back up by the hairs on the base of his neck, mouth meeting ravenously with Arthit’s again.

“Bed?” Kongpob whispers against Arthit’s cheek as the elder is shoving his shorts and underwear down together, firmly grabbing handfuls of his small, but firm, buttocks. Arthit shakes his head rapidly, finger tugging haphazardly at his boyfriend’s leaking length. “Are you sure? It’ll be more comfortable.”

“I…uh…I just made the bed,” Arthit’s head rolls back in a groan as Kong chuckles, his breath hot against the crook of his boyfriend’s neck, sending shivers through his body. They’d barely started kissing just mere minutes ago, but a raw hunger for contact is raging through him, and he may actually implode with need if he isn’t satisfied soon.

“But…lube…and condoms…” Kong gasps out lamely as he begins to blindly grind himself against his boyfriend, their erections carelessly sliding against each other, producing the most beautiful moan from Arthit’s lips.

“I don’t care. Just…just do it here.”

“Are you sure? It’s right th-“

“For fuck’s sake, Kong, I’m not going to get pregnant!”

The normally stoic hazer grabs Kongpob’s hand and brings it up to his mouth, sucking on the tan, slim digits greedily as they continue to roll their hips together. His junior just stares incredulously at the puffy pink lips that his fingers disappear between, still trying to process what’s happening, but in no way complaining. Deciding that the fingers are wet enough, Arthit turns himself around, one hand grasping at the wall, the other pushing Kongpob’s hand down to his puckering entrance.

Of course, Kongpob takes his time, gently inserting the first finger with tantalisingly slow movements, his mouth pressed beneath Arthit’s ear, suckling at the skin there and drawing out needy, high-pitched gasps.

“Are you sure you’re not still drunk, P’?” he says, maneuvering a second finger into the warm, wet hole, scissoring into it gently and gradually.

“Do you hear me l-lecturing you – ahhhh – about polyethelene?” his whimpers, still trying to sound somewhat intimidating, despite his painfully hard length slowly overtaking the thinking process.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Kongpob chuckles slightly, taking Arthit’s earlobe between his teeth, grazing lightly over the skin. “You’re very sexy when you talk about polymer engineering.”

“Kongpob!” he tries to scold his junior, but it comes out as more of a pleasured cry. “S-stop talking and just fuck me already!” he whisper-yells, turning back around and pulling his stunned junior towards him.

“I…y-yes, P’!” 

Kongpob stammers, stepping closer yet and hooking Arthit’s leg behind his back before lining himself to his entrance. He spits into his hand, giving his own throbbing cock a few more pumps before pushing the head in slowly, earning a hiss (of pleasure? of pain?) from the elder, whose eyes are squeezed shut. Kongpob shudders at the raw sensation, for the first time feeling the full extent of his lover’s warm, impossibly tight cavern, his breath trembling when he’s fully inside.

Arthit pulls his lover’s face towards him, feeling the need to kiss him, both to hide his own embarrassment as well to soothe the sharp sensation in his nether regions. They still against each other for a few moments, simply breathing lazily into each other’s mouths and grazing their noses together. Several more breathy kisses, and then Arthit’s raised leg pulls him closer, indicating for Kong to move.

Both boys’ lips erupt with loud, urgent moans as Kongpob slowly builds up a steady rhythm, one hand pressed against the wall beside Arthit’s head to steady himself.

“Mmm…Kong…” Arthit can barely keep his eyes open, his head thrashing against the wall behind him as his prostate is repeatedly pounded into. His impending climax escalates far sooner than it normally would, their bodies only having been fused together for less than a minute. He’s gasping for air now, shaken cries of delicious anguish emitting from him as Kongpob’s movements jolt his entire body upwards with each thrust. “I’m gonna…mmrnnnaghhh!”

He muffles his scream into his boyfriend’s shoulder, his entire body clenching around Kongpob’s length. He erupts repeatedly against Kongpob’s stomach, paralysed momentarily by his all-consuming release. He’s never felt an orgasm this intense before, and he’s motionless and numb against the wall now, just barely shuddering when he feels Kongpob’s hips shake against him and the warm eruption of cum spill inside of him, indicating his lover’s own finish.

It takes another minute or so of Kongpob holding him up before Arthit can feel his legs again enough to stand on his own. He winces slightly as Kong slips out of him, lazily kissing his still panting mouth as a distraction.

Kongpob is catching his own breath now, both of them now shiny with sweat.

“You’re…already hard again, P’.” he says quietly, looking down between them. Indeed, Arthit’s length is still twitching and erect, although nowhere near as hungry for contact as it had been previously.

His face flushes, and he’s glad that he can blame it partially on their activity, but he still sidesteps out of the space between Kongpob and the wall, before slipping into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He rubs a hand over his face in embarrassment, feeling the trickle of cum running down his thigh, then steps into the shower for the second time that morning.

