Archive of Our Own

Namping lies on the couch, one leg hooked loosely over the other, the hem of his sleep shorts riding dangerously high on his smooth thigh. He wears an oversized off-white sweater that slides off one shoulder, exposing his soft collarbone and a bit of the skin below it.

He’s not cold. He just wants Keng to look.

His eyes are on the screen but he hasn’t processed a single second of the movie. He’s watching his older brother’s best friend, sitting on the floor with his back against the couch right below Namping’s feet. One knee is drawn up lazily, beer bottle in hand, his dark hair messy and eyes half-lidded. He laughs at something Thomas says.

Namping’s stomach twists. He looks so good when he laughs.

Thomas leans over and swats Keng’s shoulder. “You finished that shoot with Maya yet?”

“Nah,” Keng mutters, taking another sip. “She canceled last minute. Gotta find a new model. My professor wants a final concept pitch by Tuesday or whatever, so I’m kinda screwed.”

“Oh, right. That body project thing?” Thomas asks, tilting his head back against the couch. “Just ask one of your classmates. There’s like ten of ‘em who’d throw themselves at you for it.”

Keng snorts. “Yeah, and none of them want to be art. They wanna be Instagram baddies.”

Namping swallows. His heart is already thudding. He doesn’t even realize he’s sat up a little until he feels the sweater shift over his bare thigh.

Now or never, idiot.

His voice comes out smaller than he wanted but it cuts through the sound of the movie.

“I could do it.”

Silence.

Keng turns halfway with his brow raised. Thomas blinks up at him.

“You?” Thomas laughs lightly. “Since when do you like being in front of the camera?”

Namping shrugs, clutching the edge of his sweater sleeve with one hand. “It’s not that big a deal, right? Just…for the project. I always wanted to see how I’d look in a photoshoot….If Keng’s okay with it.”

He doesn’t look directly at Keng. He can’t. But he feels the heat of the man’s gaze on his skin. 

“I mean,” Namping adds, trying to sound casual. “you’re good at making people look…beautiful.”

Thomas groans. “Okay, Shakespeare.”

Namping flushes instantly, but he keeps going. “It’s just…you need a model, and I’d like to try. That’s all. But it’s okay if I’m not the one who matches your vision…” 

No, it’s not okay. Even when he lies through his teeth, Namping can’t help the way his jaws clenches as he imagines someone else doing a boudoir shoot with Keng. It has to be him 

There’s a long pause. He finally glances at Keng. The man is still staring at him, his expression unreadable.

Namping can’t help but swallow thickly.

Then Keng looks away and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. If you’re serious about it.” He mutters.

Namping exhales so slowly it doesn’t even make a sound. He’s a bit nervous, but overall relieved. 

Thomas raises a brow in surprise. “Well damn. I didn’t think Namping would volunteer for anything that didn’t involve yaoi or instant ramen.”

Namping kicks him lightly with his foot. “Shut up.”

But behind the fake irritation, the smaller man is glowing, trying hard to hide his grin. He said yes. Keng said yes.

He tucks his knees to his chest and rests his chin on them, unable to wipe the nervous little smile from his lips.

Let’s see if you can really keep your hands to yourself, Keng Harit Buayoi.

——

Namping stares at the mountain of clothes dumped on his bed with a frown.

—Something white. Something sensual. But whatever you’re comfortable in.—

Keng’s words echo in his head for the hundredth time.

He groans and flops back into the pile of fabric. Comfortable? Sensual? How is he supposed to pick something that says I’m innocent but I want you to ruin me?

He’s tried everything—cropped camisoles, his sheer robe, even the white lace bralette that makes his chest look cute, but none of it feels right. It’s either too much or not enough.

Then he sees it. Hanging at the far end of his closet is his white silk shirt.

He’s never worn it before. It was one of those random online impulse buys. The  material is too luxurious, the price was slightly too high, and the design is… cute but also bold. The chest has a lace panel that runs straight across, just enough to peek through and show the skin underneath. It’s long enough to fall to his mid-thigh and wide enough to swallow his frame.

He slips it on.

The soft silk kisses his skin and the lace stretches lightly across his chest, just transparent enough to show the shape of his body under the fabric. His face flushes and his thighs squeeze together.

This is it.

Underneath it, he chooses the white lace panties he’s been saving. They’re cute but a bit revealing. The front has a tiny cup that holds his private part snugly, while the back leaves nothing to the imagination—just smooth skin, curves, and a beautiful bow at the top of his tailbone. He turns to check his reflection, his cheeks heating when he sees the way the shirt flutters just low enough to tease but not cover.

He swallows. Keng’s gonna see me like this. But still, there’s a thrill.

All at once, Namping’s nerves spike. He paces the room while tugging at the hem of the shirt. He keeps checking the mirror again and again, trying not to think about the way his heart is pounding.

I want him to see me. Really see me.

The hours passes as Namping falls into a ritual. He starts waxing his arms and legs until they’re silky smooth, exfoliating every inch of his skin, even doing a soft pink manicure and matching pedicure. He shapes his brows carefully, brushes his lips with balm, and sets aside his favorite vanilla body lotion for the morning.

By the time he finishes, it’s nearly sunrise. His skin is glowing, nails shining, but his stomach is in complete knots.

He sits on the edge of his bed, hugging his knees to his chest.

This is just a shoot, Namping tells himself. Just a class project. Just art.

But he can’t help but feel like this is something that’s going to change everything between Keng and him, for better or for worse. 

——

Namping steps into the studio, closing the door gently behind him. His oversized sweater swallows his frame, and the baggy jeans do nothing to show off his shape, but he wore those on purpose. He’s not ready to be seen yet.

Keng is already adjusting the lights, standing near a low platform bed draped in messy red silk sheets. Pillows are thrown across it carelessly as if someone had just rolled out of them, white rose petals are scattered across the folds. There are a few candles on the shelves, positioned for ambiance. The lighting is warm, low, and intimate.

It feels more like a bedroom than a studio.

Keng glances over at him, eyes lingering just a moment too long. “Hey. You’re on time.”

Namping smiles nervously. “Wouldn’t want to keep my artist waiting.”

Keng chuckles and sets down a light reflector. “You can change in there,” he says, gesturing toward the adjacent room with a nod. “And if you can… maybe do a little makeup? Nothing heavy—just a little bit. Something soft and simple.”

“Yeah—of course!” Namping nods quickly, his voice shakier than usual. His stomach is already in knots. He flashes a nervous smile, then strides into the side room, closing the door behind him.

Once he’s inside, Namping leans against the door and lets out a heavy exhale.

“Calm yourself, it’s just a photoshoot,” he whispers to himself, pressing his palms to his flushed cheeks. “Just a shoot. Just Keng.”

