The Boy Across the Hall

Phuwin wasn’t supposed to catch feelings for the new neighbor. He just wanted to look. Maybe fantasize. Maybe bend over a little too slowly in the laundry room.

But then Pond — all board shouders, big frame, and polite smiles — started looking back. Started touching. Started whispering filthy things that made Phuwin forget how to breathe.

What began as a chaotic “Play Hard to Get” plan, turns into grinding in Pond’s lap, ruined shirts, and losing it so many times they both forgot how to count—only to end with a date scheduled for Saturday.

or

Phuwin wanted control. Pond wanted everything. Turns out, they’re both losing — and loving every second of it.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter Text

Phuwin had lived in the condo for two years. It was quiet, clean, and most importantly—boring. He liked it that way.

He wasn’t the type to care about who lived around him. As long as they didn’t throw parties or play loud music past midnight, he didn’t bother learning names or faces.

Until someone moved into 3B.

He wouldn’t have even noticed, normally, if it weren’t for the sound of boxes scraping against the hallway carpet one morning when Phuwin was locking his door. He glanced up, more out of habit than interest—and froze.

The new tenant was crouched on the floor, adjusting a stack of books into a too-small box. His back was broad under a loose white shirt, sleeves pushed up over forearms corded with lean muscle.

Big frame.

Strong hands.

Then he looked up.

Their eyes met for a moment—just a moment—and Phuwin felt something strange bloom low in his belly.

A blink.

A smile.

Nothing more.

“Morning,” the guy said, voice soft, low, like warm tea sliding down your throat.

It didn’t match the body it came out of.

It was too gentle.

Phuwin mumbled a quick “hey,” and left before he could stare. But it already started then—before he even made it to the elevator—something unsettling buzzing under his skin.

He didn’t know his name yet.

But the boy across the hall had already taken root somewhere in him.

It got worse from there.

Phuwin would see him in the mornings sometimes—barely awake, hair wet from the shower, keys dangling from his fingers.

Sometimes they’d exchange a quick smile or a nod, other times just the lazy brush of glances.

It should’ve been nothing.

It was nothing.

Until it wasn’t.

Because Phuwin couldn’t stop noticing.

He noticed how the guy wore tank tops when it was hot, how his shoulders flexed when he reached for the mailbox.

How his sweatpants sat low on his hips, how his voice always had this sleepy rasp when he greeted the security guard.

How the hallway smelled faintly of his cologne for minutes after he left.

And Phuwin?

He was losing his fucking mind.

It was slow, embarrassing, like falling into a ditch you didn’t see coming.

At first it was just curiosity.

Then it was something else.

He started jerking off more. Nothing changed in his life except this neighbor—and suddenly he was restless.

Touch-starved.

Desperate in a way he hadn’t been since his early teens.

And always, always, the image behind his eyes was the same.

The boy across the hall, shirtless, sitting on his couch, head tilted back, legs spread.

That voice saying Phuwin’s name, low and sweet.

That smile curling like he already knew what Phuwin wanted.

Sometimes he imagined knocking on his door late at night.

Not saying a word.

Just pushing inside, straddling him.

Feeling those hands on his waist.

That voice in his ear.

That cock inside him, thick and slow.

He always came fast when he thought about that.

Too fast.

Then shame would follow—hot and stupid. Like he was some teenage boy again.

He learned the boy’s name by accident.

Pond.

It was on a package sitting in front of 3B one evening.

Phuwin wasn’t snooping.

He just happened to glance down.

That was all.

Just a glance.

Pond.

He said it in his head.

Softly.

Repeated it once, twice.

Then cursed himself for doing it again.

Pond.

The name tasted like want.

On Saturday morning it was supposed to be a chill catch-up. Just iced americanos, shade from the patio umbrella,

Fourth talking too much about boys again.

Phuwin was barely listening.

Because Pond had left his condo at the same time as Phuwin again that morning.

Because Pond had smiled at him again.

Because Phuwin could still feel it — that little wave of heat that rolled through his gut hours later.

He stirred his drink absently.

Fourth smirked. “You’ve been weird lately.”

“I’m always weird,” Phuwin said without looking up.

“Not like this. You’ve been... jumpy. Distracted. And blushing.”

“I don’t blush.”

“You do, actually. Especially when tall, board, big-framed new neighbors are involved.”

Phuwin’s head jerked up. “I never told you—”

“I live for patterns,” Fourth cut in smugly.

“You’re suddenly always home. You stare at your phone but don’t text anyone. You’re wearing cologne to do laundry. And yesterday? You put your best shirt before going out to take trash.”

Phuwin opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Glared.

“You’re so fucking annoying.”

“I’m right, though.”

“Shut up.”

Fourth leaned in like he was sharing a secret. “Just go flirt with him.”

Phuwin groaned. “Fourth—”

“Okay, not flirt. You’re incapable. But maybe just casually mention that you like thick arms and rasp voices and being railed into—”

“What the fuck do you want me to do?” Phuwin snapped, louder than he meant to. “Walk across the hallway and ask a stranger to dick me down?!”

Silence.

Fourth blinked.

A beat passed.

Then he grinned — slow and vicious.

“Oh my God.”

Phuwin’s ears turned red immediately. “No. Shut up. Don’t.”

“You want him to dick you down.”

“I said shut up!”

“You’ve been fantasizing about your neighbor like a little—”

“I am a pervert!” Phuwin hissed, slamming his straw into the cup. “I think about him constantly. I jerk off like five times a week like a teenager. I can’t even look at him without imagining being on my back with his —”

“Okay, whoa,” Fourth said, raising both hands. “I was teasing, but you are deep in it.”

Phuwin dropped his face into his palms.

“I’m losing my mind,” he muttered. “He’s not even doing anything. Just existing. And I want to sit in his lap and beg.”

Fourth burst into laughter. “I’ve never been so proud.”

“Kill me.”

“You’re in love.”

“I’m in heat.”

“Same thing,” Fourth said, sipping his drink. “For you, at least.”

“You need a plan,” Fourth said, leaning forward with the gleam of someone who’d seen too many dramas and had zero real-world shame.

“I don’t need a plan,” Phuwin muttered, already regretting meeting him today. “I need you to shut up.”

Fourth ignored him completely.

“You want Pond to rail you, yeah?”

“Oh my god.”

“So we seduce him. Easy.”

“There is nothing easy about that sentence.”

Fourth tapped the table like he was drawing up blueprints. “Option one: you bake something. Knock on his door, offer it shyly. Be a domestic wet dream. Look innocent. Maybe wear a tank top.”

“I don’t even own an oven,” Phuwin deadpanned.

“Microwave mug cake. It’s about vibe. Bonus if you lick some frosting off your finger in front of him.”

Phuwin stared. “Do you want me to get arrested?”

Fourth grinned. “Option two: laundry room seduction.”

“What?”

“‘Oh no~ I forgot my detergent~ guess I’ll have to borrow some from my hot neighbor~’” Fourth sang, miming an overly dramatic hair flip.

“I’m going to commit a crime.”

“Or! You just casually bend over to pick something up when he walks by. Pants a little low. Spine arched. Give him a peek of that cute ass.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me. And you’ll love Pond more once he’s blowing your back out—”

“FOURTH!”

Fourth cackled.

“Option three,” he said, undeterred. “Fake a power outage. Knock on his door and be like, ‘Hey, I’m scared of the dark, can I come in?’ Bonus points if you're shirtless and ‘accidentally’ wet from a shower.”

“I’m not doing softcore porn in the hallway!”

“You don’t have to,” Fourth said, sipping his drink smugly. “But it’s your best shot.”

Phuwin groaned, slumping in his chair, dragging both hands down his face.

“I should move.”

“You should get laid,” Fourth said sweetly. “By your neighbor. Preferably against a wall.”

“I hate that you’re actually enjoying this.”

“Deeply,” Fourth said. “Now—do you have anything cute to wear to the laundry room, or are we going shopping?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Phuwin stared at the microwave like it had personally betrayed him.

The mug cake inside was lopsided, vaguely chocolate, and possibly edible.

He hadn’t baked anything in his life—unless you counted frozen pizza—and now he was standing in his kitchen wearing soft gray sweatpants and a slightly too-fitted white tee, because “Just look like a domestic wet dream,”

Fourth had said.

Whatever the fuck that meant.

“Do I look like a stay-at-home-husband with a choking kink? Is that what he meant?” Phuwin muttered, glaring at the steam fogging the microwave glass.

Because what was a domestic wet dream?

Like… someone who bakes shirtless?

Who says “dinner’s ready” with bite marks on their neck?

Fourth hadn’t explained.

He just smirked, told Phuwin to roll up his sleeves and smile sweetly when offering the cake. “Boys want softness now,” he’d said. “Make him think about eating you for dessert.”

Phuwin wanted to die.

He pulled the mug out with a potholder, frowned at it. It looked… fine.

Smelled chocolatey.

A little cracked on top.

Whatever.

It’s not about the cake, Fourth had said.

It’s about the vibe.

Phuwin was not good at vibe.

But he was horny.

And desperate.

And possibly brain-damaged from watching Pond stretch his arms above his head in a tank top yesterday.

So.

He wiped his hands on a dish towel and stared at the door across the hallway.

He could just knock.

Say he made extra.

Be normal.

Be soft.

Be warm.

Look like someone he could fuck against a kitchen counter.

Phuwin groaned into the towel.

“This is so stupid.”

But he still stepped out.

Still stood in front of Pond’s door, heart beating like he was about to confess to a murder instead of offer a mug cake.

And just when he was about to turn back—

The door opened.

Pond blinked at him.

Hair damp.

No shirt.

Just low gray sweatpants and bare skin, golden under the hallway light.

“Oh,” Pond said, voice a little rough with sleep. “Hey. Everything okay?”

Phuwin short-circuited.

Words.

Words were needed now.

“Hi. I—uh. Made this.” He held out the mug cake like a weapon. “Too much. Thought you might want some.”

Pond looked at the mug.

Then back at Phuwin.

His smile curled slow and sweet. “You baked?”

“It’s microwaved,” Phuwin said, already wanting to throw himself down the stairs.

Pond laughed, soft and surprised. “That’s still baking. Thanks.”

He took the mug, fingers brushing Phuwin’s. Phuwin tensed like he'd been tasered.

Pond noticed.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You’re red.”

“I run hot,” Phuwin said, voice tight.

Pond smiled wider. “Well, you also smell good. Like sugar. And vanilla.”

Phuwin blinked. “What.”

Pond lifted the mug slightly. “Must be from baking. This. Or maybe you. Not sure.”

Phuwin actually gasped.

Pond’s brows lifted, amused.

“Thanks again. You didn’t have to. But it’s really sweet,” he said.

Then, after a beat: “You’re sweet.”

The door clicked shut.

Phuwin stood frozen for a full minute.

Then turned.

Walked back to his condo.

Closed the door gently.

And screamed into a pillow.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Phuwin stirred his iced coffee.

He looked emotionally damaged.

“He took the mug,” he said, flatly. “Said I was sweet. Smiled. Then closed the door.”

Fourth looked like he’d been slapped across the face with a dishcloth.

“He closed the door.”

“Yes.”

“Without even inviting you in?”

“No.”

“Did he compliment you?”

“…He said I smelled like sugar and vanilla.”

Fourth stared at him for five full seconds before slapping both palms on the table so hard it shook.

“WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF ABSOLUTE LOSER ENERGY—”

“Fourth—”

“I worked on that plan!”

“You yelled it at me over the phone while I was grocery shopping.”

“I gave you a strategy! I gave you a SCRIPT!”

“You told me to ‘look like a domestic wet dream and act shy with a hint of slut.’”

“AND YOU DID!” Fourth shrieked. “And he just—took the cake?! Smelled you like a fucking cinnamon roll and then closed the door like a priest?!”

Phuwin rubbed his face with both hands. “Please stop yelling in the café.”

“I will not.” Fourth leaned in. “You showed up in soft pants. With cake. With vanilla scent. You offered him dessert, Phuwin. You were the dessert.”

“I hate this.”

“I hate him!” Fourth hissed. “Who gets handed a warm, pretty boy offering cake in soft clothes and closes the door?! Was he raised by wolves?!”

Phuwin sighed. “Maybe he’s just polite. Maybe he didn’t realize.”

Fourth narrowed his eyes. “Or maybe he’s evil.”

“He’s not evil.”

“He’s too powerful and he knows it. That smile? That voice? The sweatpants? That’s not innocent. That’s premeditated thirst-trapping.”

“He just woke up,” Phuwin muttered.

“With abs?!”

Phuwin buried his head in his arms.

Fourth softened a little. “Okay. Okay, listen. Maybe he’s just clueless. Or shy. Or has a thing about cake. But I refuse to believe he’s not at least a little into you.”

Phuwin peeked out. “Why?”

“Because you’re you.” Fourth smacked his shoulder. “And because he complimented your scent. Straight boys don’t do that unless they’re about to ruin your life or ask to borrow your perfume.”

Phuwin snorted.

Fourth sat back, sipping his drink with a dramatic sigh. “This is fine. We pivot. Plan B.”

Phuwin groaned. “I’m scared.”

“You should be.” Fourth grinned wickedly. “Because now we’re doing laundry room seduction. And this time? We’re getting results.”

The next day Phuwin was going to die in this laundry room.

He stood frozen in front of the washing machine, holding a plastic basket of clothes like it might shield him from shame.

His hoodie sleeves were pushed up, sweatpants hanging low on his hips—because “Casual, but inviting,” Fourth had texted this morning, along with three peach emojis and a GIF of a cat doing squats.

He had told himself he wouldn’t do it.

That the cake plan was bad enough.

That he had dignity.

And yet, here he was.

No detergent.

Because “Oops~ forgot something~” was apparently Fourth’s idea of flirting.

“Just give him a peek of that sweet ass,” Fourth had said. “Bend a little more than necessary. Let him suffer.”

Phuwin hated how those words echoed in his head now.

Loud.

Bouncing between his ears like a cursed spell.

