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William lasted exactly forty-three seconds.
Est clocked it—because of course he did. Est Supha Sangaworawong didn’t survive years of high-profile security work by not tracking patterns, timing behaviors, and identifying chaos before it struck.
William was chaos.
Chaos with beauty.
Chaos currently sprawled across a velvet chair like he owned the entire antique tea room they were standing in, ankle crossed over knee, twirling a tea stirrer between his fingers like a bored prince waiting for someone to kneel.
And Est never kneeled.
He stood near the table, posture perfect, hands folded neatly in front of him, black vest sharp, glasses glinting under dim warm lighting. His tie was straight. His rolled sleeves immaculate.
His expression?
Flat.
Sharp.
Unbothered.
Deadly calm.
William’s lips curved.
Forty-four seconds.
Right on schedule.
“So,” William drawled, leaning forward, voice dipping low and careless, “are you gonna keep pretending you’re not staring at me, or should I go ahead and fall off this chair just to get your attention?”
Est didn’t sigh.
Not because he didn’t want to, but because sighing implied emotional investment.
“I am not staring,” he replied, tone crisp.
William gasped dramatically. “So you’re ignoring me? That’s even worse.”
Est blinked at him. Once.
“That implies you require attention.”
“Oh, I do.” William flashed a grin as bright as trouble. “Specifically yours.”
Est’s jaw tightened the slightest amount—the kind of micro-expression someone only noticed if they’d spent a very, very long time observing him.
Which William absolutely had.
William lowered his voice. “You look very… intense today. Should I be scared? Am I being interrogated? Body searched? Arrested? Because honestly, depending on who’s doing the handcuffing, I might—”
“William.”
Just his name.
Measured.
Soft.
Warning wrapped in velvet.
William’s grin only widened. “Yes, sir?”
Est almost regretted knowing him.
Almost.
Est who had always believed that control was not a luxury, not a talent, but a necessity. In his world—where hesitation meant risk and risk meant death—order was the only anchor that never betrayed him. Precision steadied his breath. Discipline steadied his hands. And silence steadied his mind.
He who had survived for years like this.
Then William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong crashed into his life, and it felt like someone had tossed a lit match into a room full of oxygen.
Bright.
Crackling.
Dangerous.
Unavoidable.
He almost regretted answering the phone six months ago when the university’s performing arts program requested elite protective detail due to an upcoming high-profile cultural exchange.
He regretted assuming it would be simple.
He regretted almost everything.
Except—
He glanced at William again.
No. He refused to finish that thought.
The first thing Est learned about William was that he didn’t walk into rooms.
He arrived.
Like a spotlight flicking on.
Like a storm front rolling through silk curtains.
People didn’t look when William entered a space—they reacted. Heads turned. Whispers stirred. Some stared openly, awed by the golden confidence he wore like a tailored suit. Others rolled their eyes because no one that pretty should also radiate that much audacity.
But Est?
Est didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t tilt his head or acknowledge him any more than he would acknowledge an incoming threat.
Which was exactly why William noticed him.
And from that very first day, William made it his mission to see just how far Est Supha Sangaworawong could bend before breaking.
Every day since his arrival, he tested boundaries like a burning match pressed to skin—not maliciously, not cruelly—but with curiosity.
And maybe something softer.
Something William pretended wasn’t there.
“You were instructed,” Est said slowly, “not to provoke.”
“I’m not provoking,” William argued, leaning forward with mock innocence. “I’m entertaining. I’m enriching the environment. I’m—”
“Being a brat.”
William froze for half a second.
Then he beamed.
Like Christmas morning.
“Oho? Phi Est said it.” He sat up straighter, eyes sparkling. “Say it again.”
“No.”
“Say it lovingly.”
“No.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
Est looked him dead in the eyes.
“I always mean it.”
William clutched his chest dramatically. “I’m swooning. Protect me, please.”
Est stared blankly. “You don’t need protection from your own imagination.”
“Oh, but I do,” William murmured, voice dropping into something softer, more real. “Because sometimes I think things about you that are… dangerous.”
Est’s shoulders tensed.
Not visibly—not to normal people.
William noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He let the silence stretch, just long enough to feel meaningful rather than awkward.
“Is there something you need?” Est asked, voice even.
“A lot of things,” William answered with a shrug. “Most of them improper.”
Est exhaled slowly.
Not a sigh.
A warning.
“William.”
William tilted his head innocently. “Yes, Phi Est?”
He emphasized the honorific.
Est’s fingers tightened for half a second around his wristwatch.
William saw it.
And—God—he lived for that tiny tremor.
Finally, Est answered, voice low.
“I am here for your safety. Nothing else.”
William tilted his head.
“Then why do you look at me like that?”
Est didn’t flinch.
He never flinched.
But something flickered—something subtle—beneath the professional poker face.
William stood up slowly, closing the distance between them. He didn’t touch Est—not yet—but he leaned in close enough that Est could smell his cologne: warm, citrus, reckless.
“Should I repeat the question?” William whispered. “You keep looking at me like you’re trying very hard not to think something.”
“Incorrect.” Est’s response was immediate, precise. “I think nothing unnecessary.”
“Lies.”
“It is the truth.”
“Okay.” William hummed, walking a slow circle around him like a challenger testing boundaries. “Then tell me what you think when you look at me.”
Est’s fingers curled slightly at his wristwatch.
His tone did not change.
“I think you test limits.”
William smirked. “And?”
“I think you enjoy attention.”
“And?”
“I think you are entirely too confident.”
William stepped closer, stopping just behind Est’s shoulder.