His heart doesn’t calm down, but after a few moments of pacing and shaky breathing, he manages to pull himself together.

He shrugs out of the jeans and sweater, carefully folding them and setting them aside. The white silk shirt slips over his head smoothly, cool against his freshly waxed skin. The lace band across his chest makes him blush the moment he sees himself in the mirror. He checks the back, his cheeks are perfectly round and fully visible beneath the hem of the shirt, the l bow on the lace panties sitting right at the base of his spine like a finishing touch.

He swallows and breathes deep before sitting down to do his makeup.

Namping isn’t an expert, but he knows what works for him. And right now, he wants to look soft and touchable.

He puts on a thin layer of foundation, just enough to even out his skin. And a few sweeps of peachy blush goes across his cheeks and nose, making him look naturally flushed. He puts on a sheer rosy tint on his lips, topping it with a glossy balm until they shine like cherry that is starting to ripen.

Then comes his eyes, this is his favorite part. He adds a bit of pale shimmer to the inner corners, and soft silver-pink glitter across his lids. His lashes are curled just right, a bit of mascara adding length. The result is him looking delicate, dewy, and glowing like he just stepped out of a dream.

Just like the photo he had in mind. Like the manga boys who get ruined by their lovers.

Namping adjusts his soft brown hair, still a little fluffy from his last wash. The soft bangs that brush over his brows, makes him look even softer and boyish.

Before he steps out, Namping lotions every inch of his skin, his legs, arms, chest, and even the back of his neck until he feels like satin. Then he sprays his favorite designer perfume, just a couple mists at his wrists and behind his ears. The scent is warm, sweet, and just a little spicy.

He takes one last look in the mirror and takes in a deep breath, trying to calm the beating in his chest. 

Time to seduce an artist.

⸻

The moment he steps out, the air in the room shifts.

Keng is by the tripod now, adjusting his camera settings, sleeves pushed up. Due to nervousness, Namping didn’t really take in how good Keng looked when he first entered the room. The taller man is wearing a thick knit brown sweater hugging his frame. It’s tucked into crisp black slacks, perfectly fitted with a leather belt. His black dress shoes are polished and he has a simple silver and black watch on his wrist. His whole look is clean, sharp, masculine in a way that almost had Namping salivating.

He doesn’t look like a student. He looks like someone Namping should not be alone with on a bed draped in red silk.

And Namping feels it hit him like a punch in the chest.

God, he’s so hot.

Keng looks up and then freezes.

His eyes trail over Namping, slow and unblinking. From the messy soft brown hair and glittery eyes, down to the lace band across his chest, the barely-there hem of the silk shirt, and lower. He doesn’t even see the panties, not yet, but Namping knows they’ll come into view eventually.

Namping’s breath stutters.

Keng swallows hard as he takes in the smaller man’s appearance. “Wow.”

Namping’s blush flares instantly. “T-Too much?”

“No,” Keng says quickly, his voice lower than usual. “Not at all. You look…beautiful.”

Namping’s knees nearly give out when he hears it.

“Let’s…” Keng clears his throat and gestures to the bed. “Let’s start with you sitting. We’ll go slow.”

Namping nods, his heart going wild inside his chest.

He walks past him, sensing those eyes still on his thighs, and climbs carefully onto the bed.

He takes a deep breath.

Namping shifts on the red silk sheets, crossing his legs automatically as he sits near the edge of the bed. The fabric is warm beneath him and there are plush pillows behind his back. It’s a warm setting, but none of that helps settle the butterflies having a war in his stomach.

He can feel Keng’s eyes roaming over him slowly, taking in the soft makeup, the lace across his chest, the way the silk shirt hugs his thighs when he moves.

And as much as Namping wants that attention, as much as he planned for it, his body reacts on instinct.

He tugs the hem of the shirt down, trying to cover his thighs. His knees snap closer together as if curling in on himself might make the moment feel less embarassing.

Keng doesn’t miss a thing.

The man straightens from behind the camera, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“You okay?” he asks gently, voice low and calm. “You’re allowed to change your mind.”

Namping looks up, startled. “Huh? No—I’m fine! I’m just…”

Keng lowers the camera, watching him. “Namping. If you’re even the slightest bit unsure, we can stop. We don’t have to do this tonight.”

His heart thuds. Keng’s voice is serious and protective. 

Namping shakes his head, forcing a small smile. “I’m not unsure. I promise. I just…”

He shrugs sheepishly. “Didn’t expect your stare to feel like that.”

Keng blinks, then huffs out a soft laugh. He looks down for a second, like he’s trying to suppress something. 

“I’m trying to see you through the lens,” he murmurs. “But you make that a little hard.”

Namping’s eyes widen. His mouth parts just slightly, and his breath catches but he says nothing.

Keng lifts the camera again. “We’ll start slow. Just a few test shots. Sit however you’re comfortable. No pressure.”

Namping nods again, this time a little steadier.

He shifts into a slightly looser pose, letting his legs uncross. Not wide, but relaxed. His fingers loosen their grip on the shirt’s hem. He tucks his chin slightly, eyes fluttering as he stares at the camera.

Click.

Click.

The shutter goes off a few times with a soft sound. 

Keng’s voice comes through the lens.

“Perfect. Just like that.”

Keng’s gentle praises and little encouragement helps to calm his nerves as each second passes. 

The camera clicks quietly, each flash of the shutter slowly makes Namping a bit more comfortable. 

Namping shifts slightly on the bed, finally finding a rhythm. His eyes flicker toward Keng every so often, then darts away just as fast. The initial awkwardness hasn’t disappeared, but something inside him starts to come out of hiding. 

He tilts his head, letting one side of the silk shirt slip lower over his shoulder, revealing more collarbone. His fingers curl loosely in the sheets, knees slightly bent beneath him, his legs tucked beside him now instead of hiding.

He doesn’t look directly at the camera.

He looks at Keng.

Keng adjusts his angle, stepping closer, camera still in hand. “You’re loosening up,” he says quietly.

Namping smiles, almost shyly. “You make it easier.”

That makes Keng pause for a second. He stares then immediately gets back on track but Namping notices. His finger hesitates on the shutter, eyes flicking over Namping’s face, then slowly down his body.

Then Namping, feeling bolder than he is, lets his legs stretch out in front of him, one knee bent and the other half-folded, exposing more skin. The lace of his panties peeks out from beneath the shirt’s hem, just for a second. His cheeks flush with embarrassment but he doesn’t move to cover it.

Click.

Namping blinks. “You got that?”

 “Yeah.” Keng lowers the camera just a little, his voice is tight. Another moment passes.

Namping turns slightly, resting his weight on one hand, his upper body angled just enough to show off the sheer panel across his chest. The lace tightens against his skin. He doesn’t say anything and just holds the pose, watching Keng watch him.