He took a breath.

Fine.

Whatever.

It’s just bending over.

He crouched dramatically, grabbing the first fistful of clothes, and started stuffing them into the front-loading machine.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

A little too slowly.

Back arched.

Sweatpants clinging.

Fourth’s stupid voice in his head: “Yes! Make him repent for ever closing that door on your cake—”

“Hey.”

Phuwin flinched so hard he dropped a sock.

Pond was standing in the doorway, basket in one hand, shirtless again.

Because of course he was shirtless again.

Hair damp.

Collarbones on full display.

Voice soft and warm, just a little hoarse.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Pond said, stepping inside.

Phuwin’s brain made the dial-up noise of a dying internet connection.

“No—uh. It’s fine. I just—forgot my detergent.”

Pond looked over at the machine already half full of clothes.

“You’re halfway done.”

“Yeah.” Phuwin forced a shrug. “Thought maybe the machine would just... know what to do.”

Pond laughed. “That’s risky.”

“You’d be surprised how often it works,” Phuwin muttered, face warm.

Pond walked over, reached into his basket, and casually pulled out a bottle of detergent. “You can use mine.”

Phuwin looked up.

Pond held it out.

Easy.

No big deal.

Except his smile was lazy.

Eyes just a bit lower than they should’ve been.

Like he had seen.

Like he knew.

“Thanks,” Phuwin said, taking the bottle, trying very hard not to die.

Pond leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching. “You do laundry every Saturday?”

“Usually.”

Pond hummed. “Guess I’ll start doing mine on Saturdays too.”

Phuwin nearly fumbled the cap.

Phuwin took the detergent with muttered thanks and turned back to his machine, praying to all gods old and new that Pond wouldn’t notice how pink his ears were.

This is fine, he told himself.

Just do the laundry.

Like a normal human.

Like a person not trying to seduce their neighbor with strategic ass angles.

He crouched again.

Lower this time.

More clothes to load, more dignity to lose.

His hoodie rode up a little at the back, the soft cotton of his sweatpants hugging too tight across his thighs.

And he felt it—that moment—when he shifted just a little too slow.

The tug of the waistband.

The stupid voice in his head whispering, “Give him a peek.”

His cheeks burned.

What the fuck was he doing?

This wasn't him.

He wasn’t seductive.

He wasn’t built for this kind of public-floorplan thirst trap.

He was just... tired.

Horny.

Losing brain cells by the day.

And yet—he stayed bent over. Stuffing the last of his socks into the washer like they were hand grenades.

“Need help?”

Pond’s voice was close.

Too close.

Phuwin turned his head to answer—and froze.

Pond was at the machine right next to his now, basket propped on his hip.

Close enough to smell like soap and fresh skin.

Close enough for their elbows to brush.

And then—like it was the most casual, innocent thing in the world—Pond placed one hand on Phuwin’s waist.

Just a light touch.

Brief.

Barely pressure.

But it lit Phuwin up like a live wire.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t think.

The touch was warm.

Confident.

Not a grab, not a grope—just a steadying hand.

Just a touch.

But it made Phuwin feel like he was naked.

“Didn’t mean to crowd you,” Pond murmured, voice soft, like he was smiling.

Phuwin made a noise.

A very real, very broken little sound in the back of his throat.

His knees nearly gave out.

He stayed bent forward for a second too long, trying to remember how to breathe.

His mind was screaming.

WHAT THE FUCK.

Was that on purpose?

Did he see?

Did he know?!

He stood up too fast, nearly knocking elbows with Pond. “I’m good. I’m—fine. No crowding. I like... crowds. People. Closeness. It’s great.”

Pond blinked, clearly amused. “You okay?”

Phuwin nodded too hard. “Yep.”

Pond smiled again, that sleepy-lidded grin that made Phuwin want to scream into a pillow. “Just checking.”

And then he turned back to his machine like nothing had happened.

Phuwin stared at his own washer.

His hands trembled.

Inside his head: full-blown collapse. Fourth’s voice was now cackling.

“Did he touch your waist? He touched your waist! You won.”

Phuwin swallowed.

What the fuck was happening to him.

Later Phuwin closed his door with more force than necessary, chest tight, palms clammy.

His laundry basket dropped to the floor with a soft thud, forgotten.

His heart wouldn’t slow down.

He leaned against the door.

Eyes closed.

Breathing shallow.

“You okay?” Pond’s voice replayed again.

Soft.

Careful.

Right after that hand—that goddamn hand—rested on his waist like it belonged there.

It hadn’t lasted more than two seconds.

But it haunted him like a fever.

He opened his eyes and whispered to himself, “What the fuck am I doing.”

Because what was that, really?

He bent over like a bad porno extra.

Forgot detergent on purpose

. Let his ass ride high in sweatpants like some desperate bottom on a mission.

And for what?

A warm hand.

A sleepy grin.

A fucking detergent loan.

He buried his face in his hands.

“I made myself a fool.”

And yet—

His skin was still tingling.

The spot where Pond touched him?

Still burning.

He could feel it.

The weight.

The heat.

The strength of Pond’s fingers through the thin fabric.

How casually they landed.

How confidently they held.

Like Phuwin was something steady to touch.

Something wanted.

He sucked in a breath.

Dragged his fingers down his face.

Paced twice.

Then groaned, dragging himself toward the bed like gravity had shifted and all of it pulled low.

By the time he fell onto the mattress, his dick was already hard.

Pathetic.

He rolled onto his back, covered his eyes with one arm, and let the memory take him under.

The warm light of the laundry room.

Pond’s bare torso.

That little scrape of skin when Pond brushed past him.

That hand on his waist.

The pressure.

Phuwin whimpered—actually whimpered—and shoved his hand down his pants.

He stroked himself fast, frantic, hips twitching like his body didn’t care how stupid this was.

Didn’t care how many brain cells had been lost in that laundry room.

All he could think about was Pond standing behind him, taller, solid, that same hand holding him there, warm breath against his neck.

Whispering something soft like “You want help, baby?” before grinding up against him.

Phuwin’s thighs clenched.

He jerked faster, moaning through clenched teeth, the heat building too fast, too much.

He imagined Pond pressing him into the washing machine, lips dragging down his spine, big hands grabbing his hips and—

“Fuck—”

He came hard, messy, shaking, his hand trembling as he slowed down, panting.

The room was too quiet afterward.

He lay there, chest heaving, body ruined by a memory that wasn’t even real.

And all he could think was:

That was just one touch.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Okay, spill,” Fourth said, the moment Phuwin slid into the café booth.

Phuwin didn’t even get to sit fully before Fourth leaned in across the table, eyes wide with gossip-fueled hunger. “You did it, right? Laundry Room Seduction Plan™? Tell me everything.”

Phuwin sighed.

Looked down at his iced coffee.

Then back at Fourth.

“I hate you.”

Fourth beamed. “So it went well!”

“I made an idiot of myself.”

“Did he see the ass?”

“Fourth.”

“It’s a valid question.”

Phuwin took a long, long sip of his coffee. “I bent over like a fool. Wore stupid pants. Forgot detergent on purpose. He came in, offered me his like a gentleman—touched my waist—and I almost had a brain aneurysm.”

Fourth gasped. “Wait—he touched you?!”

“Just… one hand,” Phuwin muttered, ears turning pink. “Barely anything.”

“And you lived?!”

“Barely!”

Fourth squealed.

Phuwin slumped lower. “Then I went home and—never mind.”

“No no. Absolutely not never mind. What did you do? Cry? Scream? Text him a thank you?”

“I jerked off.”

Fourth paused mid-sip. Blinked. “Okay. Respect.”

“I came in under thirty seconds like a teenager.”

“That hand must’ve been powerful.”

“It was.”

“Did he squeeze?”

“No.”

“Did he linger?”

Phuwin rubbed his face. “A second. Maybe less. I felt it for hours.”

Fourth leaned back, looking disturbingly pleased. “So... what you’re saying is: my plan worked.”

“Your plan ruined me.”

Fourth grinned, victorious. “You’re welcome.”

“I hate you so much.”

“But you love the hand.”

Phuwin groaned, dropping his head to the table. “I do. I want it back.”

“Same placement?”

“Exactly.”

Fourth leaned in, serious now. “Phuwin. You are this close to getting dicked down by a man who touched your waist and said you smelled like vanilla. Do not give up now.”

“I’m not doing this again.”

Fourth blinked. “You’re not doing what again?”

“Whatever you’re about to suggest,” Phuwin muttered, stabbing his salad like it personally offended him. “No more bending over. No more pretending to forget basic tasks. I’m not about to turn my entire life into one of those soft-core BLs you send me at 3 a.m.”

Fourth sipped his drink, entirely unbothered. “That’s rich coming from someone who came from a waist touch.”

“Fourth.”

He raised his hands. “Fine. Okay. No more seduction missions.”

“Good.”

“No more setups. No more slutty errands. You’re free.”

“Thank you.”

Pause.

Beat.

Fourth leaned in. “But.”

Phuwin closed his eyes. “No.”

“Just one thing.”

“No.”

“Bring him back the detergent.”

Phuwin opened one eye, suspicious. “What.”

“You borrowed it. Be a good neighbor. Return it.”

“That’s not a plan.”

“It could be. If you wear that loose shirt—the one that keeps slipping off your shoulder—and those stupid little soft shorts that cling when you walk.”

“I hate you.”

“And maybe—maybe—you get halfway through saying thanks, stretch a little, give him a peek, and walk away. Let him spiral for once.”

Phuwin stared.

Fourth grinned.

“You’d be doing God’s work.”

“I’m not—”

“You don’t say anything suggestive. You don’t do anything sexual. You’re just pretty. Loose clothes. Bare legs. Innocent expression. Return the detergent. Mid-sentence... maybe tug the hem of your shirt down. Make him watch your fingers almost slip under.”

Phuwin turned bright red.

Fourth leaned closer. “Mid-thought, Phuwin. Make him suffer.”

Phuwin’s breath hitched. “He touched me yesterday.”

“I know.” Fourth clapped. “Time to return the favor.”

Two hours later Phuwin stood in front of his mirror, holding the detergent bottle like it was a prop in a stage play.

Loose gray shirt, wide neckline falling just off the shoulder.

Soft black shorts.

Bare legs.

A thousand regrets.

He looked like someone who accidentally walked into someone’s dreams.

He hated that Fourth was right.

He hated that his heart was beating so fast.

He hated that he was actually walking out his door and crossing the hall with a bottle of detergent and a fake reason just to see Pond again.

But the worst part?

He wanted to make him suffer.

Just a little.

Then, just like that, Phuwin stood outside Pond’s door, heart thudding stupidly loud in his ears.

The bottle of detergent was cradled in one arm, fingers twitching at the cap.

His other hand kept tugging at the hem of his shirt — not too obvious, not too high.

He told himself it was just nerves.

The shirt was loose, pale gray, neckline slipping off his left shoulder like it had a mind of its own.

The fabric was thin.

The kind that clung when you breathed too deep.

His shorts were soft, black, barely mid-thigh.

He looked like someone who just got out of bed.

And unfortunately, he felt like someone who might die of shame in the next thirty seconds.

He raised his fist to knock.

“Stretch a little when he opens the door,” Fourth’s voice whispered in his head. “Pull the hem down, let your shirt slip. Look innocent. Make him imagine you in his bed.”

“Shut up,” Phuwin muttered under his breath.

The door opened.

And Pond was there.

Shirtless.

Again.

Hair damp.

Collarbone sharp.

Sweatpants hanging low.

Phuwin blinked. “Hi.”

Pond’s eyes dropped immediately.

They swept over the shirt, the bare shoulder, the shorts, the legs.

Slowly.

Like he didn’t mean to—but couldn’t help it.

His gaze flickered back up, then caught on Phuwin’s mouth.

Phuwin’s whole body burned.

“I, uh—” he held up the detergent, trying to sound casual. “You lent me this. Just returning it.”

Pond didn’t answer right away.

He just stared.

Then smiled, a little dazed. “You didn’t have to.”

Phuwin shifted his weight, suddenly aware of every inch of skin.

His hand twitched at his side.

Almost tugged his shirt hem instinctively, then froze.

“Stretch,” Fourth’s voice echoed like the devil himself.

Phuwin’s fingers inched lower.

Tugged.

The shirt slipped slightly—off one shoulder, then the other, until the neckline dipped across his collarbones.

He caught Pond watching it.

Watching him.

“Make him suffer.”

He cleared his throat. “You busy?”

Pond blinked, like waking from a trance. “What?”

“I mean—if you’re doing laundry again. I was gonna go down later too.”

Pond swallowed. “No, I’m done for today.”

Phuwin nodded.

Tugged his shirt back up. “Cool.”

Pond’s voice was lower now. A little rough. “You always dress like this when you do laundry?”

Phuwin blinked.

His stomach flipped.

Play it cool.

Play it cool.

“I live alone,” he said. “Clothes are optional.”

Pond stared at him for one second too long.

Then—softly—“Lucky walls, then.”

Phuwin stopped breathing.

There it was.

He didn’t know what this was turning into.

Didn’t know what he’d just started.

But he saw it—

That look in Pond’s eyes.

Hunger.

Then Pond smiled politely, said “Thank you for bringing it back” and closed the damn door.

Just like that.

Phuwin slammed his door shut behind him and immediately collapsed face-first onto his couch.

“Mmmhhh.”

He groaned into the cushions.

Loud.

Dramatic.

Suffering.

“Mmmfuckfuckfuck—”

His phone vibrated from his pocket.

Fourth calling.

Phuwin rolled over, grabbed it, and answered without greeting.

“I hate you.”

Fourth sounded way too cheerful. “So how’d it go? Did you stretch? Did he look? Was the detergent symbolic of anything? Did he fall to his knees?”

“I hate you so much,” Phuwin whined. “I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“Wait—what? Why?”

“Because I stood there looking like a inviting couch potato—in those shorts you told me to wear!—and he just looked at me, said he was done with laundry today, and then closed the door.”