“And?”
Est inhaled—quiet, controlled—but William heard it.
Because William wasn’t loud now.
He wasn’t teasing.
He wasn’t performing.
His voice was gentle when he spoke next, softer than Est expected.
“And do you ever think about kissing me?”
Est froze.
Not visibly.
Not to normal people.
But William had learned every micro-reaction.
Every stilling breath.
Every blink.
Est answered slowly.
“That is inappropriate.”
“That’s not a no.”
“William.”
“It’s not.”
Silence again—heavy, slow, thick with unsaid things.
William waited.
He always waited.
Because for all his dramatics, all his loud colors and sharp smiles, William understood Est in a way few people did:
Patience was the key.
Not pressure.
Not demand.
Just… presence.
Finally—finally—Est spoke.
“If I thought that way,” he said quietly, “it would compromise my job.”
“And if I said I wanted to be compromised?”
Est turned, meeting his gaze fully for the first time.
There was no irritation there.
No annoyance.
Just… intensity.
And something warmer, buried deep.
“You shouldn’t want that.”
“But I do.”
Est studied him.
Slowly.
Deeply.
Then—just for a heartbeat—his expression shifted.
A small thing.
Barely there.
A flicker of something new.
“You are trouble.”
William grinned triumphantly. “You like trouble.”
Est leaned forward until their chests were nearly touching.
“I tolerate trouble.”
“That’s practically a confession coming from you.”
Est didn’t step away.
Instead, he reached up, gently fixing William’s crooked collar where he’d slouched earlier.
Professional.
Soft.
Dangerously tender.
“Fix your posture,” Est murmured. “Someone could walk in.”
William whispered back, “Are you worried what they would think?”
Est’s voice dropped, impossibly low.
“I’m worried what it would mean.”
William blinked. His playfulness softened into something real.
“…For you? Or for me?”
“For both.”
William swallowed.
Then—very quietly—he smiled.
“What if I told you I don’t mind complicated?”
Est finally stepped back, the distance restoring cool air and control.
“You should.” His tone returned to neutral. “Complicated gets people hurt.”
William gave a small, confident shrug. “I’ve been hurt before.”
“But not by me.”
“That sounds like a promise.”
“That was a warning.”
William looked at him—really looked.
Then he laughed softly, shaking his head.
“You know,” he said, “for someone who says he thinks nothing unnecessary, you say a lot of things that sound like you care.”
Est didn’t respond immediately.
He didn’t deny it.
He just picked up a porcelain teapot and poured William a cup of tea with perfect precision.
Then he set it in front of him.
No words.
No expression.
Just quiet intention.
William stared at the cup, then at Est.
After a moment, William spoke again—quieter, sincere.
“Est?”
“Yes?”
“…If I asked slowly—carefully—not to make you break rules or lose control… would you ever consider kissing me?”
Est’s voice, when it came, wasn’t cold.
It wasn’t distant.
It was soft.
Like truth whispered instead of spoken.
“If I ever kiss you,” he murmured, “it won’t be because you asked.”
William turned in his seat, eyes wide.
Est looked calm—but his gaze was warm beneath the exterior.
“It will be,” he continued, “because I couldn’t stop myself.”
William’s heartbeat stuttered.
For once—just once—he had no comeback.
So he did the only thing he could:
He smiled.
Slow, real, glowing.
“…Then I’ll wait.”
Est didn’t smile.
But his voice held something close.
“You already are.”
William didn’t speak for a while.
For once—silence wasn’t something to fight.
It was something to savor.
Finally, he raised his gaze, eyes bright with mischief reborn—less sharp, more intimate.
“So,” he said, voice light but meaning heavy, “tomorrow then?”
Est’s answer was quiet refusal wrapped in promise.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “you may try again.”
William grinned—slow, unstoppable.
“Oh, I will.”
Est turned slightly, posture returning to formal composure, but William saw it:
The smallest, rarest curl of his lips.
A smile not meant to be seen.
William stood, walked past him, and—without touching—leaned close enough to whisper at Est’s ear:
“One day, Est…you won’t just let me try.”
His voice dipped, low, sure:
“You’ll let me win.”
Then he walked away.
Not waiting for a response.
Not needing one.
Because for the first time—Est wasn’t silent because he was unaffected.
He was silent because William was right.
And William?
He left the room with a satisfied smirk and a racing heartbeat.
Because he finally understood something crucial:
Est Supha Sangaworawong wasn’t a wall.
He was a door.
Locked.
Guarded.
And incredibly worth opening.
⸻
The first week of William’s transfer was a storm. A beautifully packaged disaster dropped onto Est’s orderly world. Est was assigned to William because, in the words of his employer, “You’re the only one who won’t be manipulated by him.”
Est wasn’t so sure about that.
In the days that followed, William’s presence became a storm under Est’s skin. He tested limits like one tests a fragile fence — carefully, deliberately, face lit by curiosity. His brattiness ran on a steady current — he provoked not to hurt, but because he needed to know how far he could go.
Est watched him from the side. At times, William made him want to laugh. Other times, he made him want to pull him close and shut the world out.
William was… persistent.
Relentlessly bratty.
Unbearably flirtatious.
He touched everything. Said everything he shouldn’t. Wandered every chance he got.
And now here he was, on their way to William’s first event as an elite transfer—some unnecessary reception with faculty and benefactors. Est walked behind him as they entered the library-turned-ballroom, scanning the room. William had already slipped two steps forward, drawn in by lights and chatter.