This time, the click of the camera comes slower.

“You’re…” Keng begins, then his voice drops. “You’re really something else.”

Namping bites his lower lip, his heart lurching at the way Keng says it. The man is clearly affected by him and it’s showing.

A few more shots follow and now Namping’s not just playing the model. He’s playing a dangerous game.

Every pose is a challenge to Keng.

Can you handle looking at me like this? Will you touch me if I let you?

And behind the lens, Keng is slowly starting to lose his mind.

Namping shifts again on the bed and the red silk wrinkles beneath his thighs. His lips are still shiny with the balm, his cheeks flushed, and his soft, glittering eyes stay trained on Keng through lowered lashes.

He’s posing but he’s also performing.

His body is art as Keng wanted it to be but it’s also a lethal weapon.

Keng lowers the camera.

“I think,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “we can play with something a little more expressive. The theme’s body and emotion, right? Let’s lean into that.”

He crouches beside the bed, setting the camera down for a moment, and Namping’s stomach flips. Being close to Keng when he’s holding a lens is one thing, but this? This is intimate. 

“Can I adjust your shirt a bit?” Keng asks. His voice is steady, professional but his jaw clenches at the end.

Namping nods, his voice quiet. “Yeah.”

Keng reaches up, fingers brushing Namping’s collarbone as he gently tugs the shirt down one side just enough to expose more of the curve of his neck and shoulder. His fingertips are warm, slow, and careful.

Namping’s breath catches, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gives him a look.

A heavy-lidded, sultry stare with eyes slightly narrowed and lips parted just enough. His lashes glimmer under the studio lights.

Keng stills, swallowing thickly. “That expression…” he says, almost to himself. “Hold that.”

He leans in, one hand moving to Namping’s waist and his palm grazes his bare thigh.

Namping swallows, shiver running down his spine.

“Lay back a little,” Keng says, voice tighter now. “Turn your face this way.”

Namping does as he’s told, slowly and carefully. His hair fans over the pillow, his shirt slipping open slightly across the chest. That lace panel flashes under the light and Keng catches the pinkness of his nipples peeking through.

Keng adjusts a pillow under him, his fingers brushing against Namping’s back.

“Can you arch a little?”

Namping arches his body subtly and just barely enough, but the motion lifts his hips, making the shirt slide up his thighs. And for a second, the lace of the panties, the smooth skin of his inner thighs, all of it is in view.

Keng’s hand stills on the pillow.

Namping doesn’t break the expression. He keeps that siren-like look, eyes dark, lips a little parted, like he’s challenging him. 

Look at me. Touch me. Do something.

But Keng steps back.

He reaches for the camera again, fingers stiff.

Click.

Click.

Each photo comes with a pause.

Every look Namping gives him feels like a test. Every touch Keng gives him makes Namping feel like he’s sinning.

“Eyes on me,” Keng murmurs, his voice rasping now.

Namping obeys, slowly blinking and turning his head. He shifts one leg, exposing more of his thigh. One of his hands drifts to the hem of his shirt, toying with it. He doesn’t lift it, but just plays with it enough to let Keng know what he’s suggesting.

Click.

“You’re not making this easy,” Keng mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

Namping’s lips curve upward, just slightly. “Is it that hard to do a simple photography shoot?”

Keng’s hand twitches on the shutter.

He steps closer again. “Hold still—your hair’s a bit messed up.”

He reaches out, carefully pushing a lock of Namping’s soft brown hair behind his ear. His fingers trail just under the jaw, grazing the edge of Namping’s throat.

Namping’s eyes flick to his and the smile fades.

He looks at Keng like he knows.

Like he knows that the older man is burning behind the calm, that every time he touches him, he wants more. And that  this isn’t just a shoot anymore.

Keng pulls his hand back. He swallows hard and lifts the camera again.

“Let’s keep going,” he says, his voice raw.

Namping just smiles again, slow, dangerous, and sweet.

And he poses like a siren, toying with Keng’s last string of control.

Namping changes positions again, following Keng’s instructions. He props himself on his elbows, legs bent slightly at the knees, the silk shirt riding higher with the movement. His thighs part a little on instinct, the fabric barely brushing across the curve of his hips.

Keng shifts beside the bed, adjusting a light. “Hold that pose,” he murmurs, stepping closer again. “You’ve got this gorgeous line through your side. I want to catch it from above.”

As he leans in, he braces a hand beside Namping’s hip for balance but his fingers graze just a little too low, brushing against the exposed skin right below the hem of the shirt.

Namping’s body jolts just a bit but the reaction is instant.

A tiny gasp escapes him. His thighs twitch together and his eyes snap up to meet Keng’s.

Keng finds that it’s not fear in the smaller man’s eyes. It’s something else.

Something needy.

Keng freezes and his hand stays just above Namping’s outer thigh, like he’s forgotten how to move. His eyes flick downward just once but they linger far too long.

“Sorry,” he breathes, voice low and rough. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Namping says quickly, but his voice is soft. The smaller man’s cheeks are flushed and breathing is just a bit faster now.

He felt that and Keng knows it.

He clears his throat and forces his gaze back to Namping’s face. “You’re doing good. Justt…..keep that look right there.”

Namping shifts again, this time lying back  slightly more. One hand comes up, brushing across his chest and the silk follows, just barely pulling the lace panel across his skin. It tightens slightly, revealing more of the soft skin under, nipples just starting to show through.

Namping notices. He tries to fix it but his fingers fumble from nervousness.

Keng steps forward again.

“I’ve got it,” he says quickly, reaching out. He catches the edge of the shirt to smooth it.

And his knuckles brush against Namping’s soft, bare and warm skin. This time, Namping’s breath hitches audibly.

Keng pulls his hand back like he’s been burned. 

Their eyes lock in an instant. Neither of them speaks and Namping doesn’t look away. He can’t. He’s mesmerised by Keng’s dark eyes and his body doesn’t lie.

His thighs press together again and his lips part. The taller man’s eyes are clouded with lust and Namping’s cheeks flush deeper than before.

Keng’s jaw clenches when he sees the reaction. 

He grips the camera again, knuckles turning white around the body of it, as if it’s the only thing keeping him in control.

“One more shot,” he says, voice wrecked. “Let’s—try lying flat. One arm over your head.”

Namping obeys him silently.

The movement lifts the shirt just enough to bare more skin, the round swell of his hips visible now. And when he settles, the fabric shifts in just the wrong way and the edge of the shirt rides up completely over his thigh, exposing the lace panties underneath.

Keng stares for a second too long. Namping sees it.

He lets out a soft breath, barely audible, but Keng hears it. His hand flexes on the camera.

“Namping…” He says the name like a warning.

But Namping only blinks up at him with wide, glimmering eyes. “I’m still comfortable.” He whispers.