What on earth had possessed him to maul his boyfriend like that and behave like a wanton harlot? He groans in humiliation as he rinses away the suds from his body, reaching behind himself to clean the sore opening a little more thoroughly.

It’s as he’s looking in the mirror that he remembers that they’re supposed to go out for lunch, so after he gets dressed, towel around his shoulders, he opens the bathroom cabinet for his hair wax. But something else catches his eye.

He picks up the blister pack of painkillers, and narrows his eyes in confusion. The pack is still full, not a single pill having been taken out, which means –

His head snaps back up, and he sees it. It’s another blister pack, the white pills almost identical. You would never know the difference unless you took the time to read the tiny blue print in the shiny foil.

“Kong,” he says tersely, coming out of the bathroom.

His boyfriend has simply pulled his boxers back on, ready for his own turn in the shower. He looks up upon hearing his name being called.

“Mmm?”

“What did you give me earlier?” he holds up the two blister packs.

Kongpob looks between the two plastic packs and shrugs, brows furrowed in question.

“Painkillers?”

Arthit shuts his eyes in disbelief, pinching the bridge of his nose. He holds up the unopened blister pack, showing it to his junior.

“These,” he shakes it for emphasis. “Are painkillers. These,” he holds up the other, opened pack. “Are…”

He trails off, not even believing he has to say it out loud.

“Are what, P’?” Kongpob stands up, taking the second blister pack from him, squinting to inspect the fine print. “What’s Spanish Fly?”

“I didn’t buy them myself!” he protests. “Bright bought them as a joke…when we first started dating.”

“What? I don’t get it. Are these not painkillers? What are they, then?”

“They’re…” he sighs and rolls his eyes, feeling his cheeks warm all the way to his ears. “An aphrodisiac.”

Kongpob’s look of confusion morphs into one of sheer amusement, before he laughs freely, pulling Arthit’s now very red face towards him, kissing the crease that’s formed between his angry brows.

“Awww, P’,” he chuckles as Arthit shoves him away by the shoulder.

“I’m gonna kill Bright…” he mutters, snatching the blister pack away and attempting to chuck them in the trashcan before Kongpob grabs his arm to stop him.

“Well, P’Arthit…” he says, taking a step closer, a cunning smile forming on his lips. “At least your headache is gone. Maybe you should take it again the next time you’re hungov-“

“Kongpob! Go shower and get dressed!”

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. 

Utility & Satisfaction

Warnings: Sexually Explicit Content, Slight OOC

Kongpob is having a really difficult time studying for his entrance exam, so Arthit offers him some…assistance.

Sometimes, Kongpob wonders if he’s truly cut out to study economics, or if his naïve high school self had simply been looking to go against the grain of what his parents expected of him. Engineering, while not his first choice, had least been a fruitful experience both in his learning and, of course, his personal life.

It’s a Friday evening, and while most of his friends are either already starting their first jobs, or out enjoying their last summer of unadulterated fun before their contracts begin, Kongpob is cooped up indoors staring at the jumbled diagrams and words on the pages his three-inch thick textbook, the top recommended resource in preparation for the entrance exam to his applied programme.

He’s been glaring helplessly at the same page for the past half hour, occasionally copying out half-assed key points into his notebook, but none of the information forming any coherence in his goo-like brain. 

Utility is a term in economics that…something….defines whether or not something has the ability to gain or not gain from…something…

It doesn’t help that the textbook is in his second language, and it’s taking him twice as long to parse each and every word to full comprehension. Why, again, had he thought it was a good idea to do a masters? Who in their right mind would subject themselves to more studying after over fifteen long, grating years of schooling? He must be a glutton for punishment.

“P’Arthiiiit,” he whines, looking up with a pout and his best puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re the one who has an exam to pass.” 

Arthit doesn’t even look up from his comic book, but he shakes his head and smirks.

They’re in his apartment, Kongpob hunched over the small table by the window, Arthit leaning against the headboard of the bed. Despite that the academic year had already finished, Kongpob had somehow convinced his parents to let him stay on campus until he had to go abroad (if at all), claiming that it wouldn’t make any sense to move twice in such a short space of time. However, he still spent most nights with Arthit, gradually weaselling his way into cohabitation by taking up drawer and bathroom counter space, cooking their meals while Arthit was at work.

Kongpob gets up, plopping down on the edge of the bed with the gargantuan book in hand. 

“Help me.” he pulls the comic book down away from his boyfriend’s face. Arthit rolls his eyes, placing his comic book to the side of him on the bed.

“How would I be of any help? I don’t know anything about economics.”

“I’ve been reading this page over and over again and I still don’t really get it. It’s not actually that difficult, but I just can’t absorb it for some reason.”

He huffs in exasperation, then pushes Arthit’s legs apart before shifting himself backwards to nestle between them, his back against Arthit’s chest and his head tucked into the crook of his neck.

“What are you doing?”

“Snuggling.”