William looked stunning: black shirt fitted just right, his sleeves rolled to show his forearms, each muscle defined just so. The lighting made him glow; to Est, he looked like a star that had fallen into a security detail.
Est walked behind him, eyes scanning every corner, every possible danger. But his attention kept sliding back to William — not because he was careless, but because William drew him in.
“Stay within arm’s reach,” Est said low behind him.
William smirked without turning around. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll bring you back myself.”
William hummed, pleased. “Promise?”
Est’s brow twitched. “William.”
“I like it when you say my name like that,” William said, turning just enough so Est could see the teasing curve of his smile. “Tight. Annoyed. Controlled.”
“Behave.”
“I am behaving. Terribly, but with style.”
Est inhaled deeply through his nose.
William noticed that, too.
He always did.
Two hours later, Est had guided William away from at least seven potential scandals—three flirty upperclassmen, two faculty members too interested in his background, one overly curious reporter, and a rogue dessert table that William nearly climbed onto because “the lighting is good, Phi.”
Guests spoke to William; people smiled at him, touched his arm kindly. But William’s eyes always flicked to Est, half-daring, half-searching. Every glance felt like an invitation wrapped in defiance.
Then a hand slid too close to William’s back — a classmate who probably didn’t mean harm. William leaned in for the briefest second, defiance flickering across his face. Est was there in an instant, his hand resting possessively at William’s waist.
“Sorry,” Est said softly, politely. “I’ll take him.” There was no anger, just a steady, calm authority.
Their eyes met.
“Don’t even think about it,” Est said quietly.
William leaned close, voice a whisper. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“That’s not my job.”
William blinked at him with faux innocence. “So what is your job? Watching me talk to other people?”
“Keeping you safe.”
William’s gaze dropped to Est’s hand that was now holding onto his wrist. His voice softened in a dangerous way. “Then don’t let go.”
Est let go.
Immediately.
William smirked like he’d won something.
Maybe he had.
⸻
William believed rooms should react to him.
They always had.
He grew up with people adjusting themselves—posture, tone, attention—the moment he stepped into view. Professors softened. Students stared. Staff bowed their heads just slightly more than necessary.
That was the world William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong knew.
So when Est didn’t even look up—didn’t acknowledge him as he entered his private study lounge the university had cleared for his security reasons—William felt the strike of annoyance and fascination in equal measure.
That’s how it always began.
A quiet room. Antique furniture. Low amber lamplight. A faint scent of black tea and polished wood hanging in the air.
And Est Supha Sangaworawong standing guard near the shelves—still, alert, silent.
William dropped his bag on the armchair.
Est didn’t move.
Good.
Game on.
William approached casually, trailing his fingers along the carved edge of the long mahogany table—not because he needed to touch it.
Because he wanted Est to notice the way he touched it.
“Hi, Phi Est.” His smile was all honey and trouble.
Est gave the smallest nod.
Not a greeting.
A verification:
I see you. I am aware. I am in control.
William hated and loved it at the same time.
“Long night?” he asked, pulling out a chair and sitting sideways on it, one leg dangling lazily over the arm.
“Normal shift,” Est replied, tone flat, eyes scanning the window behind William rather than meeting his.
William clicked his tongue.
“No fun. You should say something like—”
He lowered his voice dramatically, placing a hand over his chest.
“‘It was exhausting because you weren’t here.’”
Est didn’t blink.
“Why would I say that?”
“Because it would be sweet.”
“It would be unprofessional.”
“Unprofessional can be sweet.”
Est finally turned his head and stared at William.
Not indulgent.
Not irritated.
Just… evaluating.
William felt that gaze in his spine.
“You shouldn’t chase reactions,” Est said.
“I’m not chasing.” William smirked. “I’m provoking.”
“And why?”
“Because you’re so controlled.” William leaned forward, elbows on knees. “And that makes me want to see what happens when you stop.”
Est didn’t respond—not verbally. But one muscle feathered in his jaw.
William saw it.
Target acquired
Est stepped closer—not threatening, just present, body held with military precision, steps measured like a metronome.
“William.”
“Hmm?”
“Put your feet on the ground.”
William blinked slowly.
Then deliberately dragged his dangling leg higher onto the armrest—until he was lounging like a king in a throne.
“Make me.”
Est didn’t sigh.
He didn’t scold.
He didn’t raise his voice.
He simply reached forward, placed two fingers under William’s chin, and guided his face upward—not rough, but impossibly firm.
William’s breath stuttered.
Not from fear.
From the sheer precision.
Est held him there—tilting his jaw the slightest degree—forcing eye contact.
His voice was quiet steel.
“There is a difference,” Est said, “between defiance and immaturity.”
William swallowed.
A slow burn coiled low in his stomach.
“…Are you calling me immature?” he whispered.
Est didn’t let go.
“If you demand attention instead of earning it—yes.”
Something hot and sharp flared in William’s chest.
Want.
Frustration.
Thrill.
No one talked to him like that.
No one ever had.
Est finally released him—not abruptly, but carefully—as if returning something fragile.
William licked his lips, trying to regain his smirk.
“How exactly does one earn your attention, then?”
Est took one step back.
But his voice stayed closer than breath.
“By being patient.”
William laughed—but it wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t even playful.
It was breathless.
“You want me to behave.”
“I want you to grow.”
“That sounds like work.”
“It is.”
William leaned forward, tone softening—not weak, just honest.
“You think I can?”
Est’s eyes softened—barely.
“I know you can.”
And that—gods help him—hit harder than any boundary.
Because William had been admired, desired, envied—but rarely believed in.