Silence.

Then, cautiously: “Okay but… maybe he was done with laundry?”

“No, Fourth. His eyes did this thing.”

“What thing?”

“Judging thing. He did a once-over. Like... up-down. Pause. Polite smile.”

Fourth cackled. “That wasn’t judgment, that was called checking you out.”

“No it was not,” Phuwin groaned, flopping dramatically onto his back. “It was like he was mentally covering me with a towel. Or handing me a blanket. I looked like someone who tries to thirst trap the mailman.”

Fourth was wheezing. “Did you say anything stupid?”

“Everything I said was stupid!”

“What did you say?”

“I said I live alone so clothes are optional!”

“Oh my God.”

“I stretched, Fourth. I did the fucking stretch. The shirt slipped. I was bare shouldering like a dumbass anime boy and he just looked at me like—like I was a someone playing pretend sexy.”

Fourth took a deep breath. “Okay, so. Just to recap. You stood in front of your very hot, possibly thirst-trappy neighbor, wearing a loose shirt and soft shorts, gave him back detergent, implied you do laundry naked, and showed skin.”

“Yes,” Phuwin moaned, face in his hands.

“And he said nothing flirty?”

“No. Just ‘you always dress like that?’ and then I said that thing and then he smiled and said something about lucky walls and then just—closed the door.”

Fourth was silent for a beat.

“Lucky walls?”

Phuwin blinked. “Yeah.”

“You mean—as in, he thinks your walls are lucky because they get to see you walking around like that?”

“…Oh my god.”

“PHUWIN.”

“I MISSED IT.”

“PHUWIN.”

“I THOUGHT HE MEANT LITERALLY THE WALLS WERE LUCKY BECAUSE I WASN’T IN HIS ROOM BOTHERING HIM—”

“You absolute MORON.”

Fourth screamed. “You were ONE SECOND AWAY from getting bred on a goddamn couch and you walked away.”

“I THOUGHT HE DIDN’T WANT ME!”

“HE WANTED YOU SO BAD HE SAID IT IN CODE!”

Phuwin rolled back onto his side, staring at the ceiling. “I’m never wearing shorts again.”

Fourth’s voice was dangerously serious now. “You’re going to fix this. We’re going to fix this.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No more plans.”

“Next phase: accidental wet t-shirt.”

“Fourth—”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Pond stood frozen behind his closed door.

The detergent still in his hand.

His brain?

Fried.

His dick?

Very aware of what just happened.

He leaned his forehead against the wood, exhaled slowly, and muttered:

“What the fuck was that.”

Because that wasn’t just Phuwin returning detergent.

That was Phuwin standing in the doorway like he’d rolled out of bed looking like a fever dream—shirt slipping off both shoulders, black shorts hugging his thighs, eyes all soft and mouth a little pink like he didn’t know what he was doing.

But Pond had seen it.

Had felt his gaze crawl all the way down Phuwin’s legs and back up to the dip of his collarbone, to the skin peeking out like it wanted to be touched.

He wasn’t proud of the noise that almost came out of him when Phuwin tugged at the hem of his shirt.

Soft fingers.

Slow movement.

Fabric stretching across bare skin.

He had to physically stop himself from reaching out again.

From sliding his hand right back to where it belonged—on that waist.

And then Phuwin had the audacity to say:

“I live alone. Clothes are optional.”

Pond nearly blacked out.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t normal.

No neighbor was supposed to show up dressed like that and say shit like that and not mean anything by it.

Unless…

Pond lifted his head, frowning.

He thought he saw something.

In the way Phuwin spoke.

The way he lingered.

The way he flushed when Pond looked too long.

And Pond had said something, hadn’t he?

“Lucky walls,” he’d whispered, like an idiot.

Was that too much?

Not enough?

Did he even get it?

Pond pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, trying not to groan.

He looked so fucking good.

He wanted to grab that soft fabric and pull.

Wanted to see how far it would ride up.

How low those shorts sat when Phuwin lifted his arms.

He wanted Phuwin in his lap, warm and lazy, whispering those same stupid words about not needing clothes.

He didn’t close the door because he wasn’t interested.

He closed it because he was about three seconds away from being feral.

He looked down.

Still hard.

“Great,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Amazing. Fantastic.”

He set the detergent down and paced his kitchen like a man possessed.

He could’ve asked him to stay.

Could’ve said something like “Want to come in?” Or “You wanna hang out?” Or “Can I put my hands on your hips again, please, I think about it at night—”

He groaned and fell back onto his couch, hands covering his face.

“You always dress like this when you do laundry?”

Smooth.

Real smooth.

But the way Phuwin looked back at him after that?

Lips parted.

Shoulders bare.

Shirt threatening to fall again.

Pond was going insane.

And now?

He was just sitting there.

Alone.

With a detergent bottle and a very real erection.

He stared at the mug on his table.

The one Phuwin brought the cake in.

He still hadn’t returned it.

Maybe he should.

Return the mug.

Say thanks.

Ask him in.

Ask to see what else he wears when clothes are optional—

Pond groaned again and rolled onto his side.

Barely made it ten minutes before he gave in.

He tried to clean up.

Tried to check his phone.

Tried to breathe like a normal person.

But it was impossible.

Because every time he closed his eyes, he saw it.

Phuwin in that stupid shirt.

Phuwin’s bare shoulder peeking out, collarbone sharp, the fabric clinging too softly to skin that looked too good to ignore.

And those shorts — those fucking shorts — hugging the curve of his thighs, loose around the hem, so soft they rode up when he shifted, when he turned.

Pond could still feel the warmth of Phuwin’s waist under his hand.

He didn’t even mean to touch him, not really.

But once he was that close…

God.

He could feel the dip of Phuwin’s side.

Could imagine pressing closer, slipping his fingers just a little lower.

What would he have done if Phuwin leaned back?

Pond sat down hard on the couch, breath tight, one hand already sliding down the front of his sweatpants.

His cock was aching — thick and hot, flushed red and pulsing from the second he closed that door.

He wrapped his fingers around it and exhaled, jaw clenched.

Thought about Phuwin’s eyes — wide and soft, like he didn’t even know what he was doing.

About the way his voice dipped low when he said:

“I live alone. Clothes are optional.”

Pond groaned.

He jerked once — slow, steady — and his hips jolted up like it wasn’t enough.

Like his body needed it harder, deeper.

He let the image unfurl in his head:

Phuwin on the couch.

Climbing onto Pond’s lap.

Shirt hanging off his frame.

Those legs straddling him, warm and bare, thighs pressing in.

Phuwin grinding down on him slowly, mouth parted, lashes low.

“You gonna touch me again?”

“Like this?” Pond would say, gripping his waist again.

“Lower.”

Pond pumped faster now, breathing heavy, back arching off the cushions.

His other hand clenched the pillow behind him, knuckles white.

Sweat prickled at the base of his neck.

He imagined Phuwin riding him, whining sweetly, sweat dripping down his chest.

That soft voice breaking—“Feels so good—fuck, Pond—”

Pond's head fell back.

His hips thrust up into his own hand, chasing that pressure, that heat, thinking of Phuwin’s pink lips and flushed cheeks and the way he looked up at Pond when he handed him the detergent like he didn’t know he was seconds from being fucked into the washing machine.

“Let me see under those shorts, pretty boy—”

Pond came with a groan, hips jerking, hot cum spilling into his hand and across his stomach.

His eyes squeezed shut.

Mouth open.

The room was quiet again.

Too quiet.

He lay there, spent.

Panting.

And all he could think about was:

That was just a shirt and shorts.

What the fuck is going to happen when he touches me back?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Pond stood outside Phuwin’s door.

This time, it was morning.

A clean white T-shirt clung to his chest, and his hair was soft and still a little damp from the shower.

The ceramic mug sat heavy in his hand, still warm from the tea he poured before walking over.

He'd told himself it wasn’t a big deal.

He was just returning the mug.

Being polite.

Neighborly.

Totally not thinking about Phuwin’s thighs.

Or Phuwin’s voice.

Or the way his shirt fell down his shoulder like it wanted to be pulled lower.

Pond adjusted his grip on the mug and knocked once.

Moments passed.

Then the door creaked open.

Phuwin blinked at him — expression unreadable, mouth pressed in a polite line.

No smile.

No blush.

No soft sleepy shorts.

Pond froze.

Phuwin was wearing a hoodie.

Zipped all the way up.

Black jeans.

Socks.

Not an inch of skin showing.

“Hey,” Pond said, lifting the mug a little. “Thought I’d bring this back.”

“Oh. Right.” Phuwin took the mug, fingers brushing Pond’s just barely. “Thanks.”

Silence.

Painful, aching silence.

Pond waited.

Waited for the soft joke.

The flirty line.

The warmth from yesterday to peek out again.

Nothing.

Phuwin stepped back half a step — not enough to invite him in. Just enough to say: that’s it.

Pond cleared his throat. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to come by for tea or—”

“I’ve got a lot to do today,” Phuwin said, voice quiet. “But thanks.”

Pond blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

Phuwin nodded. “Have a good one.”

And then?

He closed the door.

Gently.

But firmly.

Phuwin leaned his forehead against the door and groaned.

“Fuck.”

He felt like an asshole.

But what was he supposed to do?

Smile at Pond like nothing happened?

Act like he wasn’t clearly rejected yesterday?

Like Pond hadn’t looked him up and down and then shut the door on his stupid little outfit?

No thanks.

He wasn’t going to be pathetic twice in a row.

So yeah.

Hoodie.

Jeans.

Zero skin.

Cold voice.

No flirting.

Safe.

Smart.

Even if Pond looked stupidly handsome this morning — even if the sound of his voice still made Phuwin’s stomach twist — he couldn’t let himself fall harder.

Later that day Phuwin sat across from Fourth at their usual café.

Hoodie on.

Hood up.

Fingers tucked into the sleeves like a tragic little goblin.

He stirred his coffee without drinking it.

Didn’t speak for a full thirty seconds.

Then: “He brought back the mug.”

Fourth raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“He just said he was returning it. That’s it.”

Fourth narrowed his eyes. “And?”

“I said I was busy.”

“Were you?”

“No.”

Fourth inhaled sharply. “Did he look hot?”

“Of course he looked hot.”

“Did he try to flirt?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Fourth slammed both hands down on the table, causing the sugar packets to jump.

“I cannot do this with you today.”

Phuwin winced. “I—”

“HE SHOWED UP WITH A MUG, PHUWIN.”

“I KNOW.”

“HE USED THAT MUG TO SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN.”

“I THOUGHT—”

“THOUGHT WHAT?” Fourth snapped. “That he brought back a mug like it’s 1952 and there’s nothing else in the world he wanted from you? Did he not touch your waist two days ago? Did he not smell you like a dog and compliment your scent like you were a fucking candle?”

Phuwin covered his face. “Please lower your voice.”

“I WILL NOT.” Fourth pointed dramatically. “This man was on the verge of crawling into your lap for a crumb of skin and you—you showed up in a hoodie.”

“I thought he rejected me!” Phuwin whined.

“HE SAID ‘LUCKY WALLS,’ PHUWIN.”

“I thought it meant I was annoying him!”

“Lucky to see you naked is not a rejection, you idiot—IT’S A WISH.”

Phuwin groaned. “I don’t know anymore. I don’t trust my instincts. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe he was just being polite.”

“Polite people don’t touch your waist, Phuwin. They don’t breathe through their mouths when you stretch in soft shorts. They don’t show up in the morning, freshly showered, with your mug like it’s their heart in a cup.”

Phuwin blinked. “You think he showered before bringing it?”

“Yes! For you! Who showers before returning a mug unless they want to be held down and thanked with full body contact?!”

Silence.

Then: “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being right,” Fourth hissed, then leaned forward, voice suddenly low. Dangerous.

“You keep telling yourself he’s not interested so you don’t have to admit you’re terrified of wanting him back.”

Phuwin froze.

Fourth smiled.

Sweet.

Sharp.

Ruthless.

“Poor baby. What are you gonna do when he stops trying?”

Phuwin sulked into his coffee, face half hidden in the neck of his hoodie.

Across the table, Fourth was scrolling through his phone like he wasn’t plotting war.

“I’m not doing it,” Phuwin said flatly.

“You don’t even know what I’m suggesting yet.”

“It’s a no. A preemptive no. Whatever it is, it’s stupid, slutty, and illegal in several countries.”

Fourth looked up slowly. “You’re the one who got touched on the waist and then came in thirty seconds. I’m the voice of reason here.”

Phuwin let his head fall to the table. “It’s hopeless.”

Fourth clicked his tongue. “You’re pathetic.”

“I know.”

“You gave up after one polite laundry detergent return.”

“He closed the door!”

“He came to your door holding ceramic next day, Phuwin. That’s basically a marriage proposal in gay terms.”

Phuwin groaned.

Fourth leaned forward, fingers steepled like a man about to drop something unforgivable. “So here’s the deal. One last plan. Then I’ll stop. I’ll let you rot in your hoodie cave forever.”

Phuwin didn’t move.

“But you have to promise to try.”

Silence.

More silence.

Then Phuwin, muffled against the table: “...What’s the plan.”

Fourth grinned. “A little bit of casual thirst.”

Phuwin groaned louder. “No more outfits.”

“No outfits. I swear. This one’s psychological warfare.”

Phuwin peeked up, suspicious. “How?”

“You invite him over.”

“No.”

“Shut up. Listen—”

“I’m not—”

“LISTEN.”

Fourth pointed at him like God giving Moses the commandments.

“You invite him for something boring. A movie. A snack. Something low-stakes. Zero flirting. You act normal. Cool. Distant. He’s expecting tension? You give him politeness.”

Phuwin blinked. “...How is this seduction.”

Fourth leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Because you let him feel the absence.”

Phuwin stared.

“You were flirty before. You wore soft shorts. You stretched. You blushed. Now you’re cool. Dry. Reserved. Unbothered. And he’ll panic.”

“That’s evil.”

“That’s gay psychology.”