Arthit sighs, but brings his arms around his junior to rest his hands on his stomach, pulling him closer. Kongpob’s back is warm, the material of his shirt soft, and his hair fluffy and smelling like grapefruit shampoo. It’s nice, Arthit admits, this comforting feeling of closeness. 

With Kongpob constantly being stressed out over this wretched exam that would take place in three weeks, they hadn’t really found the time to go out on dates, nor really done much together at home other than study.

Kongpob runs a finger over the same line he’s been repeatedly scanning, as though trying to magically absorb the information through pure touch. The book is propped up on his bent knees, feet planted firmly onto the mattress. 

“Seriously, I just can’t process any of it.” he grumbles. “It’s like I suddenly forgot how to read.”

“You know, you can’t just study by reading. There are studies that show that you need to use more practical techniques. Like writing concise notes about it, or trying to teach someone else.”

Arthit absent-mindedly pets his boyfriend’s hair, separating the strands before pulling out a stray white hair on the top of his head. They’d taken to doing this for each other ever since Kongpob had first spotted one in the back of Arthit’s head, and said it made him look wiser. Arthit, on the other hand, had insisted he pull it out, saying he was too young to have greying hair. Thus ensued a chain of plucking like monkeys picking fleas out of each other’s matted fur. 

“Ow! I did try writing notes, but after a while it just felt like I was copying out words to practise my penmanship.”

“Okay, why don’t you try and teach me about what you’re reading then?”

Kongpob tilts his head to glance up at Arthit’s face, grinning.

“Can I?”

“I’m not promising I’ll actually get it, but if it helps you, yeah.”

There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, and Arthit already dreads the next predictable question that’s about to come out of his mouth.

“What do I get if I manage to explain it to you?”

“You get to go back to the desk knowing that you’ve studied well and are more likely to pass your exam.”

“You’re no fun,” Kongpob groans. “Please? We haven’t done it in a week now.”

He takes Arthit’s chin, angling his face down to kiss him. Arthit yanks his chin away and glares at him indignantly. 

“Delayed gratification, Kong. It’ll be worth the wait. Now come on, explain this to me.”

Sighing, Kongpob returns his gaze to the indecipherable page, trying to figure out where to even begin. 

“Okay. This chapter is talking about utility, which is basically how much power something has to provide satisfaction. So like, how much you enjoy pink milk -“

“Kongpob!” Arthit lightly smacks his stomach.

“I’m kidding!” his boyfriend laughs. “Okay fine, for example, how much satisfaction I get from being in your arms.”

Kongpob can sense his senior’s eyes rolling so far into the back of his head that he can see his organs.

“Therefore, utility is the measure of how much satisfaction something can bring. Anything where we can make a decision between more than one option has comparable utility.”

“So it compares how much satisfaction one thing brings over another.” Arthit ponders aloud, fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of Kong’s shirt.

“Exactly. And we draw this comparison by using the measurement unit of utils. As with most measurements, the higher the unit of utils, the higher the level of satisfaction. Obviously, we can’t really measure satisfaction, per se, but…”

As Kongpob continues to ramble on about utils, Arthit is either feeling slightly delirious from the smell of his boyfriend pressed up so close against him, or the seriousness with which he’s explaining these terms to him has put him in the mood to tease him. His fingers graze lightly over the material of Kongpob’s shirt, drawing slow, lazy circles right below his belly button.

“Wh-what are you doing, P’Arthit?”

“Nothing. Keep reading.” His voice is calm and steady. “I’m listening.”

“O…okay.” Kongpob says, but Arthit can feel him tense slightly against his chest. “Utility is different from how ‘good’ something is. You can gain satisfaction from something, but it doesn’t mean it necessarily has g-good…consequences.” 

His breath hitches slightly as Arthit lifts the hem of his shirt to toy with the downy hair leading down past the elastic of his boxers.

“Can you give an example?” Arthit smirks, his voice feigning innocence. He carefully slips a hand under Kongpob’s waistband, fingers gently running through the thick, wiry hairs lining his groin.

“I- uh….an example…” Kongpob’s head is cloudy and struggling to focus on anything but the sensation of the teasing hand in his shorts, but scrambles for any words that might help him form an answer.

“Yes, an example.” 

Arthit’s warm, soft hand has reached the base of his boyfriend’s cock where he fondles it between his fingers, the flesh slowly hardening under his touch. Kongpob’s breathing heaves unsteadily against Arthit’s chest, rising and falling with difficulty.

“F-for example, I can get s-satisfaction – oh god – um, from uh….eating pizza.”

“Mmhmm…go on…” 

Kongpob grapples between his brain and his groin to form the next part of his explanation, his vision glazed over with craving and need, but he gulps, hands gripping the pages.