And that’s when Keng realizes. He’s the one who isn’t.

Namping lies flat across the silk sheets now, one arm above his head, the other resting softly across his stomach. His breathing has slowed, each inhale lifting his chest just enough to make the lace band rise and then settle again.

The camera hasn’t clicked in over a minute.

Keng stands at the foot of the bed, staring, not through the lens this time but directly at Namping.

“Can I…” he begins, his voice low, “unbutton it? Just the shirt. All the way. You don’t have to take it off.”

Namping swallows thickly. It takes him a moment but he nods in consent.

Keng steps forward slowly, like he’s approaching something sacred.

His fingers touch the first button near Namping’s ribs and Namping feels his warm skin meeting cool air. One by one, the buttons slip loose under Keng’s fingers, until the shirt is open completely, parted like curtains around a stage.

And what Keng sees nearly knocks the breath out of him.

Namping’s skin is flushed pink, so soft it almost glows. His chest rises and falls gently, the swell of it crowned with rosy nipples, perked slightly from the room’s cool air and maybe something more. A single beauty mark rests on the left side of his hip, just above the lace.

Keng stares. Namping truly is an art. No, he's temptation itself.

Keng’s hand tightens at his side, then loosens again. He walks away for a moment, gathering the white roses from earlier, half in an effort to collect himself and half because he needs a reason to stay close.

“I want to try something,” he says. “With the petals.”

Namping doesn’t move but nods his head. “Okay.”

Keng kneels beside the bed, and one by one, begins plucking petals from the stems. Soft, fresh and milky white.

He places the first petal on Namping’s lower abdomen, right above his navel. The second near his collarbone. Then one near his inner thigh, just beside the lace.

Each placement is deliberate, careful, and  so intimate.

He places one just below Namping’s sternum, his hand brushing lightly against the warm skin between his ribs. Namping lets out a shaky exhale.

Keng’s fingers trail upward, pretending to adjust a petal near Namping’s chest. His knuckle grazes a nipple, not even on purpose.

At least, that’s the lie he tells himself.

Namping lets out a quiet sound, so soft it might’ve been a gasp and something just shy of a moan.

Keng’s fingers freeze and his eyes snap up to Namping’s face.

Namping is looking back at him with his lips parted, eyes glassy, and cheeks flushed.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

Keng swallows, hand still hovering above Namping’s chest.

“You okay?” he asks.

Namping nods slowly and his voice is barely audible when he replies. “Yeah.”

Then Namping’s eyes flick downward, to the petal near his nipple, and back up to Keng.

“I think it slipped,” he whispers.

Keng doesn’t even glance away this time. He reaches for the petal again and his fingers brush bare skin.

But he doesn’t move away, at least immediately. His fingertips linger there, just slightly pressed against the warm, flushed center of Namping’s chest.

And Namping, so beautiful, bare, and trembling under his touch, bites his lips.

Keng’s hand hovers just above Namping’s chest, fingers brushing the edge of the petal as he’s mesmerized by the smaller man under him. The rosy nipple under his fingertip is tight and flushed, standing out against Namping’s warm, lotioned soft skin. Without thinking and without planning, Keng’s finger presses down, lightly, just to feel it.

Namping inhales sharply, his breath catching in his throat. His back arches just a little in response. His lips part, soft and wet, and his gaze stays fixed on Keng. His stare is half-lidded and so needy, it nearly knocks the air from Keng’s lungs.

Keng’s eyes darken and his throat bobs as he swallows.

Flick.

His finger moves, a slow and almost gentle flick across the hardened bud.

Namping gasps a little loudly and his body jerks, just slightly, his thighs twitching as a shudder runs through him. The shirt falls further to the sides, his entire chest is now exposed like a canvas.

The sound and the reaction wrecks Keng.

Reality crashes back into him like a slap to the face.

His hand shoots back like he’s been burned, his eyes going wide as guilt rises like bile in his throat.

“I—I’m sorry,” he stammers, stepping away from the bed so fast he almost trips on the tripod leg. “Namping, I didn’t mean to—God, I wasn’t thinking. I just—”

He presses a hand to his mouth, then lowers it again, unable to look away from the boy lying in front of him. 

Namping’s chest still rises and falls quickly. The petals have shifted. His body is bared, his nipples flushed and his lips parted.

But he’s not looking away and he’s not pulling away.

He just watches Keng with those same soft, dazed, and siren-like eyes.

And it only makes Keng feel worse as if he touched something sacred with dirty hands.

He can still feel the hardness of the perky nipple against his finger. His fingers are twitching and tingling to pinch them and draw out even more beautiful reactions from the boy. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “That was….way out of line.”

He looks down, the camera at his feet forgotten.

Namping is silent as he watches the older man’s reactions. 

The air between them is heavy now, not because of fear or awkwardness but with the weight of something that desperately wants to happen.

Keng stares at the floor, guilt twisting through his nerves into knots. His fingertips still tingle from the contact. He knows what he did was wrong. He knows he crossed a line.

“You think I didn’t want you to touch me?”

Namping speaks, his voice quiet, a little breathy, and far too honest.

Keng’s head snaps up.

Namping lies there, shirt fallen open, petals scattered across his body, hair messy and lips still parted from that last gasp. His cheeks are flushed, but his eyes… they’re dark with lust and need.

“I’ve been dreaming about this,” Namping whispers. “You. Looking at me like this. Touching me like that. Since before this shoot even started.”

Keng goes still.

His chest rises and falls rapidly with his breaths as he tries to control himself. His jaw clenches and then releases.

Namping tilts his head, the movement lazy and seductive.

“So don’t apologize,” he adds, his voice a bit softer now. “Unless you’re going to stop. And we both know you don’t want to.”

Keng’s breath hitches and just like that, the camera is back in his hands.

He picks it up like a lifeline, like a mask, like it might protect him from the overwhelming heat that’s devouring him from the inside.

But it won’t. Not anymore.

He moves onto the bed, kneeling between Namping’s legs, the lens trembling slightly in his grip. The boy beneath him is glowing, half-naked, and flushed with petals clinging to his skin. He’s a masterpiece that’s breathing.

Namping’s legs shift a bit. First, they drape lightly across Keng’s thighs like an invitation and Keng freezes again, not knowing how to handle it.

Click.

Then Namping moves again, one foot rising slowly grazing the side of Keng’s arm, then his shoulder.

He hooks it there, his knee bent, leg resting gently over Keng’s shoulder like it belongs there.

Keng exhales shakily and lifts the camera higher.

Click. Click.

Namping stares at him the entire time, head tilted, his gaze heavy with hunger and mischief. His fingers trail lazily across his own chest, brushing the petals, the lace, the curves of his flushed skin.

Click.

