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“I’m seeing someone.”
First doesn’t quite know where the words come from—he hadn’t planned to speak at all—but he had to say something, and the second they emerge he knows he can’t take them back. Still, he’s tempted to try and backpedal when he sees the expression on Khaotung’s face as he pulls away in confusion; First has to bite his tongue to stop himself from confessing to his deception, from outing his words for the lie that they are. It hurts, each time he’s forced to lie to Khaotung. Knowing it was a necessary lie—told under duress, borne out of desperation—doesn’t help.
Necessary, because they are on the couch together and Khaotung is clinging to his arm and snuggled in as close as he can get—practically in his lap, really—and First wants more.
He knows how the evening will go; they’ve been here dozens of times since he put an end to the “with benefits” part of their friendship, and it gets harder every time. Khaotung always comes over with an innocent-sounding excuse—he still insists on pretenses—but inevitably they’ll find their way into First’s bed before the night is over.
“Can I just take a quick nap before I drive home?”
Or, “Let’s watch the movie in bed, okay? It’s more comfortable.”
Or, “I’ve had a rough day—can you keep me company, just for a little while?”
And just like that he’ll find his way back into First’s arms for another night, cuddled tightly together like lovers, and for some reason sleeping together like this feels even more intimate than when they were actually fucking. Khaotung always used to go home after he came and took what he needed from First, and now that he stays it feels like he means to take more than First can possibly afford to give to him.
Each night together is more painful than the last, and First knows that if he doesn’t set stricter boundaries soon, he’ll cave and give Khaotung everything he asks for—along with his entire self in the process. Khaotung will keep taking and taking from him, oblivious, until there’s nothing left.
And so, he says it and he doesn’t take it back.
“You’re…seeing someone?” Khaotung repeats slowly. His hurt is plain on his face, as if First has betrayed him by daring to share his heart with anyone else—and something about that sparks a little flare of indignation in First that helps with his reluctance.
“Yeah, I am,” he answers firmly. “So we can’t do this anymore, okay? …He wouldn’t like it.”
“’This’? But we already stopped…” Khaotung trails off, seemingly unwilling to speak of their former arrangement aloud and lend it any legitimacy. They’ve never really talked about it before, not even while it was still going on—to do so would have been too painful for First; too shameful for Khaotung.
“I don’t mean the sex, Ai’Tung,” First says now in a blunt tone, selfishly letting a little of his bitterness show. “I’m talking about everything else—the coming over late at night, the falling asleep together, the way you’ve been clinging to me like…like we’re a couple, or something.” He prudently doesn’t mention the way he’s been clinging just as tightly back.
“…You don’t like it?”
First can’t bring himself to lie again tonight so instead he answers a different question, one Khaotung hasn’t asked. “I just need it to stop.”
After a long moment of silence, Khaotung gives a slow nod. “If that’s what you need.”
First sighs in relief. “Okay. Good. Thanks, Tung.”
Suddenly Khaotung stands up from the couch, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt uncharacteristically. “Well, I guess I’ll being heading out, then.”
First frowns. “What? You don’t have to leave. Didn’t you want to watch the game?”
“No, I think I should go.” Khaotung isn’t making eye contact with First—one of many signs giving away the degree of his agitation. “See you at work tomorrow.”
The door clicks shut behind him and First slumps back on the couch, exhausted. He knows he hurt Khaotung’s feelings deeply tonight; he can always tell when Khaotung is upset, and he looked distraught enough when he left that even his oblivious girlfriend—who can’t tell a damn thing about him—could probably figure it out.
First hates to see Khaotung hurt, hates even more to know that he’s the cause of it. But…this is for the best. There’s no other choice—unless he’s willing to sacrifice himself entirely.
After that, things change just how First hoped they would. They’re busy with work so they still see each other most days. Khaotung always accepts when First invites him to have meals together and they meet up online regularly to play video games. He’s even responding to the majority of First’s texts these days—enough of a change from baseline that it’s clear that Khaotung is making a real effort, in his own way. The way things are now, First ought to feel relieved. And yet…
…Khaotung hasn’t come over since that night.
First should be grateful, really. Their friendship is finally back to what would be considered "normal"—no fucking, no sexually charged tension, not even any lingering looks now that they only see each other in public. If First really had a boyfriend, he’d have nothing to complain about; Khaotung’s behavior has been beyond reproach. It’s exactly what he asked for.
