Chapter Text
Those abs cannot possibly be real.
Kit stares down at the hookup app on his phone, installed by his so-called friends against his will. Last week they’d lured him out for drinks to toast his 28th birthday, only to have Traitor #1 (Pha) snatch his phone to download it, then toss it to Traitor #2 (Beam) to set up a profile for him while Pha physically restrained a furious Kit. He took a grim comfort in knowing that Pha sustained plenty of bruises and scratches in the process, the bastard.
“It will take me all of five seconds to delete it again,” he’d pointed out haughtily—but just then Traitor #3 (Pin) had shown up with a birthday cake, and both revenge and the stupid app were temporarily forgotten.
Later he’d muted the app but hadn’t uninstalled it, although he hadn’t let himself think too hard about why. Until right now, staring at the most mouth-watering set of abs and pecs he’s ever seen.
Why did this match even pop up? Kit’s baffled for a moment until he remembers: This morning he’d run a software update on his phone, which probably reset his notification preferences in the process.
The man isn’t as bulked up and ripped as a bodybuilder, which wouldn’t be to Kit’s taste anyway. But his body looks strong and fit, with the ideal V-shaped torso: broad shoulders and a well-defined chest tapering down to a trim waist and the perfect six-pack. Good biceps too, although he’s not flexing or posturing. He’s just standing there relaxed and confident, like he knows he’s supposed to display the goods but he’s not taking it too seriously.
He’s not displaying all the goods, though. It’s a relatively modest photo, cropped at the hips so there’s no dick or suggestive bulge on display. Most of the face is cropped too, although what is visible—a square chin, strong jaw, and invitingly full mouth—does nothing to dim Kit’s interest. Intrigued despite himself, he quickly scrolls through the full set of profile photos.
In the second photo, the man is leaning over a drafting table with his back to the camera. He’s wearing faded jeans and a plain white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His ass is fantastic, and his powerful thighs are giving that well-worn denim a thorough stress test.
“Fuck,” Kit mutters. He likes what he sees, maybe too much. How long has it been since he was touched by hands other than his own? Months. God, maybe a full year? No wonder his friends had attempted an intervention.
The final photo is a selfie shot from the man’s point of view, camera looking down his body as he sits with his bare feet propped up on the same drafting table. His legs, hugged by those same faded jeans, go on for miles. His toenails have been painted all the colors of the rainbow.
The profile doesn’t say much, just that he’s looking for friendly sex with no strings and no overnights. And that he’s verse but with a strong preference for topping.
With another muttered curse, Kit swipes right.
~
It’s almost too simple. Easier than ordering takeout, which appeals to Kit’s dark sense of humor.
I’d like some company tonight, he messages the stranger. Interested?
Absolutely, comes the reply less than a minute later. Your place OK? Mine is off limits, sorry.
Are you in a relationship? I don’t fuck cheaters.
No no, I’m single! Just a living situation without enough privacy.
Kit relaxes at that, and feels the first tingle of anticipation down his spine. All right, my place it is. Can you be here in 45 minutes? Later is OK but no sooner. Here’s the address.
After he sends the map link he takes a quick look around his studio apartment. It’s tiny but meticulously tidy, just enough for his needs. His cardiothoracic surgery residency keeps him at the hospital most of his waking hours anyway, so why pay for more space he won’t use? He doubts that his hookup will judge him for it; he’s obviously living in some kind of roommate situation, or maybe with family. Kit’s place isn’t large but it’s all his own.
Hell, let him judge if he wants. Kit’s probably never going to see him again anyway. This isn’t a date.
Kit does a quick sweep of the apartment, putting away his dinner dishes, turning down the lights, and making sure the necessary supplies are close at hand in the bedside drawer. That done, the only thing left to prepare is…himself.
He almost gives in to temptation and jerks himself off while he’s in the shower. Knowing sex is on the menu tonight has him keyed up, jittery but excited in a way that even the depressingly clinical process of cleaning himself out does nothing to relieve. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s taken the edge off before sex, not wanting the main event to be over and done too fast. But a sudden thought stops him after just a few firm strokes.
That guy looked like he’d be good for more than one round.
He releases the grip of his soapy fist and rinses himself off. “You’ll get yours later,” he informs his dick with a little smirk.
He wonders how the stranger likes it. Sweet and slow, fast and rough? Now that he’s committed to doing this, Kit is very much looking forward to finding out.
When he gets dressed he pays extra attention to his choice of clothing, which isn’t his style as a rule. Kit’s not one to signal that he cares too much (or at all). But he has to admit that this guy’s amazing body has him feeling a little nervous about baring his own. What if he’s disappointed?