His foot shifts again, pressing just lightly against the center of Keng’s chest and his toes curl slightly, playful and filthy at once.

And he gives him that look.

The one that says “You can pretend you’re still working but I know what you’re really thinking.”

Click.

The shutter clicks again but Keng’s breathing is ragged now. His jaw is tight and his hands are shaking.

Namping shifts again, slowly sliding his other leg over until he’s gently caging Keng between both thighs, still on his back. 

“Still feel like apologizing?” he murmurs.

And that’s when Keng lowers the camera, finally admitting defeat in his eyes but not yet in his hands.

Not yet.

Keng’s camera is still in his hands but it feels heavier now. Like it’s the only thing keeping him from reaching out. His knuckles are white around the grip as he tries to breathe through the urge to drop it and devour the boy beneath him.

Namping lies beneath him like he’s inviting him to do just that, legs draped over Keng’s thighs, the shirt parted fully now, petals decorating his stomach and ribs. His chest rises and falls slowly, nipples still flushed and stiff. His soft skin looks like milk under candlelight. It makes the older man’s mouth water.

Keng lifts the camera again.

Click.

But Namping isn’t done.

He adjusts his position again, slowly dragging one leg down from Keng’s shoulder and letting it trail across the man’s chest before resting it on his thigh. His other leg shifts too, parting slightly to stretch out, the motion causing the hem of his shirt to tug up even higher over the curve of his hip.

The lace panties are fully visible now.

Namping watches Keng with hooded eyes, one hand rising lazily to brush over his collarbone. He moves so gracefully seductively it makes Keng wonder how someone so innocent looking even knows to act like this. 

Click.

Click.

Keng adjusts the focus, trying and failing.

Namping’s fingers skim over his chest, his toes curling slightly as they circle his nipple. The pink perky bud standing up, commanding Keng’s full attention.

A smirk forms on the smaller man’s lips as he reads Keng like a book. He brings a finger to his mouth, licking it sensually while holding gaze with his prey. Namping wets the digits and they go straight back to the pink bud, rolling it under them.

Keng’s breath hitches when Namping’s body twitches from pleasure. He pinches both his nipples, squeezing, and tugging them until they’re red and swollen enough to resemble a ripe fruit. 

The teasing is unbearable and Keng’s strings of control are snapping one by one. 

Namping runs a hand down his own side, fingertips brushing over the petals scattered along his body. He lightly pushes one petal off his skin. It floats to the sheet below. Keng’s eyes are pinned to Namping’s hand because now he’s teasing the lace.

His fingers graze the waistband.

He doesn’t peel them down but he almost does. Just enough to shift the fabric and show a little more skin beneath it.

Keng’s breath catches audibly behind the camera.

Click.

Click. 

Then he can’t do it. His hand is numb and shaking from the tight grip. He slowly lowers the camera. 

His gaze is glassy now and fixed on the place Namping’s fingers rest, on the flushed skin of the soft curve of his stomach just above the lace.

“Namping…” he says, voice cracking. “What are you doing to me?”

Namping gives him a small sultry smile. Something evil in the most beautiful way.

“You’re the artist,” he murmurs, stretching his arms above his head again, arching just enough to make his chest rise. His nipples lift under the shift of his muscles, pink and peaked. “I’m just… your subject.”

Click.

Keng manages one more photo and then he puts the camera down, gently and carefully.

Like he knows he’s about to lose control.

Namping’s little smile turns sly, almost wicked. Keng hasn’t touched him since setting the camera down but the charge in the air is electric.

Namping decides to light the fuse.

He lifts one knee, planting his foot flat on the bed so the lace panties stretch deliciously over his hips. With his other leg still draped across Keng’s thigh, he leans forward slowly and reaches for Keng’s wrist.

“Let me help,” he whispers.

Keng’s pulse hammers beneath Namping’s fingers but he doesn’t pull away as Namping guides that hand up… until Keng’s palm rests flat on Namping’s bare stomach. Soft, warm skin under calloused fingertips.

“Just here,” Namping breathes, sliding Keng’s hand higher, over the rise of his chest. Keng’s thumb brushes a rosy nipple, and Namping shivers, his eyes fluttering.

Click.

Instinct makes Keng lift the camera with his free hand and fire off a shot, unable to tear his eyes from Namping’s face as the smaller man leans into his touch.

His fingers on the other hand greedily touch the soft flesh of his skin. Pressing down on the perky bud as Namping bites his lips. Keng pinches them and Namping lets out a soft moan, sending shivers down his spine. 

Namping guides the hand a second time, lower now, tracing the gentle curve of his waist, then stopping just at the lace waistband. Keng’s breath hitches and his fingers flex, but he can’t quite bring himself to press down.

He withdraws, shaking his head once as if to clear his mind. “I… can’t,” he murmurs, feeling a bit guilty.

“It’s okay,” Namping says, voice low and sure. “Watch, then.”

He falls back against the pillows, knees bent as he parts his thighs. One hand drifts across his torso, playing with a fallen petal while the other trails down, fingertips brushing the lace front, pressing just-enough pressure to make him sigh.

Click. Click.

Keng’s lens captures every flutter of Namping’s lashes and every quiver in his parted lips. The boy is a living siren with flushed cheeks, damp mouth, glittering eyes that never leave Keng’s.

Namping strokes himself through the delicate fabric, slow, teasing circles that make his hips roll. His other hand skims up, pinching a nipple and gasping softly at the sharp sensation.

Keng’s restraint snaps thread by thread. His own breathing turns ragged, the camera trembling as he shoots Namping’s soft hair spilling over the sheets, the white petals scattered across milk-warm skin, the way lace strains under his desperate palm.

Namping moans a quiet, breathy sound that shoots straight through Keng’s self-control. “Do you see, Keng?” he whispers. “See what you do to me?”

Click.

Keng can’t look away. The artist in him is enthralled and the man in him is seduced.

Namping’s pace quickens, cheeks flushing deeper. His thighs tremble, the shirt slips completely aside. “Take your pictures,” he urges, voice trembling but sure. “Take all of me.”

And Keng does, firing shots until the camera is nothing more than a barrier between him and the boy who has turned posing into seduction.

Namping keeps going, his hand slipping softly between his thighs, cupping himself through the lace with ease. His fingers tease along the fabric’s edge, pulling it taut, letting it snap back into place.

His breathing is shallow now, eyes fixed on Keng through half-lidded lashes. They shimmers so prettily beneath the lights.

Keng kneels above him, camera trembling in his grip and sweat beading along the back of his neck. His mouth is dry and his pants are uncomfortably tight. Every part of his body is tense but his finger moves almost mechanically, pressing the shutter with each new movement Namping makes.

Click.

Namping gasps, shifting higher into the pillows, arching his back just enough to show more curve and skin.

Click.