But at his core First is greedy—insatiable—and consequently, he can’t help wanting more. He’s learning that this is a problem without a solution; he’s proven it over and over, unfortunately. He manipulated Khaotung into sleeping with him because being his best friend wasn’t enough—he wanted to be more than that. Then, he ended it because it turned out that even sex wasn’t enough for him without feelings; he still craved more of Khaotung. And now he’s managed to drive Khaotung out of his second home because just being around him was enough to drive First crazy with desperate, never-ending want.
And because he’s greedy and ugly, First can’t help but resent the fact that Khaotung won’t come over anymore. Not that First has actually invited him—that would be too much like sending mixed signals—but it bothers him that Khaotung has finally stopped making excuses to come by.
When he finally hears a knock at the door one night, First forces himself not to react—he reminds himself that the sound of knocking no longer indicates the arrival of his best friend, bringing with him his latest pretext to conceal how much he needs First. He takes his time walking to the door and opens it slowly—and does a double take when he sees that it really is Khaotung standing outside his door, looking up at him with watery, desperate eyes.
“Tungtung?” he asks hesitantly, uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, First,” Khaotung professes in a raw, agonized voice, and that’s when First understands what this is: Khaotung is drunk. No, more than drunk—he’s wasted. Khaotung is wasted and has probably forgotten all about his resolution to keep his distance, and he’s made his way to First’s door by instinct and muscle memory like a lost pet finding its way home. First’s heart gives a painful throb at the evidence that seeking out First for comfort is still second nature to Khaotung, even now.
“I’m so sorry,” Khaotung repeats in a whisper. His face is red and blotchy, cheeks damp and sticky with old tears, and First’s heart aches at the sight of him.
First doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, but he pulls Khaotung in by the wrist and shuts the door gently behind him. “It’s okay, Tungtung,” he says softly as he tugs him into a hug, having no idea whether or not it’s really okay but knowing this is what Khaotung needs right now. “Don’t worry, everything will be alright.”
After a while they pull apart and there’s an awkward moment while First waits for Khaotung to offer an explanation and Khaotung doesn’t. And because First can’t bear it when Khaotung looks at him with those eyes, he folds and gives Khaotung what he wants—just like he always does. He leads him to the bed and climbs in next to him, holding out his arms in invitation, committing to comforting his friend and helping him through one more night at the minor expense of his own sanity.
Khaotung climbs eagerly into his embrace, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around First’s torso like a koala. “Fir,” he sighs in relief, and First can’t help but feel warmed by how utterly contented Khaotung seems, now that he’s back by First’s side.
And within seconds, Khaotung is asleep and First is awake and already regretting his lack of willpower in the face of Khaotung’s pleading eyes. Once again, Khaotung is going to take what he needs from First and then in the morning he’ll wake up and leave, going back to his girlfriend. Back to the world where First is only his best friend. Back to reality.
First wants nothing more than to hold onto Khaotung and never let go, to bite and claw and mark and ruin him until his girlfriend won’t take him back; to fuck him hard and leave enough scars inside that Khaotung will be forced to carry First with him forever—so that even he will have to admit that he belongs to First.
But in an ironic twist of fate, the one thing that tempers First’s greed and ugliness is the profound love he feels for the man in his arms—now peacefully asleep, wholly ignorant of the torment First is enduring for him. With Khaotung clinging to him now, it’s easy to remember that there are more important things than what First wants. He’s managed to hold himself back until now—he can resist for one more night, surely.
A few minutes or hours later, he feels Khaotung stir against him. “First?” Khaotung murmurs sleepily. A moment later, he shifts his hips and First is suddenly aware of Khaotung’s erection pressing unmistakably into his side. First manages not to flinch when he feels a warm palm slide under his shirt, and now he’s certain he isn’t imagining the way Khaotung is rubbing himself covertly against his hip.
He leaves his eyes closed from an instinct of self-preservation; maybe if Khaotung believes he’s asleep, he’ll give up on whatever it is he’s doing and go back to sleep.