Phuwin hesitated.

“What do I even say?”

“‘I made brownies. Want one?’”

“That’s your plan?”

“Men are weak, Phuwin. Weak for food. Weak for denial. Weak for boys in hoodies acting like they don’t care anymore.”

Phuwin sat in silence.

Then, quietly: “I didn’t make brownies.”

Fourth grinned. “You will.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Pond wasn’t sure what the message meant, exactly.

“Made too many. You can come have one if you want.”

No emojis.

No teasing.

Just plain, flat text.

Polite.

Still, he showered.

Again.

Just in case.

Wore his nice pants.

Just in case.

Combed his hair.

Took a deep breath.

Stood in front of Phuwin’s door holding absolutely nothing this time — just his heart pounding behind his ribs.

He knocked once.

The door opened.

And there was Phuwin.

In a hoodie.

Again.

Sweatpants.

No skin.

Hair neat.

Eyes calm.

No shoulder.

No slip of thigh.

No “oops, forgot my shorts” energy.

Just Phuwin.

Quiet.

Composed.

“Hey,” Phuwin said, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Pond blinked. “...Hi.”

He stepped inside like he was walking into a new apartment.

Everything looked the same but felt wrong.

There was a plate of brownies on the counter.

Neat.

Precise.

Forks already set.

Phuwin sat on the edge of the couch, tucking one leg under himself.

Pond followed, heart thudding.

“So, uh.” He reached for a brownie. “These smell good.”

“They’re okay,” Phuwin said, tone neutral.

No giggle.

No blush.

Pond took a bite.

Chewed.

Phuwin didn’t even look at him.

He was watching the TV screen — some movie menu idling, soft background noise filling the space where tension usually lived.

Pond swallowed. “Did you, um… do something today?”

“Just cleaned.”

“Nice.”

Silence.

Pond shifted on the couch.

The couch he imagined bending Phuwin over when he was in Phuwin’s condo once.

Now?

Phuwin was curled in the corner like Pond was a guest from maintenance.

Polite.

Friendly.

Cold.

Pond tried again. “That cake you brought the other day? Was really good.”

Phuwin shrugged. “It was a mix.”

“Oh.”

Another silence.

Pond sat back, staring at the brownie in his hand like it might give him answers.

What the fuck was happening?

Two days ago, Phuwin was standing in front of his door in shorts and soft eyes saying “clothes are optional.”

Now he was acting like Pond was a coworker.

Did I misread everything?

Pond glanced over — watched as Phuwin pulled the hoodie sleeves over his hands, chewing slowly, staring at the screen like he didn’t notice Pond at all.

No body language.

No flirting.

Not even a compliment about his hair.

Did I kill the vibe?

Did I say something wrong?

Was the mug return a mistake?

Pond felt crazy.

Because this felt like punishment.

Like Phuwin was taking something back.

Pulling away.

He stared at the brownie.

Then at Phuwin’s wrist.

Barely peeking from his sleeves.

He wanted to touch him again.

Say something.

Fix whatever this was.

But Phuwin just sat there.

Watching the screen.

Soft.

Silent.

Gone.

Pond pushed the plate away slowly, half a brownie left on it.

Phuwin still hadn’t really looked at him.

The movie was playing now — something light, romantic, ironically — but neither of them was watching.

Pond leaned back against the couch, hands in his lap, staring at the edge of Phuwin’s sleeve. That tiny sliver of wrist.

He waited for something.

Anything.

But Phuwin didn’t speak.

Didn’t lean closer.

Didn’t joke.

Didn’t blush.

He was calm.

Civil.

A perfect host.

And a million miles away.

Pond swallowed.

His voice was quiet when it came out — softer than he meant, but steadier than he felt.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Phuwin blinked.

Slowly.

Then finally looked at him.

And Pond almost wished he hadn’t — because that look was too unreadable.

Too blank.

Like the warmth was gone.

Phuwin opened his mouth.

Then paused.

Pond kept going.

“I just… I don’t know. You’ve been different since the other day.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping. “I thought things were okay. I thought we were… I don’t know. Talking.”

Another pause.

“But now you’re acting like I’m bothering you.”

Phuwin’s breath caught — not loud, but real.

Pond glanced back at him, and for a second, there was something in his eyes.

A flicker.

A crack.

He leaned in just a little.

“If I made you uncomfortable… with what I said. Or did. Or didn’t do. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to mess anything up.”

Phuwin looked away.

And Pond hated it — hated seeing him pull back even further, hated the way his stomach clenched with something that felt dangerously like regret.

“I just… liked how it was before.”

His voice dropped, nearly a whisper now.

“I liked you when you looked at me like that.”

Phuwin stared straight ahead at the TV, but he couldn’t hear a single word. Not over the sound of Pond’s voice replaying in his ears.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Pond’s voice was gentle — too gentle.

Like he was afraid of the answer.

Like he really thought he’d done something.

And that’s when it hit him.

Fourth’s plan actually fucking worked.

Pond looked like a kicked puppy.

Soft hair.

Warm eyes.

Voice cracked around the edges like he missed Phuwin.

Missed the flirting.

Missed the shorts.

Missed him.

And Phuwin?

He sat there fully clothed like a damn nun, emotionally iced out, holding a brownie and a lie.

He couldn’t believe it.

He didn’t reject.

Pond didn’t look disgusted that day.

He looked stunned.

Because Phuwin was too much.

Because the outfit worked.

He shifted on the couch, suddenly too warm in the hoodie.

The fabric clung to his neck.

His stomach twisted.

If I’d just worn the shorts again today—

If he’d dressed like he wanted Pond to look.

If he’d let his shoulder slip again.

If he’d said something real.

Pond would’ve touched him again.

Would’ve leaned in.

Maybe asked to stay longer.

Maybe kissed him.

But no.

Phuwin had let Fourth puppeteer his emotional state like he was some tragic little boy in a Thai drama. He’d zipped himself into hoodie armor and tried to fake disinterest when all he wanted was Pond’s hands back on him.

God I’m an idiot.

He looked at Pond now — really looked.

The way his fingers were fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

The crease in his brow.

The quiet way he asked, “I liked you when you looked at me like that.”

And Phuwin’s chest hurt.

Because now all he had left was honesty.

No shorts.

No thigh traps.

No fake plans.

Just the truth.

That he thought Pond didn’t want him.

That he'd gone home that night and cried in the shower about being too much, too stupid, too exposed.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

Then said quietly:

“I thought you didn’t want me.”

Pond blinked.

Phuwin looked down.

Picked at the edge of the napkin in his lap.

“That day... I thought I was obvious. And you just smiled and closed the door. So I thought... I messed up. I embarrassed myself.”

His voice dropped lower.

“I wore that stupid outfit thinking I’d tempt you and you’d flirt back. But you just—smiled. And left. And I felt like a fucking clown.”

Pond’s eyes widened.

Phuwin kept going.

“So I stopped trying. Because I didn’t want to be pathetic twice.”

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

Phuwin swallowed.

Didn’t dare look up.

Then—

A hand touched his knee.

Warm.

Steady.

Pond’s hand was on Phuwin’s knee.

But his eyes were somewhere else — down, away, clouded.

He looked... hurt.

Truly.

He pulled his hand back, jaw tight, arms folding across his chest like he was trying to hold himself in place.

Then he muttered:

“I can’t believe you thought I didn’t want you.”

Phuwin opened his mouth, but Pond kept going — voice quiet, slow, soaked in disbelief.

“I thought about you all night. That stupid shirt, those shorts, the way you looked at me...”

He trailed off, his jaw working.

“You were standing in my doorway, dressed like sin, soft and pink and quiet, saying you don’t wear clothes when you’re alone — and I had to fucking close the door because if I didn’t...”

He groaned, hands running over his face. “I would’ve grabbed you.”

Phuwin swallowed.

Pond looked at him now, eyes dark, jaw tight.

“I wanted to drag you inside. Sit you on my lap. Pull that shirt off and make you show me how optional clothes really were.”

His voice was lower now, rawer.

“You don’t even know what you did to me.”

Phuwin blinked.

Pond leaned forward.

“I sat on my couch with my fucking hand down my pants jerking off to the memory of your thighs.”

Phuwin’s breath caught.

Pond tilted his head.

“You think I wasn’t interested?”

He scoffed.

“I was so hard I couldn’t breathe. You handed me detergent and all I could think about was bending you over the dryer. You stretched once and I saw your skin and I almost came on the spot.”

Phuwin’s entire face was burning now.

Frozen.

“I wanted you. Still do. Every second since that day.”

A pause.

Then, quietly — like he didn’t already know the answer:

“Do you… still want me back?”

Phuwin stared at him.

His heart was beating like it wanted to escape his chest.

And he just — cracked.

Brows furrowed.

Voice low.

Half-whiny.

Half-accusing.

“What do you mean ‘if’ I want you back?”

Pond blinked.

Phuwin sat up straighter, hoodie clinging to his back, mouth twisted like he was scolding him for being stupid.

“If I didn’t want you, I wouldn’t have worn that shirt.”

His voice got softer.

Darker.

“I wouldn’t have put on those shorts. Wouldn’t have stretched in front of you like a fucking idiot. Wouldn’t have spent the whole walk back from the laundry room praying you’d stop me in the hallway and bend me over the counter.”

Pond’s lips parted, stunned.

Phuwin kept going.

Too far in now.

Voice almost shaking.

“I came home and—God—I was so embarrassed. I thought you didn’t want me. I stood there, bare fucking legs out, thinking I could seduce you and you just smiled and left. I wanted to die.”

Pond reached for him — gentle, soft, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

Phuwin leaned in, voice dropping lower.

“Do you know what I did that night?”

Pond swallowed. “What?”

“I stripped out of those shorts and that shirt. Laid on my bed and touched myself so slowly I couldn’t breathe.”

Pond’s breath hitched.

Phuwin’s eyes were dark now.

Daring.

A little mean, a little desperate.

“And I thought of you grabbing my waist. Just that. That hand. That touch. And I came so hard I had to bite my own arm not to moan your name.”

Pond actually whimpered.

Phuwin frowned deeper.

“So don’t ask me ‘do I want you back’ like I’m the one who closed the damn door.”

He shifted closer, fingers brushing Pond’s thigh.

“If I didn’t want you… I wouldn’t be sitting here in this hot-ass hoodie trying not to cry from wanting to have you.”

Pond’s jaw clenched.

“I would’ve just worn that shirt again. And no underwear.”

Beat.

Phuwin had gone quiet again — not shy quiet, but that special brand of annoyed baby sulking Pond had never seen on him before.

He was sitting close — too close, thighs almost brushing Pond’s, cheeks flushed, hoodie sleeves tugged halfway over his fingers.

Pond didn’t know what to say.

Couldn’t take his eyes off the way Phuwin's mouth kept twitching like he was trying not to pout but failing.

Phuwin huffed.

Loudly.

Then mumbled:

“Kiss me now or I’m gonna sulk for real.”

Pond blinked. “You’re already sulking.”

Phuwin’s pout deepened. “No. That was light sulking. That was soft, forgivable sulking. If you don’t kiss me in the next ten seconds I’m going full storm cloud mode.”

Pond swallowed, smiling. “Storm cloud mode?”

Phuwin frowned harder. “You made me wait. So long. For days. You touched me and then walked away. You breathed on my neck and then closed the door like a polite—”

“I was trying to respect you—”

“—and I respected you right into a pillow while crying and jerking off.”

Pond choked.

Phuwin leaned in, forehead bumping lightly against Pond’s chest, grumbling into his shirt.

“So if you don’t kiss me now I’ll start thinking you’re doing that weird thing again where you pretend you don’t want me.”

Pond’s hands slid up Phuwin’s sides instinctively.

Over hoodie fabric.

Warm, wanting.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he whispered.

Phuwin peeked up at him, brows pinched.

Pond leaned in, voice lower now.

“You think I haven’t been dying to kiss you?”

Phuwin shrugged. “I’m just saying. You had time.”

“And I’m making up for it.”

“You better.”

“I will.”

Beat.

Phuwin tilted his face up just a little, mouth parted, eyes wide — so ready to be kissed, soft and annoyed and aching.

“If you wait again,” he murmured, “I’ll cry. And make Fourth write a note on your door about how you broke boys hearts.”

Pond laughed against his mouth.

And finally —

finally —

kissed him.

Slow.

Warm.

All the tension melting between their mouths like sugar.

Phuwin whimpered — just a little — and climbed into Pond’s lap like he belonged there, hoodie sleeves dragging, hands curling into Pond’s shirt.

And Pond held him.

Hands on that waist again.

Where they belonged.

Phuwin was already squirming in Pond’s lap, hips restless, lips pink and kiss-drunk — hoodie bunching as he leaned closer, dragging Pond back into another kiss with a quiet, needy sound in his throat.

Pond groaned against his mouth, deeper this time, letting his hands slide up — over Phuwin’s sides, then under.

Warm skin.

Soft waist.

His fingers spread wide across Phuwin’s bare stomach, and Phuwin jolted in his lap, breath catching with a sharp whine.

“Pond—”

Pond pulled back just enough to murmur, “You’re so warm.”

Then licked back into his mouth — slow, wet, filthy — and Phuwin gasped.

His thighs clenched on either side of Pond’s, hips twitching forward like he couldn’t help it.

His cock pressed hot against his sweatpants now, aching, so sensitive already just from this.

Pond’s hands moved lower — sliding over his waist, gripping it, squeezing.

“Fuck,” Pond whispered, biting at Phuwin’s lip. “Been thinking about this waist for days.”

He kissed lower — down Phuwin’s jaw, nipping the edge of his throat — while both hands held Phuwin’s hips now, pulling him in, dragging him closer.

Phuwin whined — high and desperate.

“Pond—your hands—your hands feel—”

Pond squeezed again, hard enough to make Phuwin moan and roll his hips down.

“You’re already hard?” Pond whispered, voice low, wrecked.

Phuwin nodded, biting his lip, face flushed red as he rocked forward again. “I was hard the second you touched me.”