Something warm pressed behind his ribs.
He covered it with mischief.
“So…” he drawled, leaning back again. “If I grow… learn patience… listen… then what? You’ll reward me?”
Est didn’t flinch.
“Yes.”
William froze.
Then he whispered:
“…What kind of reward?”
Est held his gaze, and slowly—slowly—his voice dropped a note lower.
“The kind that means something.”
William’s breath shook.
He swallowed.
“So not a kiss?”
Est’s answer was soft.
“If that is what you want.”
William’s heartbeat stumbled.
“You—” he exhaled, laughing quietly, “you say it like it’s nothing.”
“It is not nothing.”
William lifted his head—expression raw for once.
“Then why haven’t you?”
Est stepped closer.
Close enough that William smelled cedar.
Close enough that his pulse trembled.
Close enough to understand exactly who held power.
“Because,” Est murmured, voice deep and devastating, “you are still trying to win.”
Silence crashed between them—thick and electric.
William whispered:
“What happens when I stop trying?”
Est answered without hesitation.
“Then I won’t have to stop myself.”
William’s mouth went dry.
Everything in him—every wild, reckless, spoiled instinct—wanted to push again.
So he did.
He rose from the chair—slow, intentional—until they were chest to chest.
His voice was a low challenge:
“Then tell me what would happen if I kissed you.”
Est didn’t step back.
He didn’t break eye contact.
He let the question hang in the air, simmering, dangerous.
Then quietly—fatally—he answered:
“You would lose.”
William’s breath trembled.
“…And you?”
Est’s gaze turned molten restraint.
“I would finally stop waiting.”
William closed his eyes—because the weight of that sentence hit like gravity.
When he opened them again, he whispered:
“…I hate how calm you are.”
Est’s lips twitched—the ghost of a knowing smile.
“And I hate how much you want to make me change that.”
William’s laugh cracked.
“Is it working?”
“No.”
Then—like a blade sheathed in velvet—
“But it will.”
William exhaled, dizzy with wanting and frustration.
“And when it does?”
Est lowered his voice to a whisper meant only for the space between their mouths.
“Then you will finally understand the difference between wanting control— and being taken apart by someone who already has it.”
William’s entire body warmed like wildfire under skin.
He stepped back—not retreating, but yielding.
For now.
Est watched him.
Not triumphant.
Not smug.
Just steady.
Real.
And William—bratty, wild, reckless William—smiled.
Soft.
Dangerous.
Promising.
“Okay,” he murmured. “I’ll play your game.”
Est nodded once.
“It isn’t a game.”
William’s smile widened.
“Everything is a game—until someone loses.”
Est replied:
“Then don’t lose.”
William whispered:
“Oh, Phi Est…” His voice was a ribbon of silk and sin. “I’m planning to make you lose first.”
Est finally looked affected—barely.
A sharp inhale.
A flicker of heat.
William caught it.
Held it.
And whispered like a vow:
“And when you do? I’m going to act like I never stood a chance.”
Est said nothing.
He couldn’t—not without revealing too much.
William saw that too.
He stepped back, smooth and unhurried, but the retreat was intentional—a bow before the next strike. His mouth curved, soft and dangerous as he murmured:
“Good night, Phi Est.”
And he left.
But his promise didn’t.
It stayed in the room like static, humming in the quiet, restless in Est’s thoughts.
He told himself it meant nothing.
He was wrong.
⸻
William began his plan the very next morning.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
With precision.
The brat who had spent weeks provoking Est with sass and defiance suddenly shifted—subtly, sharply—into something far more lethal.
He softened.
Not fake softness.
Not flirtation.
Real softness.
He walked into the training grounds wearing a soft cream sweater instead of a pressed shirt. His hair was tousled from sleep. His eyes still warm with morning.
No armor.
No walls.
Just William.
And Est, looking up automatically before forcing his gaze back down, felt it like a blow.
A direct hit.
William didn’t come to him today.
That was the second change.
He spoke to the junior bodyguard instead—voice gentle, polite, soft in a way he had never been with Est.
He smiled at them.
Listened.
Leaned in slightly when someone showed him a report.
Touched someone’s shoulder when thanking them.
Not excessive.
Not inappropriate.
Just enough to make Est’s stomach tighten in warning.
Then William, sensing the shift in the room, looked up—straight at Est.
Not with a smirk.
Not with mischief.
With warmth.
Warmth meant for someone else.
It was a surgical strike.
A perfect, silent taunt.
You said not to test you.
So I’m testing myself instead.
Let’s see how long you last.
Est’s jaw tightened.
William dropped his gaze demurely—demurely—then returned to his conversation as if Est weren’t in the room.
He didn’t push.
He didn’t prod.
He didn’t speak to Est at all.
He simply existed beautifully in someone else’s direction.
It was infuriating.
It was effective.
It was the cleanest hit William had ever landed.
Est didn’t answer William’s teasing.
He didn’t have to.
His silence was sharper than any threat.
William felt it.
Enjoyed it.
Filed it away.
⸻
The door clicked shut behind William with the softest sound.
A barely-there snick of wood meeting frame but in the silence of the private study lounge, it might as well have been thunder.
Est looked up immediately.
He hated that.
He hated that his head snapped toward the sound like he was wired to respond to William and only William.
The lounge was supposed to be neutral ground: warm amber lamps, velvet chairs, polished wood that smelled like old books and expensive tea.
Tonight, though, the room felt tight.
Too warm.
Too still.
Too aware.
Because it was just them.
No staff.
No students.
No interruptions.
Just William.
And Est.