“But…um…even though I looo-ove pizza…it….it isn’t really g-good – so good, ahhh…for me…”

Arthit is carefully pumping the thick length now, deeply breathing in the familiar musky scent of Kongpob’s dampening skin on his temples. He leans down and takes the shell of his junior’s earlobe between his teeth, scraping the skin lightly and delighting in the shiver this produces in the body in front of him. 

“Does it matter whether or not it’s good for you?” 

“That….that would depend on…shit, P’, I’m gonna -“

“Ah, ah, not yet.” Arthit slows his movements, pressing his thumb over the slit and gently rubbing the precum over the head in a manner so tantalisingly slow that it has Kongpob gasping. “Keep going. What does it depend on?”

“It – oh fuck! It depends on…wh-whether or not…the person..eee-eating the pizza…cares about – nngghhh – about that kind of thing…”

He’s trembling now, the need to come some overwhelming that the book has slipped out of his hands and between their legs onto the mattress. Instead, his hands are gripping Arthit’s thighs, pulling him closer, and he’s arching against his boyfriend’s chest, a whimper escaping his lips.

“So would you consider this simply useful, or…satisfying?”

“I…I’d say it’s…almost satisfying.” he manages to choke out between desperate sobs.

“Almost? And here I was thinking I was doing a good job.”

He’s practically tugging at Kongpob’s throbbing length now, slick with moisture and enlarged with all the blood rushing to his groin. Arthit’s own hard on is forming in his shorts with the friction from Kong’s anguished squirming against his front. 

“Yes…yes! Please, P’Arthit, I just need to-“

“Come for me, Kong. Don’t I satisfy you?”

“You do…I…oh, god, I’m -“

The writhing mess of a young man grasps at the material of Arthit’s shorts, and he spills onto the front of his own shirt and onto Arthit’s fingers, the fluid coming out in several hot spurts as he shudders with each one. 

Arthit, clearly amused and deeply content with how Kongpob has completely collapsed against his chest, pulls his sticky fingers out of his boyfriend’s shorts. He looks at them briefly, wondering what to do with his hand, eyes searching for tissues but finding none. Normally when Kong did this to him, he had no issue making a show of lapping Arthit’s come off of his fingers, but he’d never done the same in return.

Slightly self-conscious and nervous at the prospect, he cautiously brings his hand to his own lips, carefully and tentatively sticking his tongue out to scoop up a drop of the results of his work. He revels in the unique salty taste, not unpleasant, but nothing like he’s ever tasted before. Deciding that he actually quite likes it, he begins lapping up the rest, thankful that Kongpob is still too distracted by his high to notice. 

Once he’s licked his fingers clean, he tilts Kongpob’s chin sideways to look at him, then places a soft, wet kiss on his mouth. They continue to kiss like this for a few moments, up close and nibbling, noses deeply breathing each other in.

“Do you understand it now?” Arthit teases once they break apart. 

Kongpob just stares at him, his eyes full of wonder and amazement at what’s just happened.

“I think I understand this page now, yes.” he breathes, his chest still heaving slightly.

“Good,” Arthit smirks at him. “Now you’ve gotten both the satisfaction and usefulness, you can study on your own now.”

Kongpob immediately sits up, turning around to pin Arthit’s shoulders to the headboard.

“Wait, P’Arthit,” a playful grin forming on his lips. “I should thank you for being so…helpful.”

Arthit narrows his eyes in a glare.

“I would be very thankful if you would get back to your actual studying.” he says, prying Kongpob’s fingers off of him and slithering out from underneath his hold. 

His cheeks bloom with a faint wash of pink, flustered by the attention. His boyfriend pouts, walking two sauntering fingers up Arthit’s leg, cheekily inching towards his inner thigh. Of course, he’s promptly swatted away.

“But -“

“Stop it. No more rewards until you’ve covered at least another two chapters.”

Kongpob’s pout morphs into a simpering smile.

“Is that a promise?” 

“Kongpob!”

Ladder to Almost Heaven

Warnings: Sexually Explicit Content

Feeling particularly lonely as she watches her best friend fall deeper in love with his senior every day, Prae comes to terms with what she truly wants for herself, but can’t resist one last endeavour in a secret affair that has no promise of fulfilling what her heart truly desires.

Perhaps it’s simply because she’s just not a fan of unnecessary noise, but it’s at Kongpob and Arthit’s joint birthday get-together that Prae is reminded of how parties are really not her scene.

Maprang, ever the enthusiast, had sent out sparkling invitations on their friend’s behalf, insisting that everyone dress to the nines, even though they would just be eating pizza and sipping beer in the living room of Kongpob’s home while his parents are away on business for the weekend. They would return to celebrate with their son on his actual birthday. 

It’s an evening of side-splitting laughter, mostly coming from Arthit’s group of friends, barely intimidating ghost stories from Tew and Oak, and reminiscence of their hazing days, the juniors having hosted the gear ceremony a few months prior. If Prae’s being honest, she doesn’t have quite such a fervent attachment to the hazing process as some of her peers, having merely served as part of the medical team. With Kongpob’s kind but firm leadership, everything had gone ridiculously smoothly that year, leaving Prae and May with little to do other than offer refreshments to the freshmen on particularly hot days. 