Pond growled — low and deep in his chest — and yanked the hoodie higher, pulling it up, wanting more skin, needing it.

“Off,” he said. “Take it off.”

Phuwin hesitated — shy for a split second — but Pond kissed him again, tongue slow and deep, hands petting his sides, whispering:

“You’re so pretty, baby. I need to see you.”

And that was it.

Phuwin lifted his arms and let Pond pull the hoodie over his head.

Warm skin.

Bare chest.

His soft, lean waist now completely exposed under Pond’s hands.

Pond just stared for a second.

Swallowed.

Then his hands were everywhere.

He couldn’t stop.

Wouldn’t stop.

Palming Phuwin’s hips.

Stroking his back.

Sliding up to his ribs, then lower again, grabbing every inch of skin he’d been denied for days.

Phuwin was in his lap now, warm and naked from the waist up, hoodie tossed somewhere forgotten, gasps falling from his mouth every time Pond touched him somewhere new.

Pond’s cock was so hard under him — thick, hot, twitching against his own — and when Phuwin finally rocked down, slow and deep?

Pond whined.

A helpless, broken sound that made Phuwin’s thighs clench.

“Fuck—” Pond’s head fell back, lips parted, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna kill me—”

Phuwin grinned, eyes glazed over, grinding down again — harder now — dragging his cock against Pond’s through their sweatpants.

“You’re the one who waited,” he whispered.

Pond’s hands gripped his waist again — tight, possessive, dragging him closer.

Then one slid up.

Higher.

Slower.

Until he was touching Phuwin's chest.

He stared.

Then squeezed.

Phuwin whimpered, hips jerking.

Pond’s thumb brushed over the soft nipples — once, twice — watching it tighten under his touch.

“Sensitive?” he asked, voice low.

Phuwin nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “Please—”

Pond’s hands were a mess.

Big palms sliding up and down, petting Phuwin’s waist, then gripping it harder every time Phuwin rocked down.

His thumbs grazed over Phuwin’s nipples again and again until they were stiff and sensitive, until Phuwin was whining into his shoulder, hips jerking on their own.

Pond bent forward, kissing along Phuwin’s stomach, open mouthed, tongue hot against the soft skin just above his waistband.

Each kiss made Phuwin shudder, muscles fluttering under Pond’s mouth.

Pond groaned against him, squeezing his waist hard enough to leave faint marks, eyes shut like he was drunk on it.

Phuwin’s fingers slid into Pond’s hair, first to hold, then to guide.

He tugged, not rough but insistent, bringing Pond back up from his belly so their faces were close again.

His hips never stopped moving, slow grind turning into something deeper, harder, rolling against the solid heat of Pond’s cock.

Pond gasped when Phuwin pulled his hair, eyes flicking up to meet Phuwin’s.

His mouth fell open, a helpless sound spilling out of him as his hands moved down to Phuwin’s hips again, gripping, pressing him down, helping him find the rhythm.

Phuwin leaned in, their noses almost touching, his voice a low, broken whisper between little moans:

“I’ve been waiting for this… so long…”

Pond’s reply was just a low groan against his mouth, hands roaming over his waist, thumbs brushing the sides of his ribs as Phuwin rolled his hips harder, dragging them both closer to that edge they’d been circling for days.

Phuwin’s hips were still rolling down against Pond’s lap, breath coming fast, skin flushed.

Every time Pond’s thumbs flicked across his nipples, another little whine fell out of him.

Then he stopped, just enough to look at Pond — eyes dark, lips parted, a wet little string of spit connecting them from their last kiss.

“It’s not fair…” he whispered.

Pond blinked, still gripping his waist. “What?”

Phuwin tugged at the hem of Pond’s T shirt with both hands, a tiny frown on his face. “You’re still dressed.”

Pond’s chest rose and fell. “So?”

Phuwin tugged harder, voice rougher now, lower:

“Take it off.”

Pond’s eyes darkened even more.

He let go of Phuwin’s hips just long enough to reach back and pull the shirt up over his head in one smooth motion.

It hit the floor with a soft thump.

And then Phuwin saw him.

The view punched the air out of his lungs.

Golden lights kissing his skin, stretched tight over lean muscle.

Abs cut deep, a faint trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

Broad shoulders.

Big arms with veins like cords under the skin.

A chest wide and solid, nipples small and dark against his skin, glistening faintly from sweat.

For a second Phuwin just stared, lips parted, hips pausing in their rhythm.

He had imagined this — a thousand times, late at night with his hand wrapped around himself, thinking of Pond under him, shirtless, muscles flexing as he held Phuwin’s waist.

But this… this was better.

Real.

Warm.

“Holy shit…” Phuwin murmured, almost to himself. “It’s better than my dreams…”

Pond tilted his head, a slow, wicked little smile tugging at his mouth.

“You dream about me?”

Phuwin dragged his hands up Pond’s chest, over the hot skin, thumbs brushing his nipples like Pond had done to him. “All the time,” he admitted, voice a broken whisper. “But I didn’t think you’d be this…”

His eyes travelled over Pond’s arms, his chest, the curve of his abs again. “…this big.”

Pond’s breath caught when Phuwin’s thumbs circled his nipples.

Phuwin rocked down on his lap again, grinding deliberately against the hard length under him, eyes locked on Pond’s.

“Every time I touched myself,” he whispered, “I thought about you just like this. Only now it’s even better.”

Pond groaned, head falling back as Phuwin’s hands roamed over his skin, nails lightly scraping. “Keep talking,” he muttered. “Keep moving…”

Phuwin was moaning quietly now — hips rolling hard and steady in Pond’s lap, hands dragging across his chest, fingers tweaking Pond’s nipples until he was panting and twitching beneath him.

Pond’s head fell back with a choked groan when Phuwin leaned in and kissed his neck — open-mouthed, wet — tongue flicking, teeth scraping, breath hot against his skin.

“Fuck, baby—” Pond gasped, voice barely there.

His hands slid down Phuwin’s sides, gripping tight — and then lower.

Finally.

Big, strong hands cupped around Phuwin’s ass, squeezing it like he’d dreamed about since the laundry room.

He groaned at how soft it was — full, plush, and perfect under his fingers.

Phuwin gasped into his neck. “Pond—”

Pond squeezed harder, groaning as Phuwin rolled down again, cock dragging along his in a slow, grinding thrust. “You’re so fucking soft,” Pond murmured. “Can’t believe I’ve been jerking off to this ass every night—”

Phuwin whined, nails dragging down Pond’s abs — not hard, just enough to feel them twitch, skin hot and tight under his touch.

Pond shuddered, hands kneading his ass now, dragging him down harder. “Ride it, baby, just like that—”

Phuwin moaned against Pond’s throat, biting lightly just under his jaw before soothing the spot with his tongue.

His hands were everywhere now — one playing with Pond’s nipples again, thumb flicking fast and teasing, the other sliding low across Pond’s abs, fingers tracing the deep lines like he wanted to memorize every inch.

“I wanna see you fall apart,” Phuwin whispered, hips grinding harder now. “Wanna make you come just like this…”

Pond let out a broken sound — part whimper, part growl — and pulled Phuwin down hard, grinding their cocks together so tight it was almost too much.

“Keep going,” Pond begged. “You’re gonna make me—fuck—don’t stop—”

Pond was close — too close — thighs trembling under Phuwin’s, chest slick with sweat, his cock so hard it pulsed with every grind.

Phuwin felt it.

Every twitch.

Every shudder.

And he didn’t let up.

He rocked down again, slow and mean, dragging his own cock along Pond’s through the thin fabric of their pants, both of them soaked, leaking, desperate.

“Fuck, baby—please—” Pond gasped, hips jerking up.

But Phuwin didn’t stop.

Didn’t give in.

He dragged his lips along Pond’s jaw, voice soft, wicked, mean.

“You could’ve had your cock buried inside me.”

Pond groaned, head falling back against the couch.

“I could be bouncing on it,” Phuwin whispered, grinding down harder now, pace rougher, crueler. “So deep you’d feel me clench every time I moaned your name.”

Pond whimpered.

Phuwin licked into his mouth, kissed him filthy — tongues tangled, lips wet, breathing through gasps — before pulling back, breath hot against Pond’s cheek.

“But you made me wait.”

His hips moved faster now, rubbing their cocks together through soaked fabric.

“So now you get to come in your pants.”

Pond let out a broken, desperate moan — almost a sob — hands gripping Phuwin’s ass like it was the only thing keeping him from floating apart.

Phuwin kissed him again, deeper, wetter, filthier.

Pond couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Every time Phuwin rocked down, it sent a wave of heat through his entire body.

His cock throbbed, trapped and twitching, soaked in precome, rubbing up perfectly against Phuwin’s.

“Wanna see you mess yourself,” Phuwin whispered against his lips. “Wanna feel you lose it just from this.”

Pond gasped.

“You close?” Phuwin teased, grinding in harder, voice breathless but steady. “You gonna come for me like a good boy?”

Pond nodded — too fast, too desperate — and Phuwin kissed him again, moaning into his mouth as Pond’s body snapped.

Pond shook, breath catching in his throat as his cock jerked hard, spurting hot through his pants, hips stuttering under Phuwin’s weight.

He came messy, loud and ruined, fingers bruising Phuwin’s waist, head tilted back as he whimpered his name.

“Phuwin—fuck—baby—”

Phuwin kept moving through it, grinding slowly, lips at Pond’s jaw, riding him sweet and deep until he was milked dry.

Until Pond sagged into the couch — fucked out, wrecked, gasping.

And Phuwin?

Phuwin kissed him again, smug and breathless.

“Next time,” he whispered, “you get to fuck me. If you earn it.”

Pond could barely breathe.

He was soaked — pants clinging to his skin, cock still twitching from the intensity of it, mind fogged over.

But all he could see was Phuwin.

Still in his lap.

Still untouched.

Still hard.

Flushed chest rising and falling, nipples stiff from Pond’s mouth, skin glowing, those thick thighs spread across him like a goddamn blessing.

Pond’s hands ran over them now, slow and reverent — over warm, soft skin, down to where Phuwin’s hips flexed with each breath, where his cock was still straining hard and angry behind fabric.

Pond groaned.

Actually groaned.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. “You look like something from my dreams.”

Phuwin licked his lips, face still pink, a little dazed but proud.

His cock pulsed under Pond’s stare.

Pond dragged his hands back up his thighs, gripping them, spreading him more in his lap.

Then looked up at Phuwin — chest flushed, lips swollen, pupils blown wide.

“You’re still hard,” Pond murmured, almost sulking. “You didn’t let me make you come.”

“You made me come in my pants like a desperate virgin,” he muttered, voice shaky. “And you’re still sitting here like this—so hard, so fucking pretty, I could cry.”

Phuwin smirked, slow and sinful. “What, Pond? You gonna cry about not getting to fuck me?”

Pond leaned forward immediately, wrapping a hand around the back of Phuwin’s neck, thumb brushing under his jaw.

“I should beg,” he whispered, dragging their foreheads together. “You’re sitting here like a wet dream and I haven’t even tasted you yet.”

He kissed Phuwin again — hot, slow, filthy — tongue licking into his mouth like he needed it to stay alive.

Their mouths moved together, sloppy and sweet.

Phuwin moaned into it, hips shifting in Pond’s lap, rubbing his hard cock against the mess between them.

Pond groaned into the kiss, fingers digging into Phuwin’s thighs again.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered, kissing down to Phuwin’s throat.

“Let me make you come.”

Phuwin gave the softest little sigh, still sitting heavy in Pond’s lap, chest flushed, cock twitching behind his sweatpants.

Pond’s hands were still on his thighs, thumbs brushing tender little circles, waiting, begging with his eyes.

He groaned, leaning in to kiss Phuwin's shoulder, warm lips brushing across sweat-slick skin.

“Please.”

That one word — breathless, real — hit something deep in Phuwin’s chest.

He bit his lip, then leaned back just a little, spreading his thighs wider across Pond’s lap.

“Then take care of me,” he whispered moving Pond's hand to his sweatpants.

“Pull it out.”

Pond’s hands shook a little as he moved — fingers dragging down, sliding under the waistband.

He tugged them down slow, reverent, and when Phuwin’s cock finally came free — hard, flushed, wet at the tip — Pond stared.

He didn’t move.

Just… stared.

Breath caught in his throat.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered. “You’re—so hard…”

Phuwin flushed, looking away, but Pond reached up and cupped his cheek.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Don’t look away.”

Phuwin’s lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded, cock twitching in the air between them.

Pond’s hand moved slowly — not wrapping around it yet.

Just brushing his fingers along the underside.

Down the thick vein.

Over the flushed head.

So gentle.

Too gentle.

Phuwin whimpered.

“Feels like you’ve been like this for hours,” Pond murmured, watching his fingers play with the wet, sensitive tip. “So wet already…”

He rubbed a thumb through the slick bead of precome, just enough to make Phuwin shiver, hips twitching forward.

“Pretty thing,” he whispered. “So hard for me…”

Phuwin’s breath hitched.

Pond leaned forward and kissed his throat, his chest, hand still teasing lightly — just the pads of his fingers against the throbbing head.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered. “I’ll do anything.”

Phuwin’s breath was ragged now — hips twitching, cock leaking, still flushed and pulsing in the air between them.

Pond had been teasing, brushing over the head, smearing slick around with too much gentleness, too much awe.

It wasn’t enough.

“Please,” Phuwin whispered, voice cracking. “Touch me for real.”

Pond blinked up at him — breathless, wide-eyed — but didn’t move fast enough.

So Phuwin took his wrist.

Slow.

Shaky.

And brought Pond’s hand down — wrapped those long fingers around his shaft, groaning at the first real contact.

“There,” Phuwin breathed. “Fucking—finally.”

Pond’s hand closed around him, slow and tight.

And Phuwin bucked forward, hips jerking, a moan spilling from his throat as his cock slid through Pond’s warm grip, thick and wet and twitching.