And every unspoken thing William had planted in Est’s mind for seven days straight.
William stepped inside slowly, unhurried, shirt slipping off one shoulder like he’d timed it. His hair messy; his cheeks faintly pink from the cold; his mouth curved in a soft, dangerous almost-smile.
Not the bratty grin.
Not the smug smirk.
Worse.
This one was gentle.
The one that ruined Est the most.
He said nothing.
He didn’t need to.
He simply walked in like he owned the air, the silence, the pulse in Est’s throat. He dropped onto a velvet chair—not sprawled, not theatrical, but effortlessly graceful, one leg crossed over the other, sleeve pushed up enough to bare the smooth line of his forearm.
The kind of posture that screamed:
I know exactly what I’m doing to you.
Est tried—desperately—to look away.
He couldn’t.
William’s eyes lifted, locking onto him with calm, molten amusement.
Then he said it.
Soft.
Light.
Deadly.
“Long day, Khun Est?”
Est’s pulse jumped.
He forced his gaze back to the documents on the table.
Est exhaled through his nose. “William.”
“Yes?”
Sugar-coated trouble in one word.
“Don’t start.”
William leaned back in the chair, the very picture of serenity.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re doing something,” Est snapped.
“Am I?”
His voice dripped innocent curiosity.
“I’m just sitting. Quiet. Polite.”
A pause.
“Exactly how you’ve wanted me all week.”
That landed like a blow.
Est’s hands stilled.
William saw it—and his smile sharpened by a millimeter.
The tension thickened, warm and electric, crawling up Est’s spine.
William tipped his head, studying Est with slow, decadent intent.
“You seem… tense,” he murmured.
“William.”
“Mhm?”
Est finally looked at him.
A mistake.
William’s eyes glowed—not arrogant, not mocking—glowing with victory, with the soft, devastating power he’d been slipping into Est’s veins day by day.
And then he did the one thing that broke Est’s fragile restraint:
He simply held Est’s gaze.
Unblinking.
Steady.
Too soft.
Too much.
Est’s voice dropped, dangerously low.
“Behave.”
William’s lips curled—slow, sinfully sweet.
“Phi Est…” he whispered. “All I did was behave this week.”
Est stepped toward him.
William’s heart fluttered.
He didn’t retreat.
Not even a little.
He only tilted his face up, eyes shining with mischief and promise.
“Fine, define behave,” he said softly—just before everything snapped.
“Do not test me.”
“Oh?” William sat up straighter, eyes glowing with challenge. “But Phi Est—if I don’t test you… how will I know where the line is?”
Est took three slow steps toward him—measured, controlled, each footstep soft but decisive. He stopped close enough that William felt the shift in air pressure between them, felt the controlled force radiating off him.
“The line,” Est said quietly, “is wherever I tell you it is.”
William breathed a soft laugh. “You sound very confident.”
“I am.”
William let his gaze drag down Est—waistcoat, rolled sleeves, broad shoulders, jawline sharp enough to cut arrogance into a cleaner shape.
“You know,” William murmured, “confidence is very attractive.”
Est blinked once.
Then:
“That statement does not require a response.”
“Oh, I wasn’t looking for a response.” William lifted his chin. “It was… a fact.”
Est didn’t move.
William did.
He moved with the kind of fluid grace that made Est’s entire attention lock onto him whether he wanted it to or not. William closed the distance between them—slowly, deliberately—until he could smell Est’s scent: cedarwood, faint rain, and that cold-metal undertone of someone who lived in discipline.
William’s voice dropped into a whisper, warm as honey, reckless as gasoline:
“Tell me something, Khun Est.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what I’m asking.”
“I don’t need to.”
William smiled softly—genuine now, not sharp, not taunting.
“You always shut me down before I even speak.”
“Because I already know your intention.”
William let that settle.
Hidden beneath the teasing… beneath the bratty challenge… was truth.
He wanted to be seen.
And Est did.
Too well.
William lifted his hand—not touching, but tracing the air near Est’s wrist.
“You really think I don’t mean any of this?” he asked quietly.
Est didn’t answer.
So William continued, voice low and sincere now, stripped of performance:
“Everyone treats me like I’m entertainment. Like I’m something to admire, not understand. Like a trophy. A headline. A show.”
The faintest crack appeared in his tone—barely a tremor.
“But you treat me like I’m real. You see behind the masks.”
Something flickered across Est’s expression—so minute anyone else would have missed it.
“You are real,” Est said. “That is why I do not indulge your behavior.”
William’s laugh came soft. Disbelieving. Vulnerable around the edges.
“You think ignoring me helps?”
“It teaches discipline.”
“No,” William whispered, leaning closer. “It makes me want to push harder until you finally stop pretending you don’t care.”
Est’s voice was barely audible.
“And what exactly do you think will happen then?”
William’s answer was immediate.
“You’ll kiss me. Give me my reward.”
For the first time tonight—
Est smiled.
Barely.
A whisper of danger.
“You are not ready for what you are asking.”
William swallowed once.
Hard.
“I am.”
Est leaned forward—only slightly, but enough to tilt the world.
“Wanting something,” he murmured, “and being prepared to handle the consequences are not the same.”
“Then teach me.”
Silence thickened.
Gravity tightened.
Something unseen shifted between them, snapping into place.
William should have known better.
Should have.
Because the moment Est stepped closer—slow, unhurried, predatory in that way only someone who knew exactly how much power they held could be—William felt something coil deep in his stomach.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
But he was stubborn.
So he didn’t look away.
Didn’t soften.