Oh, shit. Kit had never even checked what photos Beam had attached to his profile!
Hastily Kit throws on the clothes he’s chosen—a pair of ass-hugging yoga pants and an oversized white linen shirt so thin it’s translucent—and grabs his phone to check what that asshole Beam had put out there for every gay fuckboy in Bangkok to see.
A moment later he breathes a sigh of relief. Beam may have wanted to get him laid, but he hadn’t done Kit dirty. The username is stupid—Not Your Kat—but the profile is discreet as befitting a professional careful of his reputation. The first photo is Kit on the basketball court, caught mid-air leaping high for a shot. The second is from his birthday, a fancy cocktail held up in front of his face. Friends might recognize it as him, but a stranger would only notice the laughing eyes and tousled hair. And the third…
Kit had forgotten the third picture even existed. It was from a trip to the beach four or five months ago, a rare day when he and Pha and Beam had all been free. That never happened anymore, with all three of them immersed in their residencies at different hospitals. But for that one shining day they’d played together like kids again, racing each other across the sand and splashing in the surf. One of Kit’s happiest days in recent memory.
Beam had snapped this photo shortly before sunset, Kit on the beach with his back to the camera, head turned just enough to reveal the arrogant angle of his jaw and one sun-kissed cheekbone. He’s beautiful. Clad only in swim trunks, feet bare, hair windblown and all cares momentarily forgotten, he looks like a fae creature—slender and golden, his body limned with light.
Something coiled and anxious in Kit’s belly relaxes. He may not look like a fitness model but that doesn’t make him less attractive. Anyway his soon-to-be-hookup wouldn’t have swiped right on Kit’s profile if he hadn’t liked what he saw.
With renewed confidence Kit finishes putting himself together, keeping it simple with just a touch of gloss on his lips and a pair of mismatched earrings: a sapphire stud for one ear, a silver leaf pendant for the other.
They’re barely in place when the door buzzer sounds.
Showtime.
~
“Hi, I’m Ming,” he says—or starts to say, before his brain catches up with his eyes and he recognizes the vision who’s just opened the door to him.
P’Kit. Holy fucking hell, the gorgeous Not Your Kat from the hookup app is Kit Intochar.
“KitKat?” he blurts out incredulously. “My god, it is you!”
Instantly Kit’s small but welcoming smile is gone, replaced by suspicion. He’s not slamming the door in Ming’s face, not yet—but he looks like he might, given the slightest provocation.
“I don’t know you,” he says, eyes narrowing as he studies Ming’s face. “How the hell do you know me? And that stupid nickname?”
Ming holds up both hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry, P’Kit,” he says. “I should’ve realized you wouldn’t remember me.” He flashes his most brilliant smile and follows it up with a courteous wai. “Ming. Mingkwan Daichapanya. I was your junior in high school.”
“Oh!” Kit relaxes fractionally, and to Ming’s relief and delight he opens the door wide and gestures him inside. “High school? God, that feels like a lifetime ago.”
Ming smiles again, ruefully this time. “Does it ever. It’s great to see you again, though.” Belatedly remembering why he’s here, he allows himself the luxury of looking Kit up and down, taking his time about it. “You look fantastic, P’Kit.”
He really, really does. He’s thinner, with more sharp, elegant angles than Ming remembers—P’Kit back in high school had an adorable roundness in places, with mochi cheeks and the cutest little bubble butt—but he still takes Ming’s breath away. He always did. Then as now, Kit moved with the kind of compact feline grace that drew every eye, even in the company of his taller, louder friends.
Well, he always drew Ming’s eye anyway. Even if he’d never acted on the attraction at the time.
“Thanks, you too,” Kit says. He looks a little flustered as he leads Ming deeper into the apartment but collects himself quickly, pointing out where to leave his shoes and offering him a drink that Ming politely declines.
“This is nice,” Ming says, looking around the pleasant studio apartment. Everything is clean, minimalist, and modern, but with small touches that make it homey: a bright red teakettle in the kitchenette, colorful throw pillows on the sofa, a jewel-toned bedspread, and a gallery wall with prints by contemporary Thai artists. “Small and cute, just like you.”
Kit snorts. “Spare me the cheesy pickup lines, Mingkwan,” he says, crossing the room to stand near the double bed. “You’re already here and we both know why.”