Instead, the two of them had spent their afternoons in the clinic doing their homework together, or sitting in the cool shade of the bleachers by the athletics field, speculating when Tew would come to his senses about his fixation on a particularly difficult freshman. After all, they’d witnessed a similar dynamic before, although they’d perhaps been too close to the situation at the time to realise what was happening.

In any case, if not for the fact that she and May (and Maprang, when she didn’t have her nose in her phone or wasn’t fawning over every guy she found remotely good-looking) had gotten to spend that time together, Prae thinks that she would much rather have taken Kongpob up on his offer to be a part of the main hazing team. She hadn’t thought she had much of a authoritative presence, but one can never tell with these things. If Arthit is any example, even the shyest and non-confrontational of people can possess a more aggressive side. 

It’s a little past 11PM now and the majority of them have split off into chunks, chatting among their small groups in different corners of the living room. Prae finds herself isolated in a corner by the patio door as her friends, in various states of tipsy, talk loudly and erupt with random outbursts of laughter every so often.

Both Kong and Arthit, sitting on the steps leading down to the sunken living room area, must be at least a little buzzed, the latter of the two completely ignorant of their blatant display of affection as they exchange sweet, lingering kisses between soft bouts of laughter and whispered flirtations,  intertwining their fingers. They’re completely enraptured in each other’s company. 

Prae smiles softly, abundantly happy for both of them, although she can’t help but envy what they have — not necessarily the joy and relief of seemingly finding true love, but rather the excitement of intimacy with someone who finds you attractive, something that Prae lies awake at night craving, picturing a faceless, wet sex grinding against her own as she rubs her fingers against her folds. 

It’s never quite enough. 

Sweeping the velvet material of her skirt under the back of her legs as she stands up from the arm of the couch, Prae steps strategically over open pizza boxes and half-empty beer cans to head for the bathroom. It’s near the end of the corridor, and following a startled grunt (Prem?) behind the door after she knocks, she takes Kongpob’s next best suggestion of using the guest room en-suite. Because of course, this marble mansion is large enough for a guest room and a study with floor-to-ceiling glass walls. She doesn’t tease her friend about it, though, his utter humility and politeness making it impossible to do so even good-naturedly. Not that it stops Arthit, though, she’s observed.

The closing of the guest room door envelops Prae in relative silence, the only sound the occasional cackling of laughter from Bright and Tutah muffled by the wooden door. Deciding she doesn’t actually need the toilet, she plops herself down on the loveseat at the foot of the queen-sized bed, lying back with her legs hanging off the side as she scrolls through her phone.

She can’t explain why she still has the cluster of dating apps installed in her phone. Every profile she looks through seems cold and empty, and she doesn’t feel it’s worth her time to invest in a person she knows almost nothing about. There’s always something wrong with each girl who happens to be interested in her — too active, too boring, likes the wrong kind of music, or, god forbid, likes dogs. Maprang says she’s being ridiculous, and tells her to just swipe right on everyone and see who she matches with before filtering people out. She’d certainly tried before, only ever managing to get far enough in conversation with one girl, and after attempting to ask her out again, Prae had been met with a sheepish explanation that she’d just been looking for sex. 

After rejecting every last person on each list in every app, she clicks her phone to sleep, chucking it onto the mattress beside her. Perhaps she’d made the wrong move coming out to her friends. Not that they hadn’t been supportive, because they certainly had, but all of a sudden, the boys in their friendship circle had begun acting like they didn’t know how to behave around her. 

To be fair, they’d been clueless about talking to girls even before she’d come out to them, but the fact that she would never be interested in any of them that way had made certain conversations even more awkward, topics usually falling into the realm of either class assignments or the persistently hot weather. Granted, she’s glad they never try to rope her into drooling over other girls together. Gross. 

Still, she wished it were different. The only exception, of course, is Kongpob, but he’s a guy, and she yearns for a connection with someone she can develop warm, tingly feelings for. 

She doesn’t need forever, just something longer than one wild night.

As if her silent plea has been heard, someone else stumbles into the room; a slightly tipsy May, who’s dressed in a beautiful strapless dress with a puffy tulle skirt, much like a modern day princess. May pads her way across the carpet to look at herself in the mirror, running two fingers under her eyes to wipe at slightly smudged makeup that has left her with faint dark patches. Prae sits up, crossing her own legs under her decidedly more understated dress, tugging the hem down to reach mid-thigh. Suddenly, she feels self-conscious in her best friend’s presence, like someone (but who?) is watching the two of them alone in the dimly lit room, silently comparing the two girls and judging their choice of attire. 