He pinches a nipple again, mouth falling open as a soft moan slips past .

Click.

He strokes over himself slowly, eyes never leaving Keng’s.

And that is what does it.

Because Namping isn’t just touching himself, but he’s putting on a show for him.

Only for him.

“You’re still not touching me,” Namping whispers, voice thick with arousal. “But I know you want to.”

Keng swallows hard, jaws tight. “Namping…”

Namping just smiles at him. “It’s okay. You can pretend it’s for the art.”

Click.

He lifts his hips a little now, dragging the lace tighter across his hardening length, biting his lip at the friction. “You said it yourself,” he breathes. “Body and expression.”

He drags a hand down his torso, slow and careful, until it rests just above the waistband again.

“I’m giving you both.”

Keng’s eyes burn as he shoots every frame, his jaw locked and throat bobbing with every breath.

But Namping isn’t done as his foot, the one still hooked over Keng’s thigh shifts slightly, toes curling into the fabric of his pants. He presses it there, gently at first, then a little firmer. His other leg stretches across the sheets, open and on display as his fingers trace down again.

Keng’s hands are trembling now, not just from arousal, but from restraint.

“Tell me,” Namping whispers, voice barely audible. “What do I look like through your lens?”

Click.

“You look…” Keng swallows hard. The truth slips out before he can stop it. “…like something I was never meant to touch.”

Namping’s lips curl in a slow and dangerous smile. “Then it’s a good thing,” he purrs, “that I’m the one touching me.”

And he dips his fingers beneath the lace, just enough and Keng lets out the softest, most broken sound. Namping’s eyes darken.

Keng knows what’s happening behind that soft white fabric. His breath catches  and the camera dips for a moment before rising again.

Click.

But this one’s shaky and unfocused just like him.

Namping sees it. He sees the way Keng’s hands tremble, the wild edge in his eyes, the blush crawling up his throat. And he decides it’s time.

Time to break him.

Slowly, Namping lifts his hips and slides the lace downward. Not far. Just a few inches enough to expose the top of his shaft, flushed and glistening against milky skin.

His lips part as he breathes out, a soft moan catching in his throat as he palms himself with nothing between his fingers and skin. His shirt falls completely open, nipples peaked, chest rising with each gasps.

Click.

Keng’s camera drops another inch. He’s losing it.

Namping doesn’t stop. His leg, the one still hooked over Keng’s thigh, slides higher up his chest, over his shoulder as he pulls the man closer until they’re barely inches apart. Namping’s heel presses against Keng’s back, guiding him down and inviting him in.

Namping continues to touch himself, eyes locked on Keng’s the entire time, no shame and no hesitation. 

“You said I looked like something you weren’t meant to touch,” Namping whispers, voice breathy and seductive.

“But what if I want you to? What if I want your hands here instead of mine?”

His hand slows, teasing now. His hips lift ever so slightly, showing off the spot where his fingers disappear beneath the lace.

Keng’s hands clench around the camera. His chest heaves and his jaw flexes.

Namping watches him with dark eyes. “You gonna keep hiding behind that thing?” he murmurs, eyes gleaming. “Or are you gonna put it down and touch me already?”

Keng’s mouth opens but no sound comes out. 

Namping huffs and then licks his palm. He brings that same palm down between his thighs, slick fingers disappearing under the lace again. He moans shamelessly and it’s music to Keng’s ears.

The soft thud of the camera hitting the bed sounded like a warning sign to the smaller man. A sign that said every thread that held back the monster in Keng has finally snapped.

Namping’s breath catches when he sees the older man’s expression.

Keng’s eyes are dark and hungry. One hand presses down on the mattress beside Namping’s waist, the other hovering like he’s still asking permission even as every inch of his body screams to touch him.

Namping doesn’t flinch or shy away. He just looks at Keng with flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes warm and wet and burning with something deeper than want.

“Come here,” Namping whispers.

That’s all it takes for Keng to lean in. His hand slides to Namping’s jaw, thumb caressing just under his lips. Namping tilts his head slightly into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.

Their foreheads brush first and then noses. The air between their mouths turns hot and shallow before their lips meet. It starts soft like Keng still isn’t sure if he’s allowed but Namping kisses back hungry, desperate, with a soft little sound that slips into Keng’s mouth and breaks him.

He deepens the kiss instantly, one hand slipping to Namping’s waist, the other tangling in his soft brown hair. Their mouths move like they’ve done this in dreams, over and over.

Namping melts into him, fingers curling around Keng’s shirt. The kiss turns messier, more unsteady with tongues brushing, teeth grazing and breaths catching between moans.

Keng pulls back just an inch, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded. He stares down at Namping like he’s drowning in him. “You’ve been driving me crazy,” he breathes.

Namping’s eyes flutter. “Good,” he whispers, smiling softly. “You deserve it.” Namping pulls him right back in.

Their mouths crash together again, this time with no hesitation. Namping’s fingers curl into Keng’s shirt, tugging him closer, trying to press their bodies together fully but Keng braces himself just barely, like he’s trying not to crush him.

His hand drifts from Namping’s cheek down to the hollow of his throat, his thumb brushing over the flushed skin there, feeling the frantic pulse beneath. Namping lets out a breathy little whimper against his lips.

Keng trails his fingers lower, past the parted shirt and across Namping’s bare chest. His touch is feather-light at first, fingertips caressing smooth, lotioned skin, tracing the curve of his ribs and the dip of his waist.

Namping’s body arches beneath the touch like it’s been waiting and begging for this. Keng finally drags his palm across Namping’s chest again, this time intentionally brushing a nipple. The soft bud is still flushed and hard, and when he rubs his thumb across it, Namping moans against his mouth, his hips twitching up instinctively.

“You’re so soft,” Keng whispers, almost in awe.

Namping turns his head slightly to breathe, eyes fluttering open. “Keep going…”

Keng kisses down, abandoning his mouth for the slope of his jaw, then his neck. He sucks lightly at the skin there, tongue tasting the soft skin. Meanwhile, his hand slips down further across Namping’s stomach, over the little mole on his hip, and finally to the waistband of the lace. His fingers hesitate for a second.

Namping’s breath hitches. “Keng…”

That’s all the encouragement he needs.

His palm settles gently over Namping’s length, still mostly covered by the lace but already so hard and so warm. He applies pressure soft at first, testing and Namping’s head falls back, mouth parted while a little gasp escapes him.

Keng watches him like he’s memorizing every reaction.

His other hand, resting behind Namping’s neck, tightens slightly, keeping him close, while the one between Namping’s legs starts a slow, sensual rhythm. His thumb rubs over the lace, teasing the sensitive head beneath.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Keng murmurs, voice thick and uneven. “You don’t even know…”

Namping whines softly, hips rising into his hand, his thighs trembling with restraint.