Didn’t apologize.
He just tilted his head up, lips parted like an invitation, eyes wide and deliberately challenging.
The air between them thickened—warm with breath, cold with unspoken rules—like the universe itself was holding its breath.
Est stopped just in front of him—close enough that William could feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough that his scent brushed against William’s skin before his hands ever did.
A scent William knew too well and not enough.
His voice dropped lower, quieter—dangerous in how easily it forced William’s pulse to respond.
“William.”
Just his name—soft, warning, tired of being tested.
And William?
He smiled.
A slow, wicked, brilliant smile that curled like smoke.
“Yes, Phi?”
Est’s jaw flexed—barely.
But William saw it.
Felt it.
Fed off it.
Because Est never reacted—not visibly, not aloud.
He was steady. Composed. Unshakable.
And William lived to break patterns.
His fingers brushed Est’s wrist—not a touch asking permission, but a touch expecting it. His thumb dragged lightly across the inside of Est’s forearm, slow and deliberate.
A test.
A push.
A question wearing the shape of casual bravado.
Est’s eyes flicked down to the touch, then up—locking onto William’s with a hard, unwavering stare.
“You’re testing me.”
Not a question.
A fact.
William hummed, biting back a grin.
“Maybe.”
Est’s breath left him—not loud, not sharp—just controlled. The kind of exhale someone makes right before acting.
His fingers lifted—not grabbing, not touching—but hovering near William’s chin, so near William could feel the warmth of them.
The closeness made his pulse spike.
God, Est didn’t even need to touch him to make him react.
Est’s tone dropped even lower.
“You really want to see what happens if you keep going?”
William’s throat tightened, but he didn’t let it show.
Instead, he leaned forward just enough that his lips nearly brushed Est’s fingertip—hovering, daring, teasing.
“Maybe I do.”
There it was.
A spark.
Sharp. Immediate.
Est’s patience snapped—but quietly, cleanly—like a single thread pulled too far.
Suddenly, Est’s hand slid along William’s jaw—not harsh, but firm enough that William stopped breathing for half a second.
His thumb rested just beneath William’s bottom lip—pressing lightly.
A command disguised as a caress.
William’s pupils blew wide.
He hated how his body reacted before his brain did.
Hated and craved.
Est leaned in, breath brushing William’s ear as he spoke.
Slow.
Measured.
Devastating.
“Listen carefully.”
William’s fingers instinctively gripped Est’s shirt—not pulling him closer, just needing something to hold onto.
“You don’t get to provoke me just because you’re bored.”
“You don’t get to run your mouth without consequence.”
“And you don’t get to look at me like that unless you know what you’re asking for.”
William swallowed—audible, involuntary, humiliating.
But he still pushed.
Because his pride was feral.
Because he wanted to see how far this would go.
His voice came out lower than intended—soft and edged.
“Maybe I do know.”
Est finally looked directly at him—not just his face, but him.
Like he was taking inventory of every reaction, every breath, every heartbeat.
Then he murmured:
“…You have no idea.”
William’s stomach flipped—heat pooling low, sharp and embarrassing.
He hated how good that sentence felt.
How much it affected him.
How much Est knew.
William forced a smirk—fragile at the edges.
“Then show me.”
Est stilled.
Not hesitant—calculating.
William felt the shift in the air before anything physically changed.
A gravity shift.
A line crossed.
An answer accepted.
Then—
Est stepped closer—not by inches, but by intent.
His hand slid from William’s jaw to the back of his neck, fingers threading slowly through his hair.
Not rough.
Not gentle.
Controlled.
William exhaled a shaky breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
Est lowered his forehead to William’s—just barely touching—forcing William to feel every micro-movement.
Their breaths tangled.
Warm.
Close.
Unavoidable.
William’s hands were still gripping Est’s shirt, but his body was no longer tense—it was suspended. Waiting. Ready.
Est spoke again—soft, lethal.
“You think you’re in control because you’re loud.”
His thumb brushed William’s pulse point.
“But control isn’t volume.”
His fingers tightened in William’s hair—not painfully, just enough to hold him there.
“Control is what happens when I tell you to stop—”
William’s breath caught.
“—and you do.”
Silence.
Not empty.
Charged.
William’s heartbeat was so loud he swore Est could feel it.
Then—slowly—William wet his lip with his tongue, voice barely above a whisper.
“…What if I don’t?”
Est finally smiled.
Not kind.
Not mocking.
Just knowing.
“Then, William—”
His grip shifted, guiding William’s chin upward just a fraction.
“—I will make you.”
William’s knees nearly gave out.
The room felt smaller.
The world felt quieter.
Only Est existed.
Only this.
Est pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.
And William—cocky, bratty, fearless William—found himself breathless.
Then Est murmured:
“Last chance. Stop pushing.”
William’s voice trembled—and that humiliation alone made his cheeks heat.
“…No.”
Est didn’t even blink.
His reaction was subtle but seismic.
His hand closed fully in William’s hair and pulled—slow, controlled—tilting William’s head back until his throat was exposed.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to remind him who held the power now.
William gasped—quiet, sharp, surprised—and felt heat flood through him in dizzying waves.
Est’s mouth brushed just beside his jaw—not kissing, just letting William feel the shape of it.
His voice was a whisper against skin.
“Then you belong to my pace.”
William’s hands trembled.
He didn’t speak—couldn’t—because his voice wouldn’t obey him.
Est loosened his grip—but didn’t let go.
Not yet.
Then—
Softly.
Purposefully.
“Now.”
A final command.
“Breathe.”