As if he hears First’s thoughts, Khaotung slowly withdraws his hand and removes the leg that had been splayed possessively across First’s lap. For a moment First thinks the fates are showing mercy for once in his life, that Khaotung has decided not to torture him after all, when he feels the mattress move underneath him as Khaotung shifts again. Alarmed, First cracks his eyes open and through slitted lids he can see the outline of Khaotung kneeling beside him, silhouetted in moonlight.
This time he’s prepared as Khaotung reaches for his shirt and pushes it out of the way, sliding it up as high as it will go. He holds still as he feels Khaotung’s hot breath over his belly, and he knows that at this rate Khaotung will soon discover that he’s not sleeping if he hasn’t already—his body will inevitably give him away. He holds back a moan as Khaotung drags his lips across his abdomen, feather light. There was a reason he swore he would never fuck Khaotung again—a good reason—but he’s having trouble remembering it now.
Khaotung makes his way up First’s belly and chest and he must realize now that First is awake, has to feel it in his shallow, shuddering breaths and the way his body is trembling beneath him. They’ve never done this before—sex was always as perfunctory as First could make it under the circumstances, and Khaotung reserved this kind of drawn-out foreplay for his girlfriend when he realized that First wasn’t going to play along.
First gets a short reprieve when Khaotung removes his lips from his sternum, and he tries to slow his racing heart through sheer force of will. His eyes are shut again and he’s just registered moist, warm breaths tickling his face, the scent of alcohol still prominent, when he’s startled by the cold sensation of something wet landing on his cheekbone. A second and then a third droplet quickly follow.
He opens his eyes, confused. Khaotung’s face is inches above his, close enough to kiss, eyes shiny with overflowing tears in the dim light. He wants to ask Khaotung why he’s crying—is he that starved for cock?—when all of a sudden he’s distracted by fingers at his waist fumbling with the drawstring of his sweatpants. Before he can figure out how to react, Khaotung’s face is even closer and the smell of alcohol grows as his mouth draws nearer—and First panics.
Unable to bear it any longer, he seizes Khaotung by the shoulders and flips their positions, Khaotung landing on his back with a small gasp of surprise. First pins his wrists on either side of his head, his weight solid on Khaotung’s hips as he restrains him unnecessarily; Khaotung has gone completely still, pliant and willing beneath him.
“Please,” Khaotung begs him in a whisper, tears already running down his temples to leave wet spots on the pillow.
First swallows roughly. “So desperate? You need it that much?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” First asks, a little mean. He’s not thinking clearly; he just knows that he’s on the edge of doing something extremely stupid and Khaotung isn’t helping. “Do you need me inside you? Tell me what you want from me.”
“Please, Fir,” Khaotung whimpers, and First’s remaining resolve shatters at the sound; one whimper, and he’s ready to give Khaotung whatever he asks. “Can’t you just…?”
“Anything,” First promises against his better judgment, letting his head hang in defeat. He’ll hate himself for it in the morning, of course, but right now he wants this as much as Khaotung does; it’s pointless to pretend otherwise when his erection is pressing into Khaotung’s belly. “Whatever you need.”
“Then kiss me,” Khaotung breathes.
…Kiss?
First hesitates. He thought he was ready to give Khaotung anything he asked for, but he also thought he knew what Khaotung wanted. Usually he does know what Khaotung wants without needing to ask, but this request takes him entirely by surprise.
He hasn’t kissed Khaotung outside of work in over a year, not since before they fucked for the first time. It’s because whenever he kisses Khaotung he loses another piece of himself, from what little remains of his soul that is still his own. “No kissing”—it’s been his one hard rule since they started sleeping together; it’s the only thing that’s kept him sane, kept him from breaking into a thousand tiny shards.
…But who is he kidding? First is already broken—he’s been fractured, fragmented, and scattered, with no hope of putting himself back together when the person beneath him holds half his pieces. At this point, it’s been a very long time since he was whole; it’s not like it really matters if Khaotung takes a little more of him now.
Maybe if he gives in, it will stop hurting so much.
So when Khaotung closes his eyes and turns away in defeat, a tiny sob escaping his throat, First lets go of one wrist and catches Khaotung’s jaw in his hand, forcing him to face First again. Khaotung’s eyes blink back open and his lips part in surprise, but before he can say a word First bends down and kisses him and seals his fate, resigned.