But that was before I knew it was you, Ming thinks. Not that he doesn’t want to get his hands on P’Kit, but a meaningless hookup…
…is all he’s really able to offer, he remembers with a pang.
Whatever a younger, more idealistic Ming might’ve fantasized about having with Kit, he’s not free to ask for it now.
Besides, Kit wouldn’t want it from him anyway. Everything filled out on Not Your Kat’s profile—which wasn’t much—boiled down to “no time for love, how about some sex?” That’s why Ming had chosen him, after all. That, and his looks.
Would he still have swiped right if he’d known it was Kit? Probably not. Even older, wiser, sadder, and more cynical, Ming still kept his teenage crush on a pedestal. It hurts to think about seeing him again after all these years, only to say goodbye after a single night. No, if he’d known he probably would’ve smiled wistfully and moved on, wanting to keep those treasured memories sweet and unsullied.
But he’s here now, and Kit—beautiful, breathtaking Kit—is all but tapping his foot with impatience to get Ming into his bed. No way in hell can he walk away from that.
Forcing back all his futile regrets and might-have-beens, Ming closes the distance between them till he’s toe to toe with Kit. He brings one hand up to the neckline of Kit’s tantalizingly see-through shirt, dipping his fingertips into the hollow at the base of his throat. It’s the lightest possible touch, but Kit shivers at it.
“Yes, I know why I’m here. Do you want me to say it?”
“Yeah.” Kit’s voice comes out a little ragged. “I want to hear it.”
Ming leans in closer, still holding his gaze. “I’m going to fuck you till you forget your own name,” he says bluntly. “If you’ll have me.”
Kit’s eyes widen at that but he brings his chin up in a curt nod, imperious as a little prince. “Get to it, then.”
Ming’s laugh is low and delighted. “So bossy! Yes, sir. Pleased to be of service, sir.” He cups Kit’s fine-boned face between his two hands, stroking a thumb across his lips. “Do you kiss, Phi?”
Some men won’t if it’s just a hookup, he knows that from experience, but Ming always does if his partner is willing. Sex without kissing leaves him feeling sad and dirty, no matter how gratifying the other acts might be. And this is P’Kit. If he has to leave tonight without tasting that tempting mouth, it’s going to haunt him forever.
Kit shrugs, which makes his oversized shirt slip a little further down his shoulder. “Not always. But I like your mouth.”
“Lucky me,” Ming murmurs, and kisses him.
It’s soft at first, gentle and close-mouthed—the kind of sweet, undemanding kiss a teenaged Ming might’ve ventured on a first date if they’d ever had one. But Kit’s clearly not in the mood for sweet tonight. He gives an impatient little growl and goes up on his toes, pressing his body firmly against Ming's as he takes the kiss from chaste to blazing in a heartbeat. He tastes of mint and he kisses like sin, all tongue and teeth and urgency.
Ming is caught off guard but catches up fast, fisting a hand in Kit’s hair and yanking his head back to the perfect angle to nip at his jaw, earlobe, and neck. That earns him a low moan from Kit, who rocks his body against him as Ming continues to kiss and nibble all the way down to Kit’s collarbone, pushing aside gauzy fabric as he goes.
Raising his head, Ming takes in the glorious sight of Kit with desire-darkened eyes and kiss-reddened lips. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes. “I can see your nipples right through this shirt. Let’s get it off you, yeah?”
“I want yours off first,” Kit says, reaching for the buttons of Ming’s indigo dress shirt. It’s already undone far enough that Ming could’ve just pulled it over his head, but he’d rather enjoy Kit’s touch. Kit’s slim fingers make short work of the buttons and he makes a pleased little hum as the shirt falls open. “Fuck, just look at you. Those profile photos were good but they still didn’t do you justice, Ming.”
“Yours didn’t either,” Ming says, taking hold of Kit’s hem. Kit obligingly raises his arms to allow Ming to pull the shirt off him, baring him to the waist. Ming tosses it aside and pulls Kit into his arms, skin against skin, capturing his mouth in another searing kiss.
It’s been awhile for Ming but he suspects it’s been even longer for Kit, because the smaller man is almost feral with need. He moans into Ming’s mouth and claws at his back, and at the first opportunity he’s pushing Ming down onto the bed to straddle him and rut against his body.
“Somebody’s hungry,” Ming teases, grabbing a double handful of Kit’s warm, firm peach of an ass. His pants are thin and clingy enough to reveal more than they hide…like the fact that Kit’s definitely not wearing any underwear.