Prae looks away, trying not to stare at the girl as she flops down onto the bed, lying down so her hair splays out beneath her like a fan woven of black silk. Maybe this is why she can’t properly put herself out there and find something meaningful, she thinks. A part of her is still occasionally clings onto a drunken comment made over two years ago, and a few moments of quiet exploration of each other’s bodies in the heat of pure lust. 

“Tired?” May turns her head to look at Prae, whose gaze is still fixated coiling a loose thread around her finger. 

“Yeah,” she says, not looking up. “Just needed a little quiet. You?”

“The main bathroom was occupied, so I came in here.”

Prae nods.

“Kong and Arthit looked so happy tonight. It’s really nice that they have each other.”

The comment doesn’t come as a surprise to Prae, although her friend had once had an enormous crush on their charming classmate. It’s hard not to be happy for someone like Kong, who honestly deserves the smile that’s brought to his face at the mere mention of their head hazer. 

“Yeah, I wish I had that,” Prae laughs humourlessly. May just looks at her for an extended pause, then rolls over on her side and then sits up to face her, reaching out to squeeze Prae’s hand on the mattress. 

“You’ll find someone, I’m sure of it,” she says reassuringly. Prae tries to ignore the soft, manicured fingers wrapped around her own, forcing a tight-lipped smile. 

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How are things with M?” 

It had been over two years since M had suggested to May that he had feelings for her. And yet, especially on days when Prae would have her mouth up May’s skirt, she would hear about how their clueless friend seemed unwilling to just be clear about what he wanted. On those days, Prae wonders if May even really wants something with the boy, with the way should would roll her eyes and shrug whenever the topic came up. 

“If he wants something, then he should speak up. I’m not going to wait around for him.”

Prae nods, as she always does. She chuckles, fluffing the giant poof of May’s dress, the tulle material fanning out on the mattress. 

“I like your dress.”

“Thanks,” May lets out a short laugh. “Although the skirt is a bit much. Maprang insisted on something grand.”

“It’s pretty. I didn’t bother that much,” Prae tilts her head as she lowers her gaze. “Hey, you have a run in your tights.”

“Oh, shit. Is it big? I can’t even see it properly with this giant skirt.”

Prae pokes a finger playfully into a hole at the bottom of the laddered tear, just above the ankle. May giggles at the ticklish sensation, but doesn’t pull her foot back. 

“Well, it starts here…” Prae trails her finger along the run now, up the calf, further up past the knee, and further yet, and it grows quiet until her hand has traced almost the full length of May’s leg, the girl shivering slightly at the touch. 

“Prae,” she says breathlessly, eyes suddenly clouded with a familiar darkness.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay…um, maybe I should take them off.”

“Yeah, okay.”

But May makes no move to remove the torn pantyhose, instead slowing her breaths as she seemingly summons Prae’s deep set eyes to meet hers. 

“Maybe you could help me?”

The question comes out hesitantly, eyebrows slightly raised in anticipation. Prae can’t fully read her expression, but before she can truly parse what’s happening, her hand is gently brought back over the sheer nylon, pulled upwards until her hand reaches the waistband. 

May leans back on her elbows, watching. 

Prae is frozen for a moment, but gulps as she pulls the tights down gradually, marvelling at the smooth skin of May’s thighs as she does so, until the tights are fully removed. When she’s set them aside, abandoned in a thin pile on the carpet, May hooks her heels over Prae’s exposed shoulders, pulling her closer. 

“May…” she sucks in a breath, hovering with her hands on either side of the girl’s knees now. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. I’ve only had half a beer all evening, and that was over three hours ago.”

Prae is quiet, still searching for some definitive sign that her friend is messing with her. She must be. They’d not done anything with each other since…well, since hazing had ended a few months ago. 

“Do you not want to?” May sits up again, brows knotted with concern now. “I mean…I just thought because…before…”

“What does this even mean for us? We can’t keep doing this, May.” 

It’s a question that has been misbehaving in the back of Prae’s mind since after the first time they’d been physically intimate. It would be stupid of her to fall for her otherwise straight friend, and yet the writhing and pleasured gasps won’t escape her memory. 

“Does it have to mean something?”

“I don’t know,” Prae admits honestly. 

“You…keep saying you don’t want to do stuff with girls you don’t know,” May looks serious now. “Well, I’m your friend and you trust me, right? It’s not like it’s the first time.”

The first time had been almost two years ago when they were sophomores, and they had shared a room in the resort villa after that year’s gear ceremony. Slightly buzzed and giggly, May had begun showering her friend with compliments, much to Prae’s shyness. After a seemingly friendly hug, May had then pressed hesitant lips to the crook of an exposed neck and the slope of narrow shoulders, and Prae had lost all resolve in trying to resist the purely carnal attraction. To her surprise — or perhaps not — May had been anything but shy about the entire thing, and Prae didn’t know if she’d ever heard more beautiful sounds than the moans of the girl whose legs she’d had her face nestled between. 