“Don’t stop,” he pleads.

“I won’t,” Keng says and he means it.

Keng’s hand keeps moving over the lace slowly and sensually. The fabric clings damply to Namping now, every stroke dragging over sensitive skin made worse by the teasing barrier between them.

Namping’s legs twitch, thighs tightening on either side of Keng’s hips. His head turns into the pillow, teeth sinking into his lip as soft moans slip out of him. He’s not holding back anymore, he can’t.

“Keng…” he whimpers, voice trembling. “It’s… ahh—too much…”

But his hips say otherwise, rolling into every stroke, every pass of Keng’s thumb as it brushes right over the growing wet spot in the front of the lace.

Keng leans over him, lips brushing against his cheek, his jaw, and his neck, pressing kisses as he whispers, “Let go, baby… let me see you fall apart.”

And Namping does.

His hand fists in the sheets. His legs spread wider, curling around Keng’s waist now, holding him there. The lace is nearly translucent now, soaked, stretched tight around the twitch of his cock beneath.

Namping’s breath turns ragged, chest heaving. His nipples are flushed and glistening from earlier attention, skin glowing with sweat and arousal.

His lips part as a broken, needy sound leaves him.

“I—I’m close—Keng—oh god—”

Keng presses his forehead to Namping’s as he works him faster through the lace, thumb catching just beneath the head and circling. Namping cries out, his whole body shaking from the tension coiling hard in his belly.

And then he breaks.

His whole body arches as the orgasm hits, thighs trembling. His hips jerk helplessly under Keng’s hand, his back lifted off the mattress and the white lace is utterly ruined.

Keng watches it all. Watches the way his lashes flutter, how pink his lips are, how he looks wrecked and glowing and perfect.

Namping collapses into the sheets after, gasping, eyes glazed and shimmering.

Keng brushes the hair from his forehead. “Beautiful,” he whispers.

Namping lets out a breathless, dazed little laugh.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice barely there.

Keng leans in, kisses his cheek, his jaw, his lips, slow and deep and sweet.

“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Namping’s still catching his breath, flushed and glowing, his body boneless beneath Keng’s gentle hands. His skin glistens with sweat as he exhales a shaky satisfied sigh.

But the way his fingers tug at Keng’s shirt… the way his eyes flick up at him, soft and pleading…

He’s not done.

And neither is Keng.

Their mouths meet again, hungrier this time. Keng climbs further onto the bed and Namping welcomes him with open legs and an eager pull of his hands.

Their bodies press together, clothed and unclothed. Namping gasps into the kiss when he feels how hard Keng still is, how long he’s held himself back.

“Don’t stop now…” He whispers against his lips.

Keng groans low in his throat, hands sliding down Namping’s sides, gripping his hips with barely restrained need.

Namping breathes hard as he stares at the fine specimen of a man in front of him. Keng’s muscles are pulled taught and strained under the fabric of his turtleneck. The bulge in his pants is prominent. 

“Take it all off…” Namping whispers, pulling at his clothes. Keng doesn’t wait before he pulls off his top and unbutton his pants.

Namping licks his lips, sitting up straight, his eyes raking over him hungrily. He goes straight to place a kiss on the taller man’s jaw, making Keng’s breath hitch. Namping’s lips are soft and dewy against his hot skin. He trails the kisses down to his chest, palms pressing against hard muscles, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heart.

Namping looks up at him, holding eye contact as he opens his mouth and presses his tongue flat against his skin. Keng almost moans out loudly, looking at the sinful creature on the bed, wondering if the smaller man was actually this brave the whole time. Namping drags his tongue downwards, stopping just below his belly button. 

He greedily opens the zip of his pants and eyes the bulge. Slender fingers of his hook over the hem of Keng’s briefs and tugs it down to expose his rock hard length. 

Keng’s breath hitches. His hand on the smaller man’s shoulder tightens while he stares down at Namping.

Namping holds his stare with gleaming eyes. He brings his hand up to lick his palms, slowly and sensually. 

His wet palm wraps around the thick length of the taller man, making Keng’s hips buck with need. 

Namping shifts to sit comfortably, his hand still moving on Keng’s shaft in a slow deliberate rhythm. “Fuck,” he curses, shallow breaths leaving his abused pink lips. “Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of doing this?” 

Keng bites his lips as Namping asks him. He can’t answer. He can’t even think of anything other than Namping’s touch. The soft fingers of the smaller man have turned his brain into nothing but mush. 

“Everytime you were over at my house, manspreading on my couch, I wanted to drop to my knees and suck you till my tongue went numb.” Namping breathes out, voice sensual as he lets his confessions spill. “Everytime you were at the other room playing games with my brother, I was tangled in my sheets, fucking myself with my stupid dildo thinking it was you—it should’ve been you.” Namping hisses, almost scolding the taller man for not ditching his brother and coming to his room. 

He leans forward and licks the wet and rock hard length in his hand, glaring at Keng through the lashes. 

Keng lets out a small whimper and almost loses balance. He leans forward and grips the smaller man’s hair when he feels the warm tongue of Namping swirl around his tip. 

Namping, on the other hand smiles, proudly at the reaction. He has dreamed this for years.

To have him squirm under his touch like this is ecstatic and Namping can’t have enough of it.

None of his dreams could match the real thing. 

“Why didn’t you come?” Namping tilts his head, pressing the wet twitching cock against his cheek, innocently gazing up at Keng. “You could’ve sneaked into my room, pulled that dildo out of me, and then filled me up with this. This is so much bigger….and thicker.” Namping caresses the shaft slowly, his lips jutting into a pout. 

He says it all so softly and innocently, that Keng is having a hard time processing it. What he’s hearing doesn’t match what he’s seeing. 

“I know you’ve noticed the way I behaved in front of you. Every time you’re over, you always stare at my legs. So I always wore my prettiest shorts for you.” Namping says, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I had fun seeing your reactions…” He smirks, pressing his tongue against the tip of his cock. 

“I wanted you so much. Want you to put this in me. Fill me up till I’m leaking—“ 

Keng cuts him off by clutching his hair. He makes him look up, his fingers digging into  his cheeks.  “Fuck, Namping,” he curses, breathing deeply. “Who taught you to talk like this?”

Namping lets a small smile play on his lips. “I read. Remember?” He slowly moves his hand, watching Keng’s reactions with wide eyes.

That does it for Keng. He’s been holding back, not wanting to taint something so innocent. 

There’s no innocence to taint.

What he has in his hand right here is a siren who’s been luring him into his trap since he first laid eyes on him. 

A cute little predator Keng wouldn’t mind being the victim to. 

“Turn over for me,” he murmurs. “Please.”

Namping shudders just at the sound of his voice and rolls onto his stomach, arching his back instinctively, his face half-buried in the pillows. The shirt slips down his arms, hanging off his wrists, baring his back and shoulders.