And William did.
Not because he chose to.
But because Est told him to.
The silence that followed Est’s command didn’t feel empty.
It felt thick—velvet-heavy, warm, clinging to William’s skin, making every inch of him too aware of the man in front of him. The room itself felt suspended, as though time had pulled taut just to watch what Est would do next.
William’s breathing steadied—not because he calmed, but because Est’s voice had cut through him like a tether. His lungs obeyed before his pride could argue.
He hated it.
And he wanted more.
Est kept his hand threaded in William’s hair, grip steady at the base of his skull, heat spreading from his palm down William’s spine. It wasn’t restraining—yet it left no room for running.
His thumb rubbed slow, deliberate circles against the nape of William’s neck—so casual it felt intimate, so intimate it felt dangerous.
Est didn’t rush.
He didn’t fill the silence.
He let anticipation thicken until William felt his heartbeat pulse in his fingertips.
Est’s breath ghosted across his cheek—warm, steady, grounding. William’s was shallow, shaky, uneven in comparison, each inhale an unintentional confession.
He hated the difference.
He wanted to close it.
He wanted control, or the illusion of it, but his body—traitorous, eager—leaned into Est’s hand like it belonged there.
“Why aren’t you doing anything?” William whispered, trying for defiant, but the breathlessness ruined it.
Est didn’t answer immediately.
William saw the flicker in his eyes—recognition.
He wasn’t asking out of impatience.
He wasn’t bored anymore.
He was asking because the silence had turned into something unbearable.
Because tension—when stretched too thin—becomes hunger.
Est finally spoke, voice low enough that William felt the vibration of it more than the sound.
“Because you don’t get the reward before you learn the rule.”
William felt that word—reward—right between his ribs.
He laughed, shaky and defensive. “You think kissing you is a reward?”
The question earned him nothing but one long, devastating look.
Est angled William’s head up with two fingers under his jaw—gentle but unyielding. Forced eye contact. Forced vulnerability.
“I know it is for you.”
William’s breath hitched—a soft, involuntary sound that made heat crawl up his neck.
He hated how easily Est pulled it from him.
Est’s lips curled—subtle, a ghost of a smile, devastating in its certainty.
He saw everything William tried to hide.
And waited him out anyway.
Est lowered his forehead to William’s again, but this time, he hovered a breath away from his lips. Close enough that William could feel every hint of warmth. Every whisper of breath.
“Ask properly,” Est murmured.
William’s stomach swooped.
He shut his eyes, just for a second, just to gather what little composure he had left. Pride was stubborn, a sharp, living thing inside him—but need was louder. Need had claws.
When he opened his eyes again, something softer had settled in them. Not surrender—yet. But honesty sharpened into want.
“…Ask what?” he whispered.
Est didn’t answer with words.
He answered with touch.
His hand slid from William’s hair, down the side of his neck—slow, excruciatingly gentle. His fingertips traced William’s jawline, barely there, a feather-light drag that sent heat racing in tight lines under his skin.
Down to his collarbone.
Lower, not touching fully—just skimming, hovering, mapping him without claiming him.
William’s breath trembled.
Est stopped at the center of William’s chest, placing his hand flat over his heartbeat. Warm. Solid. Inevitably grounding.
Then, with quiet authority, Est tapped twice.
“Ask me to kiss you.”
William froze.
Not from resistance.
From reality hitting him like a wave.
Hearing Est say it—hearing that invitation coated in command—rewired something in him.
His mouth opened—then closed.
His pulse thudded under Est’s palm, fast and humiliatingly loud.
His voice came out barely above a whisper.
“What if I don’t want to?”
Est leaned in, mouth hovering at the corner of William’s lips.
“Then you wouldn’t be shaking.”
William inhaled sharply—offended, exposed.
“I’m not shaking.”
Est raised a single eyebrow. Then—without warning—he pressed his thumb lightly against that sensitive spot near William’s pulse.
William’s breath stuttered.
He hated the sound.
He hated—
He wanted—
His attempt at protest died halfway through his tongue.
“…That doesn’t mean—”
“William. Ask.”
And everything inside him collapsed inward.
Heat climbed his throat, humiliation mixing with anticipation until it left him dizzy.
His voice dropped, small, almost unsteady.
“…Kiss me.”
Nothing happened.
Est didn’t move.
Didn’t close the distance.
Didn’t reward him.
William swallowed hard and forced the words out again—clearer, rawer.
“Est…”
His voice cracked on the name.
It cracked and Est’s expression softened instantly.
Something melted in him—quiet, fond, dangerous in its tenderness.
William exhaled shakily.
“…Please kiss me.”
That was what Est had been waiting for.
The shift was immediate but gentle—Est’s hand cupping William’s jaw again, fingers spreading with practiced care as he guided him forward.
Slow.
Certain.
Measured.
Their lips brushed.
Finally.
Bare at first—just pressure and breath and warmth—no hunger, no urgency, just intention. William’s inhale caught in his throat, soft and sharp, as though the world had narrowed down to that one point of contact.
Then Est deepened it.
Not messy.
Not rushed.
Controlled.
Guiding.
Teaching.
His mouth moved against William’s with deliberate care, shaping the kiss, leading the rhythm, never asking—directing.
William melted instantly.
His fingers clenched in Est’s shirt—not pulling him closer, but anchoring himself as his knees threatened to give. Est tasted like mint and faint ginger tea, warm breath steady, controlled even in closeness.
William leaned forward, chest brushing Est’s, drawn in by gravity and want.
Est felt the shift—the moment William’s desire stopped being performative and became real.