Pond’s lips parted, eyes locked on the way Phuwin moved — flushed cock gliding through his hand, so slick it made the strokes shine.

“Oh my God,” Pond whispered. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Phuwin just nodded, eyes fluttering shut, head tilted back.

Pond’s hand moved slow, so slow — dragging down to the base, squeezing just right, then back up, letting his thumb brush over the head and make Phuwin shudder.

“You’re dripping for me,” Pond murmured, voice wrecked.

Phuwin moaned, hips rocking forward again, fucking into Pond’s hand now, each thrust messy, aching, desperate.

Pond watched him — completely ruined, lips swollen, nipples stiff, chest flushed, hips grinding without shame.

He looked like sin.

Like heaven.

Like every filthy thought Pond ever had.

“Look at you,” Pond whispered, stroking firmer now, faster. “So fucking pretty like this. Can’t believe this is real.”

Phuwin opened his eyes — glassy, wrecked — and stared down at Pond’s hand working him.

“It’s real,” he gasped. “It’s you. And your hand is so fucking—perfect—”

Another buck of his hips, another gasp, another slick stroke.

“Gonna come, Pond—gonna—fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop—”

Pond’s hand was stroking him now in earnest — tight, fast, so fucking wet, each motion dragging slick, obscene sounds from where his fingers slid down Phuwin’s flushed, leaking cock.

Phuwin was gone — full body trembling, hips bucking forward helplessly, moaning brokenly against Pond’s neck.

“Pond—fuck—it’s too good—”

His voice was high, desperate, every word crumbling into another whine.

He nuzzled into Pond’s skin, kissing blindly, trying to breathe through it, but Pond’s hand just kept going — perfect pace, perfect grip, thumb brushing over the head just right, making his whole body jerk.

“Shhh, baby,” Pond whispered against his ear. “I’ve got you.”

His other hand was on Phuwin’s waist, gripping, holding him down while his hips tried to lift and thrust and fuck into his fist even harder.

“You’re doing so good,” Pond murmured, voice low and sweet and filthy.

“Let me take care of it. Let me make you come.”

Phuwin whimpered into his throat, body twitching, cock throbbing in Pond’s hand.

“It’s better—better than my dreams,” Phuwin gasped. “Your hand—your hand’s so—fuck—”

Pond leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“You gonna come for me?” he whispered. “Gonna make a mess all over me, baby?”

That broke him.

Phuwin’s whole body arched — thighs shaking, abs tensed — and he cried out, loud and ruined, hips jerking once, twice, and then—

He came.

Hot and hard, pulsing through Pond’s fist, splashing across Pond’s abs, his own stomach, everywhere — thick and messy and endless.

His moan cracked open at the end, collapsing fully into Pond’s chest as the aftershocks hit him — twitching, gasping, lips still parted against Pond’s damp neck.

Pond just held him.

Stroked him slow through the aftershocks.

One hand rubbing his back, the other still slick and warm between their bodies.

“So good,” Pond whispered, kissing the top of his head. “So fucking good, baby. You did so good for me.”

Phuwin just shivered, soft and boneless in his arms, eyes fluttering shut.

Their mouths were still brushing, soft and unhurried.

Phuwin could barely breathe — lips tingling, heart pounding.

He kissed Pond slow, slower than before, like they had all the time in the world now.

Like he was memorizing the taste.

He pulled back just a little, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

“You kiss me like you wanna eat me,” he whispered, almost shy.

Pond smiled against his mouth. “That’s because I do.”

Phuwin let out a soft, breathy laugh — but then Pond’s hands slid down to his hips again, sticky from the mess between them, and squeezed gently.

“Next time,” Pond murmured, voice warm and low, “I wanna come inside.”

Phuwin froze — just for a second.

Then his soft cock twitched against Pond’s stomach.

“Pond—” he half-whined, half-laughed, eyes wide. “You can’t just say that.”

Pond leaned in, kissed him again, slower this time. “I meant it.”

Phuwin flushed down to his chest, face hot.

He buried it in Pond’s shoulder with a groan.

“I don’t know if that’s hot or just rude,” he mumbled.

Pond smiled, hands still stroking slow along his sides.

But then Phuwin pulled back, frowning like he suddenly remembered something important.

“When I was out here in a tiny T-shirt, bending over the laundry machine, waiting for you to make a move, you closed the door on me.”

Pond choked. “I was trying to be respectful—”

“You ignored me.”

“I was dying!”

“Now you want to be inside?”

Phuwin crossed his arms, still perched in Pond’s lap like royalty.

“Nope. You gotta work for it now.”

Pond looked up at him — wrecked, flushed, in love. “What do I have to do?”

Phuwin grinned.

“Start by carrying me to the bathroom and cleaning up this mess,” he said sweetly. “Then we’ll talk.”

Pond laughed, head tilting back.

“God, you’re gonna kill me.”

Phuwin leaned forward, kissed his cheek.

“You’ll die happy.”

Pond slid one arm under Phuwin’s knees, the other behind his back, and stood up with one clean motion — lifting him like he weighed nothing.

Phuwin let out a startled breath, arms looping instinctively around Pond’s neck, bare chest pressed to Pond’s still-warm skin.

His thighs spread around Pond’s waist, sticking a little from the mess between them, and oh, he could feel it — the lingering hardness of Pond’s cock still half-hard against him, their stomachs sticky, sweat cooling on skin.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Pond asked softly, walking like he’d done this a hundred times — like carrying Phuwin was something he was built to do.

“On the right,” Phuwin said, cheeks hot. “White door. ”

He tried not to whimper about how hot it was.

Tried not to moan at how Pond’s hands gripped his thighs just right, how his skin felt pressed against his own, how easy he made it look — like Phuwin was his, like he belonged there.

They made it to the bathroom.

Pond set him gently down on the closed toilet lid, kissed his temple once, then stepped back just enough to kneel.

“Let me clean you.”

Phuwin blinked. “You don’t have to—”

Pond shushed him with a kiss to his knee.

“I want to.”

He reached for a warm cloth he ran under the sink, then gently tugged Phuwin’s sweatpants the rest of the way off — careful, slow, patient.

Phuwin shivered as the fabric peeled off his thighs, sticky with come, skin still oversensitive and flushed.

Pond said nothing at first — just wet the cloth again, warm and clean, then lifted one of Phuwin’s legs onto his thigh.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, running the cloth along Phuwin’s inner thigh. “So messy…”

Phuwin flushed redder, hand flying to his face.

“Don’t say it like that—”

Pond laughed under his breath, kissed the inside of his knee.

“I love it,” he whispered. “I like taking care of you.”

He wiped him clean, slow and soft — careful around the base of his cock, up his stomach where the mess had spread, over the insides of his thighs where Pond’s hands had gripped too tight.

Every gentle stroke made Phuwin’s chest ache.

Not from lust this time — but from how tender it was.

Pond was still kneeling in front of him, cloth warm and damp, wiping tenderly at Phuwin’s inner thighs like he was something delicate.

Phuwin’s hand had drifted down — slow and shy — to card gently through Pond’s hair.

He didn’t mean to do it at first.

It just… happened.

But the moment he felt Pond lean into it with a little hum, eyes fluttering shut like he could purr, Phuwin’s heart flipped.

And his stomach?

Did things.

He swallowed.

“Do you… want pants?” he asked quietly, thumb brushing behind Pond’s ear.

Pond looked up at him, soft and flushed. “I wouldn’t say no.”

Phuwin blinked. “Right.”

He stood — still a little wobbly, body warm and floaty — and padded out of the room in just a clean hoodie and boxers.

When he returned, he held out a pair of his softest sweatpants.

“These’ll fit.”

Pond smiled, took them with a grateful nod, and then—

He stood.

And began to peel off his pants.

Slowly.

Carefully.

They stuck a little, wet with his own release, and when he tugged them down, his cock — still damp, still heavy — fell free, softening but still thick.

It lay across his thigh, flushed and relaxed, the dark trail of hair leading up his stomach glistening slightly.

Phuwin froze.

He stood there holding the clean sweatpants like an idiot, brain short-circuiting.

Because fuck.

Pond’s thighs.

His abs.

That damn chest.

That cock he could’ve had inside him if he hadn’t been so set on punishing him—

And now?

Now he was just standing there in a bathroom with Pond naked in front of him, cleaning supplies on the counter, sweatpants in his hands, and a very real, very bad urge bubbling up in his chest.

You could just sit him down on the toilet…

Climb back on…

Sink down slowly and ride him ‘til the sun comes up…

He stared.

Pond looked up, noticed the silence, and raised a brow. “Phuwin?”

“Huh?” he blinked. “Yeah. No. I mean—yes. Pants.”

Pond chuckled, stepping forward to take them, body brushing against Phuwin’s for half a second too long.

Phuwin nearly dropped them.

His eyes flicked down — then back up — and he sulked, quietly.

“It’s unfair,” he mumbled.

Pond, already halfway through pulling them on, paused. “What is?”

Phuwin pouted.

“You look like that. Naked. Sticky. All perfect. And I’m out here handing you clean pants like I’m not seconds away from dragging you onto that toilet seat and riding you raw.”

Pond nearly choked.

Pond blinked at Phuwin’s quiet pout, then smiled slow — smug creeping into his still-wrecked face.

He stepped in close, hands sliding around Phuwin’s waist, thumbs brushing bare skin under the hoodie.

“Then you should,” he murmured.

Phuwin raised a brow. “Should what?”

Pond leaned in, voice soft and shameless.

“Drag me onto the toilet and ride me raw.”

Phuwin flushed to his ears.

“You—” he stammered. “You’re so—You have to earn it.”

Pond grinned, nose brushing his cheek, lips pressing a soft kiss there before whispering, “Noted.”

Then — slowly, teasingly — he grabbed Phuwin’s hand and brought it low.

Right into the mess on his abs.

Right into the soft line of his lower body, sticky and warm and still so unfairly hot.

“Since we’re doing caretaking,” Pond whispered, “Can you clean me too?”

Phuwin blinked at him.

Phuwin scowled — fake, bratty — but didn’t pull his hand away.

“You’re awful.”

Pond just sat himself on the edge of the machine, smug and half-hard again, still glistening with come across his stomach.

“But you’re already looking,” he said softly.

Phuwin whined, grabbed the warm cloth from earlier, and stepped between Pond’s legs with exaggerated effort.

“I’m not doing this because I like you,” he said, wiping at Pond’s abs. “I’m doing this because you’re gross.”

Pond smirked. “Sure.”

Phuwin bit his lip — partly from focus, partly from the way Pond was watching him.

Watching him wipe slow, cleaning every sticky inch of his abs, trailing dangerously close to his softening cock.

Then, reluctantly — but maybe not that reluctantly — he reached lower.

Cleaned around the base.

The shaft.

The head.

All of it.

And Pond?

He groaned.

Quietly.

Barely.

But Phuwin heard it.

And his eyes flicked up, smug for a second.

“Still gross,” he muttered, then tossed the clean sweatpants into Pond’s lap. “Wear these before I do something stupid.”

Pond caught them, eyes twinkling.

“What if I want you to do something stupid?”

Phuwin rolled his eyes, turned away, and muttered:

“Earn it.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Pond stood there.

Still shirtless.

Barefoot.

Heart thudding.

Eyes flicked to the door.

Should I leave?

Does he want me to stay?

He glanced at Phuwin, who was still sitting on the bathroom counter, hoodie loose around his thighs, looking so soft now — flushed skin, pink lips, lashes lowered.

Peaceful.

Pond’s chest ached.

“So… uh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Should I—go? Or…”

Phuwin’s head snapped up.

Brow furrowed.

Mouth already in a pout.

“What?”

Pond froze. “I mean—if this was just, like—fun, then I don’t wanna overstep—”

Phuwin narrowed his eyes.

“Are you stupid?”

Pond blinked. “What?”

Phuwin slid off the counter, crossing the space between them in two slow, bare steps.

He stopped in front of Pond, chin tilted up, face twisted in a proper, grumpy sulk.

“You think I’d let you jerk me off, clean me, watch me pout in hoodies, and not want you to cuddle me after?”

Pond opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Phuwin leaned in, eyes sharp, voice lower.

“You think I’d grind on your lap, let you touch me like that, and not want to fall asleep with your arms around me?”

Pond blinked fast.

Phuwin pouted deeper.

“If you wanna earn this ass,” he muttered, “you better start with a cuddle.”

Pond’s heart exploded.

He pulled Phuwin in — fast, full-bodied, arms wrapping around his waist like he was afraid to lose him again.

Phuwin melted instantly, face pressing into his neck with a little sigh.

Pond held tighter.

“I didn’t wanna assume,” he murmured. “Didn’t wanna push.”

“Then don’t ask stupid questions,” Phuwin mumbled.

Pond smiled against his hair. “So I’m staying?”

Phuwin swatted his back. “Shut up and take me to bed.”

Pond stepped forward without a word, hands curling around Phuwin’s thighs and back, and lifted him clean off the floor.

Phuwin gasped — again — every single time forgetting how effortless it was when Pond picked him up.

His legs wrapped around Pond’s waist before he even thought about it, arms looped around his neck, face instinctively hiding against his collarbone.

“You do that too easy,” Phuwin muttered, cheeks pink.

Pond smiled. “You like it.”

Phuwin didn’t answer.

His stomach was flipping too stupidly for words.

Pond carried him down the hall, quiet and steady, and nudged open the bedroom door with his foot.

He crossed the room and lowered Phuwin down — so gently, so slowly — onto the bed like he was afraid to wake a sleeping cat.

He just tucked Phuwin in without a word, pulled the blanket up over his hips, then climbed in next to him — shirtless, warm, clean.

Phuwin stared at the ceiling for a second, trying to calm his heart.

But then Pond turned onto his side, wrapped an arm around Phuwin’s waist, and buried his face into his shoulder with a soft hum.

“You’re warm,” Pond mumbled.

Phuwin blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then melted.

His heart burst — a quiet, warm explosion in his chest, soft and terrifying and so, so real.