And then they’d never spoken of it after that, going about their lives in the most nonchalant of manners, as if nothing had happened, May still linking her arm with hers as she would happily chat with Maprang about the ridiculousness of that day’s horoscope. Every now and then, Prae would still lie awake thinking of the unique and addicting sensation, but then banish the idea from her thoughts, knowing that it had been the first and last time.

Until there was a second time, when May had asked to borrow a shirt after hers had received a considerable fish sauce stain at lunch, and Prae’s dorm had been closer to their next lecture. May had shamelessly unbuttoned her blouse right in front of her, and it might have just been Prae’s imagination, but her stunningly beautiful friend had gone about it almost deliberately slowly, arching her neck and shoulders back ever so slightly. She’d brought her gaze up to meet Prae’s in the mirror of the dressing table, breathing heavily so the swell of her chest would rise and fall like the quiet buildup of an incoming tide. A few tentative, shallow breaths against the girl’s neck and Prae had once again found herself with a hand clasped over her mouth to muffle her pleasured screams. 

From then on, it had become a spontaneous, secretive endeavour for them whenever the situation allowed, until hazing ended, and they no longer spent days together in the empty clinic, nor had much reason for the two to be alone in either of their dorm rooms. 

Prae is still quiet, blinking through her uncertainty in the warm, dim light of the room. 

“We can’t keep doing this, May,” she finally says after a full minute of silence. “Do you actually even like M?“ 

“I’m not going to stop living my life just because he can’t make his mind up. Right now…I want this. It is what it is. Don’t overthink it,” May says this last part almost indignantly, but her expression is still soft.  

“We’re in Kong’s guest room.”

May actually scoffs at this, shaking her head.

“You don’t think those two are at it themselves? I saw them sneak off upstairs earlier when they thought no one was looking.”

Prae wrinkles her nose at this in an awkward grimace. The two girls hold each other’s stares just a moment longer, Prae’s gaze now drifting down towards plump lips, stained a peachy pink from faded lipstick. 

Don’t overthink it. 

And in the midst of her trance-like appreciation, those lips capture her own. 

It’s sweet, and patient, and May’s lips taste vaguely of the spicy crisps she’d been snacking on, with the faint, sharp traces of diet cola. She’s tasted them many times before, but May kisses with an uninhibited enthusiasm that unfailingly sends a sharp, longing ache through Prae’s entire body. It’s an astronomically bad idea, what she’s perpetuating here, but as her tongue melds with May’s, soft locks hanging down like a curtain around their kiss to further block out any light, Prae thinks that she might be done thinking altogether. 

May moves to properly lie down, pulling Prae’s face with her so that she’s hovering above, running fingers through hair that had been ironed into perfect curls earlier but have now loosened into soft, messy waves from the night’s laughter-filled festivities. 

Pulling away from her mouth now, Prae begins to trail feather-light kisses down May’s neck and gently sucking at a spot right below the edge of her jaw. The trail of her mouth’s imprints makes its way down the expanse of sage and bergamot-scented skin and to her collarbone where the chain of a dainty necklace is tugged to one side, the silver leaf pendant hanging at the point of gravity.

Eventually, she comes down to the two soft peaks that are pushed towards the collarbone, gently spilling out of the faintly shimmery sweetheart neckline of May’s dress from lying on her back. She tugs the material down slightly, one small, stiff peak peeking out over the cup of the built-in bra. Prae ducks down to run the tip of her tongue around the entire, pinkish brown areola, earning a drawn out sigh of deep satisfaction from the girl beneath her. The familiar tingle of excitement pools in her centre. 

She tugs at the nipple lightly between her lips, occasionally flicking the bud with her tongue in rogue playfulness. Satisfied with the sufficiently rosy hue of swelling, she moves to work on the other side, but May reaches out and gently turns her face back up towards her.

“Enough of that, just…”

She gestures for Prae to sit back a little, then pulls up the mass of her tulle skirt so that it rests across her middle, exposing her simple, seamless panties. A dark, wet spot is already forming on the lilac material.

Prae takes her time drinking in the view, though, as if knowing she may never get to experience such an erotic sight ever again. Gently, she pushes her doe-eyed friend’s knees slightly apart, sliding her hands slowly up milky inner thighs, grazing her thumbs over the stretch of graciles until she’s gently tugging down the second piece of clothing from under May’s skirt that evening. 

Curling her grasp around to squeeze the flesh around her thighs, Prae’s breath ghosts over the stretch of smooth skin everywhere but where May wants most desperately. 

“You’re such a tease.”

Prae merely shrugs, now bringing her thumbs up to press circles around the mildly puffy labia, already slightly glistening with arousal. May simply closes her eyes and tilts her head back, like she’s at a spa. Her breathing, though, is slightly laboured, and Prae smirks to herself, breaking the girl’s relaxed state as she rubs several fingers across the dark, moistened folds, pushing her clit in clockwise motion with meditative control. Immediately, a breathy whimper escapes May’s plump, kiss-swollen lips, her hips bucking slightly as she ruts into Prae’s torturously slow movements. 