Kit sits up straighter, palms still pressed to Ming’s chest, and gives him a narrow-eyed glare. “I’m not the only one,” he says, rocking his hips to grind his perfect little bottom against Ming’s erection. He looks smugly pleased when Ming’s breath catches in a groan.
Ming hooks his fingers in the waistband of Kit’s pants and tugs them down just enough to release his penis, smiling appreciatively as it springs free. “So pretty,” he murmurs. “Just the right size for my hand—” He demonstrates with a few firm, leisurely strokes. “—or my mouth,” he adds as he notices the first drops of pre-cum beading at the tip of Kit’s cock.
“Not your ass?” Kit challenges. “Your profile said you were verse.”
“Mm. To be honest I’d rather fuck you,” Ming admits, “but you can have me any way you want, beautiful. You’ll have to give me some prep time, though. I didn’t plan ahead for that.”
Kit laughs then and climbs off him to wriggle the rest of the way out of his yoga pants. “I’m just messing with you, Mingkwan. I already prepped myself before you got here. Now grab a condom from the nightstand and get those jeans off before I change my mind.”
Ming has never undressed so fast in his life.
~
“I still remember my name,” Kit mutters against Ming’s chest. It’s really too warm to cuddle this closely but Kit feels so sex-drunk and satiated that he’s reluctant to move.
Ming chuckles, a low rumble under Kit’s ear. “How about mine?” he asks, stroking Kit’s sweat-damp hair off his forehead.
With effort Kit raises his head to study Ming’s face, broad and handsome and relaxed in the afterglow. “Mingkwan,” he says distinctly. “Ming. I did remember you finally,” he adds as he lets his head drop onto Ming’s chest again, “somewhere between the first round of fucking and the blowjobs.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. You were Wayo’s best friend, right? That funny little junior who had a thing for my friend Phana? He was always hanging around us when Pha and Beam and I were playing basketball after school, and usually you were with him.”
Ming makes an affirming hum. “That’s right. We’re still as close as ever—I saw him just last week. He’s not funny-looking anymore, though. He had a major glow-up after you guys graduated. He was the Moon of our university in Chiang Mai, had a dozen guys hitting on him all the time.”
“I’m surprised you weren’t the Moon yourself. You look the type.”
“Nah, I didn’t let the engineers nominate me. I didn’t have anybody I wanted to impress.” He strokes Kit’s hair again, giving one strand a teasing tug. “If I’d gone to Kantaphat University like I planned to, though, I might’ve done it to impress you, P’Kit.”
Kit slaps his belly, knowing his abs are too firm for it to hurt. “Like I would’ve cared about you winning some beauty contest!” he says. “Why didn’t you enroll there, then? They’ve got one of the best engineering programs in the country.”
“Wayo again,” Ming replies. “He kind of grew a spine along with his glow-up—decided he didn’t want to torture himself by attending the same university as P’Pha. So he talked me into Chiang Mai. They’re also strong in engineering so I didn’t mind, and it made Yo happy for us to stick together.”
“Mm. Pha, Beam and I stuck together too. All through undergrad and med school. We don’t get to see each other much lately, though. Residency is tough and we’re all working at different hospitals. We barely have time to sleep, much less socialize.”
“Yeah. Same for me. Nobody warns you, growing up, that being an adult is so fucking exhausting.” With a sigh Ming presses a kiss to the top of his head and then stretches, gently extricating himself from under Kit. “I should get going, I suppose. Let you get some rest.”
Right, Kit thinks as Ming gathers his clothing and disappears into the bathroom. His profile said no overnights. Not that Kit would've asked him to stay anyway. Sleepovers are for boyfriends, and Kit's not boyfriend material.
He rolls over and hugs his pillow, enjoying the bone-deep languor that follows being fucked hard and well. Ming had held back a little at first, until Kit goaded him (discovering in the process that Mingkwan Daichapanya loves getting his ass slapped by a bossy twink). But they'd rattled the bedframe before they were through, and Ming had wrung noises out of him that Kit didn't even know he could make. He's going to have to avoid his neighbors' eyes for at least a week.
Ming smiles at him when he emerges from the bathroom, fully dressed except for the shoes he'd left near the door. "God you're cute," he says, bending down to plant a kiss on Kit's cheek. "I'll let myself out."
"Goodbye, Ming. I had a good time." That's an understatement but Kit's not about to admit it.
"Me too. Very good."
Kit half expects him to suggest they might do it again sometime, but he doesn't. He just collects his shoes and heads for the door, tossing Kit another smile over his shoulder.
"Sleep well, KitKat," he says softly, and then he's out the door and gone.