“You’re cuddling me,” he whispered, like he couldn’t believe it.

Pond nodded against his skin. “You told me to.”

“Yeah but you’re—actually—doing it right.”

Pond smiled into his hoodie. “Of course I am.”

And then silence.

Not awkward.

Not tense.

Just quiet.

Phuwin shifted slightly, scooting closer, letting Pond hold him tighter.

Pond’s hand moved in slow circles at his back, thumb brushing under the hem of the hoodie at his waist.

And Phuwin — soft, safe, and stupidly in love — closed his eyes and whispered:

“You have to earn it.”

Pond just pulled him closer.

“I will.”

Pond shifted closer, legs tangled with Phuwin’s under the blanket, chest to chest, breath warm against Phuwin’s throat.

“I will earn it,” he whispered, voice hoarse and serious now — not teasing. “No matter what.”

Phuwin didn’t respond right away.

Because Pond’s hand had just slid lower — under the blanket, over his hoodie, down to his ass — and he squeezed.

A firm, full grab of one plush cheek, like he couldn’t help himself.

“This,” Pond murmured against Phuwin’s neck, “I’ll earn this like my life depends on it.”

Phuwin’s breath hitched.

Pond didn’t let go.

He just rubbed his thumb in slow, lazy circles.

Then shifted from squeezing to petting — gentle and reverent, like he was lulling Phuwin to sleep.

“You’re unbelievable,” Phuwin mumbled, face still buried in Pond’s hair.

Pond grinned into his skin. “You love it.”

Phuwin didn’t argue.

Instead, his fingers found Pond’s hair again, slow and easy — carding through it, tugging just a little, scratching gently at his scalp.

Pond hummed.

His other hand drifted lower, over Pond’s shoulder, across his chest, until it landed on his arm.

“Why are your arms so big?” Phuwin whispered, squeezing Pond’s bicep like he was assessing it for science. “You make me feel tiny.”

Pond chuckled, sleepy and smug. “You are tiny.”

Phuwin pinched his arm.

Pond just laughed again and kissed his neck. “But I like that. Makes it easier to hold you.”

“You’re gross,” Phuwin muttered.

But his fingers never stopped petting.

His thighs never stopped tangling tighter with Pond’s.

His heart never stopped racing.

Pond squeezed his ass once more — then just held it, hand resting there like it belonged.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

“You better,” Phuwin mumbled, eyes already closing.

Pond nuzzled closer.

“Always.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Phuwin woke up to warmth.

The kind of warmth that soaked into your bones, soft and solid and safe.

Pond was spooning him — body fully wrapped around his own, chest against his back, thick arms locked around his waist.

And god, the way Pond’s abs lined up perfectly with his spine, the way his legs tangled between Phuwin’s, kept him completely anchored.

But it wasn’t just warmth.

Phuwin felt it immediately — the heavy press of Pond’s hips flush against his ass, the weight of a half-hard cock resting between his cheeks.

Not moving.

Not grinding.

Just… there.

Tucked in.

Present.

Intimate.

And Pond was still breathing slow and deep behind him — clearly not awake yet, but not fully asleep either.

His nose nuzzled behind Phuwin’s ear.

Then a sleepy little hum.

Then a shift of his hips.

Just enough to make Phuwin shiver.

Pond’s hand flexed around Phuwin’s stomach, pulling him closer.

“Mmm… warm,” Pond mumbled against his neck, voice wrecked and quiet, completely unaware of the chaos he was causing.

Phuwin’s body arched before he could stop it — slow, soft, spine curving into Pond’s abs.

And Pond?

He cuddled tighter, one arm sliding further under Phuwin’s hoodie, a palm splayed low on his tummy.

“You smell good…” Pond whispered, nose brushing his hair. “Like sleep and sugar…”

Phuwin nearly groaned.

Because now Pond’s hips were even closer, and that thick, hot cock was pulsing gently right where it shouldn’t be — but also absolutely should.

Phuwin licked his lips, eyes still closed, body thrumming.

“Pond…” he whispered.

Pond made a soft noise — half-groan, half-sigh — and rubbed his thumb slowly across Phuwin’s skin under the hoodie.

Still not quite awake.

But very present.

And very hardening.

Pond nuzzled closer, one big hand splayed over Phuwin’s stomach, the other tucked under the pillow.

His cock, heavy and hard, pressed between the soft weight of Phuwin’s cheeks, hips barely shifting in that lazy morning rhythm.

His lips brushed behind Phuwin’s ear, voice barely a whisper.

“Did I earn it already?”

Phuwin stiffened just a little.

Then sighed.

Loud.

Dramatic.

“No way,” he muttered, full sulk in his voice.

But his body—

His back arched the second Pond kissed his neck again.

His thighs pressed tighter together, like they could trap Pond there.

His hand gripped Pond’s wrist, but didn’t move it — just held it there against his skin, like a silent please don’t stop.

Pond grinned into his neck.

“Liar.”

“Shut up.”

Pond’s hand moved lower, palm warm on Phuwin’s stomach, thumb brushing where his waistband had ridden low.

“Your mouth says no,” Pond murmured, kissing just below his jaw, “but this body’s being so honest with me right now.”

Phuwin turned his head slightly, cheeks pink.

“I’m just cold.”

Pond rutted forward slowly — just once — cock dragging along that sweet spot with a low groan.

“Mm. So that’s why you’re arching back into me like that?”

“I’m stretching.”

“You’re pouting,” Pond breathed, hand gripping his waist, “but your hips are begging.”

Phuwin didn’t answer.

Not with words, anyway.

But he shifted again — subtly, softly — pressing himself back just that little bit more.

And Pond?

He wrapped both arms around him now, cock twitching between his cheeks, voice hot in his ear.

“Say the word,” he whispered. “And I’ll prove I earned it.”

Phuwin was still in his arms, warm and pouty, back pressed to Pond’s chest, their legs tangled up like they belonged together.

Pond kissed his neck once more — soft, pleading.

“Tell me, baby…”

Phuwin’s voice came quiet but sharp.

“Work harder for it.”

Pond froze for a second.

Then grinned, slow and wicked and so in love with the boy in his arms.

“Okay.”

He shifted, guiding Phuwin gently onto his back — so, so careful, hands sliding along his waist, the blanket slipping down to his thighs.

Phuwin went without fighting, but his pout deepened, like he knew exactly what Pond was doing and wasn’t about to make it easy.

But god, he was beautiful like this.

Laid out, pink and warm in the early light.

Hoodie pushed up to reveal his waist, thighs spread just slightly, his own cock hard in his undearwear and nothing else.

His cheeks were pink.

His chest rising fast.

His lashes fluttering.

Pond hovered over him, one hand cupping the side of his face.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, like it was a secret.

Phuwin looked away, but his hips shifted up just barely — needy without admitting it.

So Pond leaned down and kissed him.

Sweetly.

Not hungry yet.

Not rough.

Just lips on lips — warm and slow, again and again — licking gently into Phuwin’s mouth, tasting his soft gasps, letting Phuwin melt into it without even realizing.

One of Pond’s hands stroked along Phuwin’s waist, fingers brushing the hem of the hoodie, then smoothing over his side again and again — calming, coaxing, worshipful.

“I’ll work for it,” Pond murmured against his lips, “as long as it takes.”

Phuwin didn’t say anything — but his legs spread wider, knees bending up slightly, body arching into Pond’s touch like it knew better than his mouth ever would.

Pond kissed him again.

This time a little deeper.

Pond’s hands tightened on Phuwin’s waist — thumbs pressing into that sweet dip above his hips, fingers gripping hard enough to feel how soft and small he was under him.

Phuwin moaned — quiet, breathy, sweet.

Back arching into the pressure, hands twisting in the sheets.

Pond’s hips rutted forward once, slow and aching, cock pressed between Phuwin’s thighs, but he caught himself with a shiver.

“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes screwed shut. “You’re so needy, and still so stubborn—”

He nuzzled down, kissed over Phuwin’s chest, then down the center of his stomach — slow, lingering, reverent.

“Let me suck you off.”

Phuwin’s breath hitched.

He hesitated — only because it felt too good to give in — then whispered:

“Yeah.”

Pond smiled softly.

A little whimper caught in his throat — almost like he couldn’t believe he got to have this.

He kissed Phuwin’s belly once more.

Then reached for the waistband of his underwear — fingers trembling just slightly with how badly he wanted to do this right.

He peeled them down slowly.

First the waistband, sliding over Phuwin’s soft hips.

Then further, easing the fabric past his thighs, until they were down around his knees.

And there it was.

Phuwin, flushed pink and wet at the tip, cock already stiff and twitching slightly against his stomach.

The head shiny, smeared with slick, his thighs shifting instinctively like he didn’t know what to do with how much he wanted.

Pond sucked in a breath.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered — like it physically hurt to say.

Then leaned in, kissing the top of Phuwin’s thigh, the softest part near his hip.

Then again.

And again.

All while his hand came up — slow, warm — to wrap around Phuwin’s cock, just holding it for a second.

Letting Phuwin feel it.

Letting himself feel it.

“Tell me if you want anything,” Pond said softly, kissing lower. “Or if you want me to stop.”

Phuwin was already gasping.

“Just—just do it,” he whispered.

Pond’s tongue flicked out.

And then he lowered his mouth.

Pond’s kisses trailed lower and lower until his mouth hovered just above Phuwin’s cock.

He looked up once, eyes dark but soft, and then let his tongue flick out, teasing at the slick head, lapping at it slowly.

“Pond…” Phuwin breathed, already trembling.

Pond smiled against his skin, kissing the head, licking around it in slow circles, sucking lightly just to make Phuwin’s back arch.

Phuwin gasped, hips twitching forward despite himself.

Then Pond stopped teasing.

He opened wider, took Phuwin in deeper, and started to suck — slow at first, then hungry, like a man who had been thinking about this for weeks.

Warm, wet, tight; his tongue moving under Phuwin’s shaft, cheeks hollowing as he pulled him deeper into his mouth.

Phuwin’s head fell back, a sound escaping him that he didn’t even recognise — half-moan, half-whimper.

His hips moved on their own, tiny thrusts, needy but shy.

Pond’s hands slid up from his thighs to his hips, fingers pressing firmly until he had him still.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, voice low and rough:

“Don’t hold back. Fuck my mouth.”

Phuwin’s eyes fluttered open. “Pond—”

Pond’s fingers squeezed his hips again, thumbs stroking slow circles into the soft skin there, coaxing him.

“I want it,” he murmured, looking up at him. “Please.”

Something in Phuwin broke.

He moved his hips again, this time a little deeper, a little steadier, still gentle but not hiding how badly he wanted it.

Pond met him each time, sucking him down, swallowing around him, hands guiding his rhythm.

Phuwin’s fingers threaded into Pond’s hair automatically, petting him, stroking the back of his head as his cock slid in and out of that hot, wet mouth.

His other hand cupped Pond’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheek.

“God, you feel so good…” Phuwin whispered, voice shaking. “So warm…”

Pond moaned around him, the vibration sending a shudder up Phuwin’s spine.

His hips jerked once, twice, and then—

It hit him before he could warn.

“Pond—fuck—I’m—”

He came with a broken cry, hips stuttering, spilling hot into Pond’s mouth.

Pond held him steady, swallowing around him, one hand rubbing his thigh, the other still steady on his hip as Phuwin trembled and gasped through the aftershocks.

When it was over, Phuwin collapsed back on the bed, flushed and dazed, still petting Pond’s hair with shaky fingers.

Pond let him slip from his mouth slowly, kissed his hip once, and then looked up at him — eyes dark, lips wet, cheeks flushed.

“You taste even better than I dreamed,” he murmured, voice rough.

Phuwin swallowed hard, cheeks pink, chest still rising fast.

“You’re insane,” he whispered, but his fingers were still in Pond’s hair, gentle. “Insane and… amazing.”

Pond smiled at that, and nuzzled against his palm, still kneeling between Phuwin’s legs like he had no intention of moving until Phuwin told him to.

He stayed between Phuwin’s legs, still on his knees, hands smoothing gently over his thighs like he was calming him down after something holy.

Then, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, he leaned in and nuzzled into Phuwin’s stomach — lips brushing over soft, flushed skin, his breath still warm.

Phuwin twitched slightly at the touch, hand still tangled in Pond’s hair.

“What are you doing…” he muttered, cheeks burning.

“You’re soft,” Pond said, voice muffled against his belly. “Let me stay here.”

Then Pond climbed up slowly, body heavy with affection, pressing a kiss to Phuwin’s chest, then his collarbone, then finally his lips.

And when he kissed him — he didn’t pull away fast.

He kissed him deep, tongue slipping past Phuwin’s lips, slow and warm, letting Phuwin taste exactly what Pond had just swallowed.

Phuwin whimpered — too soft to be real, hips twitching again — and Pond smiled into the kiss.

When they finally pulled apart, Pond’s voice dropped to a playful murmur.

“So…”

“Did I earn it now?”

Phuwin’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re so annoying,” he whispered.

And then he slapped Pond’s bicep.

Not hard.

Just enough to pretend he was mad.

Pond laughed, grabbed Phuwin’s wrist, kissed it.

“You came so fast,” he said, grinning now, smug and satisfied. “No warning. I should be offended.”

“You should be quiet.”

Pond kissed his cheek.

“You moaned so sweet.”

“I hate you.”

“You like me.”

Phuwin pouted deeper, refusing to look at him.

Pond just smiled, tugged the blanket over both of them, and curled in again — one hand petting softly at Phuwin’s thigh, the other stroking lazy circles into his waist.

“I’m gonna earn it, I promise” he whispered into his neck.

“Every morning. Every time.”

Phuwin tried not to melt.

He failed.

Pond was still cuddled into Phuwin’s side, panting a little — even though Phuwin was the one who came.

Phuwin glanced down and nearly cursed out loud.

Pond’s pants, or his pants, were soaked at the front — the outline of his cock thick and long, the fabric stretched and damp where the head was pressing.