She switches now to teasing the clit with her thumb and choosing sporadically to insert two fingers into the warm, dripping wet cavern, pressing her vacant hand down on May’s navel whenever her back would arch off the mattress. May tries to look down, but her view is obstructed by the ridiculous puff of tulle. Her mouth hangs open in a soft moan, trying not to make too much noise, in case someone should walk by. After all, they hadn’t locked the door. 

And what a sight it would be to walk in on, May with her skirt pushed up to her chest, enthralled in her first orgasm of that evening as Prae works into her with careful, calculated precision. 

“Are you just going to keep doing that?” May whispers between heavy exhales as she comes down from her high, shuddering a little from the tickling ends of Prae’s wavy locks against her thighs. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s great, but — ohhh.”

Her breathless question is cut off as Prae finally bends down to capture the throbbing bud between her lips, sucking lightly and moving her head side to side before she’s pulling back and releasing the soaking wet fold of skin surrounding May’s — and it’s really the only way Prae can think to describe it — perfect pussy. 

May is clearly squirming now, feet lifting off the mattress, toes pointed and curled as Prae licks a careful and deliberate stroke up along the entire labia with the flat of her tongue, then stiffens it to dip into the crevice. Her own mouth is watering from a thirst for May’s familiar taste she’d been straining to hide. And suddenly, she’s done taking it slow, saliva mixing with May’s juices as she draws her lips and tongue hungrily over the neat, slightly darker flesh, feeling her own panties moisten from the delectable cries that her friend is barely succeeding in muffling with the back of her hand. They come out more like repeated, fatigued vocalisations of a particularly difficult high note, the only music in the otherwise deafeningly quiet room aside from the ravenous sounds of Prae continuously tonguing her most sensitive core, occasionally taking a break to suck gently. 

She dares herself to glance up as she drills her own name with wet muscle, marking territory that isn’t hers. Then, she’s slipping two fingers back in to slide them back and forth, and intermittently curling them in search of just the right spot. May has weakly pushed herself up onto her elbows, trying to become an interactive audience to Prae performing her oral magic but instead, her eyes are squeezed shut with delicious anguish, her face tensing to reveal the dimples above her cheekbones. Then, almost unexpectedly, May grabs a pillow from above her head, quietly screaming into the plush material as the second (third? Maybe fourth) wave of pleasure overcomes her. 

Prae finally pulls back with soft, wet noise, and licks the remnants of her work off her lips like a forbidden treat. She watches in fascination through hooded lids as May takes a good minute or so to recover, squeezing her own thighs together as though she physically cannot handle the pleasurable convulsions. Meanwhile, Prae slips a hand into her own lacy briefs, inhaling sharply as fingers skim over a wet bundle of nerves, heightened by the sight of May’s occasional, sudden jerks as her orgasm works its final aftershocks through her. 

Eventually, the pillow falls to the side, a brief smudge of shimmery makeup imprinted on the white linen. Her exposed breast still hangs over the top of her dress, her chest littered with vaguely reddened patches, heaving with fatigue as she catches her breath. It’s the perfect picture of satiated lust, the faint smile on May’s lips likely from the fantasy of being pleasured by someone else. Someone who’s not the girl who has her taste memorised like a complicated password. 

It takes her another moment before she can finally muster the strength to sit up, simply watching. Prae screws her eyes shut and mashes her lips together as she trembles out the faintest release. And as soon as it’s over, she gets up with no trouble, and pads over to the bathroom, where she washes her stained hand under the tap. When she returns into the room, May is still looking at her with wide eyes but her giant skirt is pulled back down now, her panties still discarded somewhere on the floor. 

“I was going to do the same for you.”

Another shrug.

“It’s fine. I know you don’t like it,” she avoids her friend’s gaze altogether, bending down to pick up the fallen garments and placing them on the bed. “Here. Um. We should straighten the bed out.”

“Prae—“

“Can we please not talk about this right now?” Prae says humourlessly. “Just…get dressed.”

May shifts her gaze awkwardly, hurriedly adjusting herself and pulling her underwear back on, then shuffles off of the bed. She grips her own elbow in one hand, watching helplessly as Prae makes quick work of smoothing out the sheets and fluffing out the pillow, the faint beige stain of bronzer placed face side down to hide the evidence of her recent euphoria. 

“I’ll…see you in class,” Prae says in a low voice, before slipping out of the room into the hallway. When she’s back out in the living room, the rest of their friends have either fallen asleep or slowly getting there. Sure enough, Kong and Arthit are nowhere to be found. 

Sorry, I’ve gotta leave first. Thanks for the party. Happy Birthday to you both <3

She watches the text get delivered, but remain unread. And then, like breaking a habit, she climbs into the backseat of a taxi and texts the license plate number to Maprang instead.