Keng’s breath catches.

He runs his hands down Namping’s spine, gentle and trembling. His palms cup Namping’s hips, thumbs brushing the I bow at the back of his panties. And then he leans in, pressing a kiss to the small of his back and to the mole just beside his hip.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he whispers, voice ragged.

Namping only answers with a whimper and a push of his hips, pressing back into him.

The air between them tightens.

Keng gently tugs at the lace, peeling it down, slow and careful, revealing skin inch by inch. His hands settle on Namping’s thighs, strong and steady now, his body finally giving in.

Keng pauses and Namping feels him disappear for a moment before he comes back. 

Namping feels the coolness of the lube as Keng’s thumb presses against his twitching hole. He teases the fluttering ring of muscles for a few seconds before slipping one finger in.

Keng licks his lips. It looks exactly like how he thought it would. Shaved, clean, and pretty.

Sometimes when Namping sashayed around in front of him in his skimpy short or when he carelessly splayed over the sofa, not caring his cheeks were slipping out of them, he wondered how it would’ve looked like if he was to spank his pretty cheeks till he’s needy like this for him.

It was his forbidden secret. One that made him feel guilty and disgusted for days and months. One that haunted his dreams. 

Namping’s whimpers pull Keng out of his thoughts. His fingers are slipping in and out of his wet hole easily. 

“Did you play with yourself?” The taller man questions.

A shaky breath leaves Namping’s body as he tries to hold his position when Keng’s fingers curl. “Yes-Yesterday, before we put on the movie, I was….” He exhales deeply, mouth opening in a gasp when Keng hits a spot.

Keng fingers his hole with one hand and strokes his own cock with the other. He breaths out as he moves closer, pressing his leaking tip against Namping’s clenching entrance. 

He teases the ring of muscles by circling it a few times. 

“Please…put it in…” Namping whimpers, almost desperate. 

Keng smirks at the impatient request before slowly slipping his tip inside. The tip of his shafts slips in and out a few times before slowly starts to sink deeper. 

The feeling of the delicious tightness and soft, pulsing pain, makes Namping’s eyes water. 

Keng holds his breath when Namping tightens around him. He grips his waist and holds him in place before sinking deeper into him. 

As he lines their bodies up, skin to skin, he leans over Namping’s back. “I’ve wanted you for so long… I’m not holding back anymore.” He whispers.

And then they move together, bodies finally aligned, that long-held tension snapping into pure, molten release. 

This isn’t just desire.

It’s everything they’ve held back.

Their bodies press together, bare skin sliding, molding, and fitting like they were made for this.

Keng moves slowly at first, burying his face into the crook of Namping’s neck. His hands hold Namping’s hips with care and restraint, his thumbs rubbing soothing, grounding circles as he begins to move.

Namping’s body responds instantly, arching into every roll of Keng’s hips, gasping at the burn of the stretch and the dizzying pleasure that follows it. His fingers fist in the sheets as he presses his cheek to the pillow, lips parted in a moan that sounds like Keng’s name half-sobbed. 

Each thrust rocks through him, drawing out small desperate cries from him begging for more.

Keng gives it to him.

Their pace builds steady and deep, heat rolling over them in waves. The room echoes with skin against skin, soft gasps, and the creak of the bed frame. Namping is overwhelmed, his whole body squirming under Keng’s touch.

“God, Namping,” Keng breathes against his ear, voice low. “You feel—so perfect—”

Namping turns his head, their eyes meeting. His eyes are tear glazed and shining with lust.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers, voice shaking. “Don’t ever stop.”

Keng kisses the side of his face again and again, his thrusts getting sloppier now, more frantic, more needy. One hand slides under Namping, wrapping around him, stroking in time with every movement, pushing him closer and higher.

Namping lets out a broken sob of pleasure as his body tightens. His thighs tremble and his back arches before he comes on to the silk sheets.

His body jerks and  his mouth opens in a silent cry. Namping clutches Keng like he’s the only solid thing in the world.

The sight of him, shaking, flushed and ruined pulls Keng over the edge too.

With a strained groan and a final deep thrust, he spills into Namping, his entire body pressed close, burying himself in the warmth.

For a moment, the world goes still.

Just the sound of their breaths and their hearts beating in sync.

The air is thick with the sound of their breathing, ragged, uneven, and gasping. Namping lies beneath Keng, trembling slightly, his skin slick with sweat. Keng is still inside him with his chest pressed to his back while both of them lay completely still… except for their lungs working overtime.

They don’t move. They can’t.

Not yet.

Keng’s arms are wrapped tightly around Namping’s waist and Namping’s hand has found one of his fingers to hold on to like he needs something to anchor him to the world.

After a long minute, their breathing begins to settle.

Namping exhales a little and lets out a soft laugh. “Well… that happened.”

Keng lets out a breathless chuckle against his neck, his lips brushing the damp skin there. “That really happened.”

They both smile, still panting and locked together. Neither of them moves to pull apart and their bodies remain joined, warm and pulsing with afterglow. Keng tightens his hold just a little and presses a kiss to Namping’s shoulder, then another… and another.

Soft kisses rain down across Namping’s back, his nape and his cheek.

“You okay?” Keng whispers, voice a little hoarse but filled with worry. 

Namping nods. “Better than okay. I feel like I’m glowing.”

Keng smiles and nuzzles into his hair, inhaling that sweet perfume lingering on Namping’s skin. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he confesses, voice barely audible. “I just… never thought it would happen like this.”

Namping shifts slightly to glance back at him, eyes still a little shiny. “How else did you think it would happen? With you making a move? I would be plucking grey hairs out of my nose by then.” 

Keng snorts. “You’re evil, you know that?”

Namping shrugs a shoulder, smirking. “I always knew.”

They both laugh and lean into each other’s warmth. Keng brushes the hair off Namping’s forehead and kisses him again. Namping hums into it, their lips parting instinctively.

The kiss soon deepens and becomes something more.

Namping turns in his arms, twisting his upper body to face the older man. Their lips move lazily at first but soon hunger begins to stir again.

Keng’s hand gently caresses the smooth skin of his stomach. When the older man’s hand slightly presses there Namping gasps softly into the kiss. He’s still sensitive, still stretched and full.

He clenches around the taller man unconsciously and Keng groans, his hips twitching forward.

Their eyes meet.

“Again?” Namping breathes.

Keng kisses him once more, a bit deeper and hungrier. “God, yes.”

And just like that, their bodies fall back into rhythm, pulled by something neither of them wants to fight anymore.

The sheets rustle as Keng moves again, rocking Namping with him. The smaller man moans softly.

Keng laughs against his mouth and then silences it with another kiss.

And this time, they don’t stop.