Phuwin could see the pulse of it even through the cloth, could see Pond’s abs tensing under the pressure of it.

Phuwin swallowed hard.

Shifted.

And rolled them over, gently laying Pond down onto the mattress.

Pond blinked up at him — dazed, lips parted, chest rising.

“Phuwin…”

Phuwin didn’t speak.

He slid his hands down Pond’s hips, tugged the waistband of his pants down slowly, eyes locked on the reveal.

Pond’s cock sprang free, flushed deep red, the head wet and glistening, a thick drop of precome sliding down his shaft to his abs.

His tummy was slick, skin flushed, twitching as his cock pulsed hard against his belly.

Phuwin nearly moaned at the sight.

His own cock gave a sharp twitch, aching again already — but he pressed his thighs together, breathing slow.

He promised.

Pond had to earn it.

Even if Phuwin wanted to ride him right now — sink down onto that big, twitching cock and bounce until he cried.

He leaned down instead.

Pressed a soft kiss to Pond’s hip bone.

Then another, just above the messy abs.

Pond’s hand gripped the sheets. “Phuwin—”

Phuwin looked up at him, eyes wide and sweet.

“You haven’t earned it yet,” he whispered.

Pond whimpered.

And Phuwin — evil, lovely, teasing as hell — brought one hand to Pond’s cock and stroked it tenderly, not jerking, not rough, just brushing fingertips down the shaft like he was memorizing it.

“But you look so cute when I tease you.”

Pond’s head dropped back, breath catching hard.

His cock pulsed violently in Phuwin’s hand.

“I’m gonna die,” he muttered.

Phuwin just smiled, leaned in, and kissed the tip — soft and wet — then let it fall back against Pond’s belly, untouched again.

Pond’s voice cracked.

“Phuwin, please…”

“Hm?” Phuwin looked down at him sweetly, fingers brushing Pond’s stomach. “What is it?”

Pond’s chest was rising too fast.

His arms trembled where they gripped the sheets.

“Punish me.”

Phuwin’s brows lifted — mocking, curious.

“For what?”

Pond’s hips jerked upward, desperate for friction that never came.

“For not… for not putting this cock in you when I should have. When you were teasing me. Bending. In that fucking shirt. In those shorts—” he groaned, head falling back. “You were begging. And I didn’t take you.”

Phuwin’s eyes darkened, but his voice stayed calm — cruelly soft.

“No,” he said, dragging his nails lightly down Pond’s sides. “You didn’t.”

He leaned forward, lips brushing Pond’s ear.

“You left me standing in your hallway. In those little shorts.”

“Do you know how full I wanted to be?”

“How ready I was to bounce on this cock?”

Pond whimpered — honest, guttural.

Phuwin sat back, letting Pond’s cock drag against his inner thigh, not where he wanted it.

“You should’ve taken me that night,” Phuwin whispered, voice a sulky whisper. “I kept the shorts on when I touched myself. Just for you.”

Pond moaned like it physically hurt.

“Phuwin, please let me in—”

“No.”

Pond’s body jerked.

Phuwin leaned forward again, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, then another behind his ear.

“You don’t get to come yet.”

He gripped Pond’s cock once — just once, slow and mean — then let go and sat back again.

“You’re gonna learn to beg properly.”

Pond’s entire body shuddered.

Phuwin sat pretty on Pond’s thighs, hand wrapped around Pond’s cock, but barely squeezing.

His grip was loose, lazy — just enough for friction, not enough for relief.

Pond was flushed red to his chest, arms shaking where they gripped the sheets, his hips fucking up into Phuwin’s fist in frantic, sloppy little thrusts.

“Please—Phuwin, tighter—just—”

“No.”

Phuwin’s voice was soft.

Flat.

Sulking.

“You only get to come like this,” he murmured, looking down at him. “Not inside me. Not in my mouth. Just in my hand.”

He squeezed once — just a little — and Pond whined, cock twitching violently.

“Could’ve been my ass,” Phuwin added, low and petty. “You could’ve had me bent over in your shirt, riding you so sweet. I wanted it.”

Pond’s breath broke into gasps, hips stuttering into Phuwin’s loose grip.

“I was so ready,” Phuwin whispered. “And you were so stupid.”

He twisted his wrist once — just enough to make Pond’s whole body jolt.

Pond groaned, eyes fluttering.

“Phuwin—baby, please—”

“Shut up,” Phuwin said quietly, thumb teasing over the slick head. “Be grateful you get even this.”

Pond let out something between a cry and a moan.

“You don’t deserve my ass,” Phuwin continued, biting his lip. “Not yet.”

Pond’s hips jerked again, more frantic now, chasing the orgasm Phuwin was barely letting happen.

“You gonna come like this?” Phuwin asked, voice low. “In my lazy hand?”

Pond couldn’t answer.

He was too far gone.

Phuwin leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth, then whispered—

“Then come. And think about what you missed.”

Pond broke — hips pumping wildly into Phuwin’s loose grip, cock twitching hard, spilling all over his abs, his stomach, hot and thick and helpless.

Phuwin just watched him come undone — lips parted, eyes sulking, hand milking him gently through it, letting him ride it out and regret every second of not taking what was offered that night.

Phuwin sat still, his hand sticky and slow as he let Pond’s cock slip from his grip. Pond’s body was a mess — chest flushed, abs streaked with come, hair damp against his forehead.

Phuwin stared.

He couldn’t help it.

Because fuck, watching Pond break like that — hips stuttering into his fist, whining and fucking up into loose, lazy touches — it was too much.

His own cock throbbed again, still untouched under the fabric of his sweats.

He should’ve stayed smug.

Should’ve kept teasing.

But he let out a soft, shaky breath — and the sound that slipped past his lips?

A quiet, almost unwilling moan.

Pond heard it.

Even in the haze of afterglow, his eyes flicked up.

And then Phuwin, flushed and twitchy himself, reached down and ran his fingers through the mess on Pond’s abs — slow, deliberate, touching what should’ve been inside him.

Pond groaned.

“Next time,” he breathed, voice hoarse, wrecked.

“Next time… all of it will be in you.”

Phuwin’s stomach flipped.

“I’ll earn it,” Pond said again, more serious now, eyes searching Phuwin’s face. “Whatever it takes. No teasing, no missing signs. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll have you in my lap, bouncing on me — soaked and crying for it.”

Phuwin whimpered — barely audible — and Pond pulled him down.

Not rough.

Not demanding.

Just a hand behind Phuwin’s neck, fingers tangled in his hair, guiding him down until their mouths met.

The kiss was deep.

Sticky.

Messy and hot, and somehow still so warm it hurt.

Pond kissed him like a man who’d just been spared and was ready to give his soul in return.

Phuwin let it happen — fingers still gliding over Pond’s abs, still playing with the mess, still sulking even as he kissed back just as deep.

Every time Pond licked into his mouth, Phuwin twitched — hips shifting, breath catching, cock rubbing against Pond’s hip like it had a mind of its own.

Pond noticed.

Of course he did.

He smiled against Phuwin’s lips — smug and soft at the same time.

“Hard again?” he murmured, voice thick, warm against Phuwin’s mouth.

Phuwin didn’t answer — cheeks pink, body pressing closer.

So Pond sat up a little, arms strong around Phuwin’s waist, and shifted their bodies until Phuwin was sitting right in his lap — thighs spread on either side, bare skin against bare abs, cock to cock.

Phuwin gasped.

Pond grinned.

“You just came,” Pond whispered, “and you’re already this hard again…”

Phuwin glared half-heartedly. “Shut up.”

Pond had Phuwin straddling him — only in hoodie, breathless, soft thighs spread, cock twitching against Pond’s stomach, his pretty ass grinding slowly against Pond’s hips.

His hands were firm on Phuwin’s waist, gripping his ass, fingers sinking into soft flesh with every roll of those hips.

Phuwin moaned — quiet, trembling — and his lashes fluttered like he was about to fall apart just from this.

He was melting, back arched, thighs shaking where they rested over Pond’s, his hips trying to thrust forward but having nowhere to go, caught in the tight grip of Pond’s hand and the heat of his own skin.

And Pond?

Pond was losing it.

His mouth was pressed to Phuwin’s ear, breath ragged, babbling filth like he couldn’t stop.

“Gonna fuck you on your back first,” Pond murmured, wrapping hand around them both, stroking hard, thumb brushing over both swollen heads.

“So I can see your face when you fall apart. So I can kiss your nipples while I’m inside.”

Phuwin whimpered, his cock twitching violently in Pond’s grip.

Pond kept going.

“Then on your hands and knees,” he groaned, voice cracking. “Ass bouncing on me, all wet and open—mine.”

Phuwin gasped, tears pricking his eyes, body too hot, too sensitive, every stroke of Pond’s hand pulling him closer to a second orgasm he wasn’t ready for.

“Maybe ride me next,” Pond whispered, kissing behind his ear. “Want you bouncing in my lap, sweet little shirt riding up, moaning my name while I hold your waist—”

“Pond—!” Phuwin cried, shaking, hips jerking forward into his hand. “It’s too—fuck—it’s too much—”

Pond just moaned, voice hot and frantic.

“You’ll take it. I’ll make you take it. Again and again until my c—”

Phuwin cried out, legs trembling, tears slipping down his cheeks from the intensity, the heat, the ache of it.

Pond felt it — saw it — and kissed him, kissed his cheek, his lips, his temple.

“You’re so pretty when you cry,” he whispered, still jerking them off together. “So pretty when you come just from my voice—”

Phuwin didn’t answer.

Because his whole body clenched, a sob ripped from his throat, and he came again, cock spilling between their stomachs, warm and wet and shaking in Pond’s lap.

Pond wasn’t far behind.

“Fucking hell—Phuwin—baby—”

He came too, hot and thick between them, body curling forward, arms wrapping around Phuwin’s waist like he could melt into him.

They stayed like that — panting, trembling, bodies messy and pressed together, Pond still murmuring filth even after the come started to cool between them.

Phuwin curled into Pond’s chest, legs tangled, both of them a mess — sticky bellies, flushed skin, cock still twitching occasionally between them.

His face was buried in Pond’s shoulder, hair damp, lips parted.

It was too much.

Too good.

Too much Pond.

Pond’s arms wrapped around him tighter, one hand petting slow down his spine, the other sliding lower — gripping that plush ass he couldn’t stop touching.

“You okay, baby?” Pond whispered, nuzzling into Phuwin’s temple.

Phuwin didn’t answer.

Just sulked deeper into the crook of Pond’s neck.

Pond smiled.

And then—

Slap.

Right on Phuwin’s ass.

Phuwin jerked, a weak whine slipping out of him.

“Was that a yes?” Pond asked, like he hadn’t just ruined him.

Then he squeezed.

Hard.

Deep.

And Phuwin's weak body shivered.

“F-fuck—!” Phuwin gasped, full-body shudder, legs trembling. “What the fuck, Pond—”

Pond kissed the side of his face sweetly.

“That’s it. I’m definitely earning it.”

Phuwin turned his face away, cheeks bright red, voice shaking from aftershocks.

“I hate you.”

“You are not.”

“Shut up.”

Pond grinned, dragging his fingers lightly up and down Phuwin’s ruined thigh.

“So… am I finally allowed to fuck you next time?”

Phuwin groaned. “You’re disgusting.”

Then paused.

Tried to gather the last remaining thread of dignity he had left.

Then muttered, sulking:

“You want my ass so bad, take me on a nice date first.”

Pond froze.

Then laughed, loud and happy and stunned, like he just got proposed to.

“A date?”

“A nice one,” Phuwin snapped, cheeks pink, still curled against him. “I’m not that easy.”

“I'll plan something stupidly romantic,” Pond whispered, soft now.

“Whatever you want. Just don’t take your ass away from me again.”

Phuwin hid his face even deeper, voice muffled.

“You’re so dumb.”

Pond kissed his forehead.

“Only for you.”

Pond was still holding him — tight but soft now, arms wrapped around Phuwin’s waist, big palm resting low on his hip.

They were both half-asleep, skin still sticky, breath finally calm.

Phuwin had one leg tangled over Pond’s thigh, and every now and then Pond would sneak a little kiss to his cheek, or stroke his back like he couldn’t not touch him.

“You good?” Pond murmured, lips against his temple.

“A little dead.”

“Sexy dead?”

“No. Emotionally humiliated dead.”

Pond chuckled. “You’re glowing. My pretty corpse.”

Phuwin groaned and tried to push him off, but Pond just hugged him tighter.

Eventually, they forced themselves up — lazily wiping down with warm cloths, Pond refusing to stop groping Phuwin even while pretending to be helpful.

“You’re so grabby,” Phuwin said, but didn’t stop him.

“Can’t help it,” Pond grinned. “You’re clean now. All fresh. Like a reward.”

Phuwin rolled his eyes. “You better behave if you want that date.”

Pond straightened up dramatically, hand on heart.

“I will plan the most romantic Saturday night of your life. Candlelight. A view. And one (1) gentleman Pond.”

Phuwin narrowed his eyes. “If you try to eat me under the table—”

“Too late. Ate you on your own bed already.”

“Pond—!”

Pond dodged a slap with a kiss to Phuwin’s cheek. “Saturday. I’m picking you up. Don’t be late or I’ll cry.”

As Pond finally pulled on his sweatpants and started collecting their mess of clothes, Phuwin grabbed his phone — and his breath caught when he saw the screen:

17 unread messages from Fourth.

Phuwin stared at the screen, horrified, as Pond wandered back over, leaning over his shoulder.

“Who’s texting you like that—?”

Phuwin slammed his phone face down.

“No one.”

Pond grinned. “No one?”

Phuwin glared. “A .. friend”

Pond bent down, kissed his sulky mouth again.

“Tell him plan worked.”

The door had barely clicked shut behind Pond when Phuwin collapsed face-first into the couch, still wearing Pond’s hoodie and absolutely nothing else.

His thighs ached.

His ass still tingled from being grabbed, slapped, and threatened with “earning it.”

He groaned into a pillow.

But he was happy.

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