His hand slid to the back of William’s neck again, threading through soft hair, holding him in place—not restraining, but claiming space.
William responded with a soft exhale, barely audible—but surrender lived in it.
Est deepened the kiss slowly—never taking more than he intended, never overwhelming, only tightening the connection until William’s breath faltered.
William’s mouth parted—just a little, just enough—
An invitation.
A confession.
Est accepted it.
His tongue brushed lightly against William’s lower lip.
A taste.
A promise.
A warning.
Before William could chase it, Est pulled back—slowly, deliberately.
Their lips separated by only centimeters, their breaths still mingling.
And William moved instinctively—leaning forward, trying to close the gap again.
Est stopped him with two fingers under his chin, tilting his face up.
William froze—eyes wide, lips parted, wanting still etched across him.
Est’s voice came low, velvet-dark.
“Good.”
He traced William’s lower lip with his thumb—light, slow pressure that made William gasp softly.
“See?” Est murmured.
“You know how to ask.”
William swallowed, cheeks hot, breath still uneven.
“…Only for you.”
Est’s expression softened—not smug, not victorious—just warm.
Dangerously warm.
William’s heart drummed painfully against Est’s palm, loud enough that Est could feel every pulse. His breath trembled in open, exposed anticipation. The kiss had stolen something from him—stability, composure, whatever shield he’d been holding up—and left him raw in its wake.
And Est watched him unravel without moving a single inch.
The room felt smaller now.
Warmer.
The lamps cast deep honey light over William’s flushed cheeks, over the faint sheen on his lips, over the way his chest rose and fell too quickly, too fragile for someone who always lived like he controlled every room he walked into.
Not here.
Not with Est.
William licked his lips—unthinking, automatic—chasing leftover taste, and Est’s eyes flicked downward with a precision that sent William’s breath stumbling.
“Don’t do that,” Est murmured.
William blinked. “Do what?”
Est didn’t explain.
He reached out—slow, unhurried—and with one thumb swiped at William’s lower lip, smearing away the shine. Not gently. Not roughly. Just enough pressure to make William swallow hard and go still.
“That.”
Est’s voice dipped lower.
“You don’t get to tempt me on accident.”
William’s lashes fluttered. His pride scrambled for footing, reaching for the last scrap of arrogance he hadn’t lost yet.
“…Maybe it wasn’t an accident.”
Est’s hand slid around the back of William’s neck in one fluid movement—warm palm contracting with quiet certainty, fingertip brushing that sensitive place near his hairline.
William nearly gasped.
“Then you’ve made a mistake,” Est said, voice soft but unyielding.
“Mistake?” William laughed breathlessly. “I think I know exactly—”
Est tightened his grip just enough to cut the sentence off mid-breath.
William’s inhale hitched—shallow and sharp.
He felt the message clearly: Careful.
Est stepped closer, chest brushing William’s with devastating subtlety. Their position forced William to tilt his chin up, neck lengthening under Est’s steady hold. The power shift was immediate. Physical. Unavoidable.
It made William’s knees weaken in a way he prayed Est didn’t notice.
But Est noticed everything.
“You don’t understand the weight of what you’re playing with,” Est murmured, leaning close enough that his lips grazed William’s cheek without kissing. “You think teasing is a game. You think pushing is harmless.”
His breath warmed William’s skin.
“It isn’t. It won’t give you any rewards, just punishments. You don’t even know what you’re doing.”
William swallowed—again, too loudly.
“I know what I’m doing.”
“No,” Est answered quietly, threading his fingers deeper into William’s hair. “You think you do.”
William bristled—pride flaring back to life. “Then explain it to me.”
Est’s thumb stroked the side of his neck—slow, deliberate, a contrast to the firmness of his grip.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“…No?”
“You don’t get explanations,” Est said. “You get consequences.”
Heat stabbed through William’s stomach.
A pulse of want he couldn’t hide, couldn’t control.
He hated how easily Est wrung reactions from him.
He loved it even more.
William leaned forward, chest brushing Est’s with a frustrating mixture of desperation and defiance.
“Then give me one.”
Est blinked once. Slowly. As though assessing whether William truly understood the gravity of what he’d just asked.
Then—he released William.
Abruptly.
William staggered a half-step back, breathless, unprepared for the loss of contact. The air that rushed between them felt cold—empty—wrong.
“Hey—” William started, frustrated and embarrassed and wanting.
Est didn’t let him finish.
He reached out, grabbed the front of William’s shirt, and pulled him forward in one controlled movement—enough to make William gasp softly as their bodies collided chest-to-chest.
Not kissing.
Not comforting.
Just possession.
“You want consequences?” Est murmured against his jaw.
William’s breath trembled. “…Yes.”
“Say it properly.”
William’s pride fought.
His body yielded.
“…I want consequences… please.”
Est hummed. “Better.”
His lips brushed William’s throat—not kissing, just the faintest ghost of warmth, enough to make William’s eyes flutter shut.
Est’s voice lowered to a dangerous whisper.
“Last chance to walk away.”
William didn’t even pretend to consider it.
“No.”
Est smiled against his skin.
Then his hands moved—slowly, deliberately—down William’s sides. Over the curve of his waist. Down to his hips. His thumbs brushed just under the hem of William’s shirt, skin against skin in a warm, devastating tease.
William sucked in a breath.
“Phi…” he whispered without meaning to.
Est’s hands stilled.
Just a beat.
Just long enough to betray a crack in the armor.
Then—
“Turn around.”
William’s entire body went hot.
“Why?”
“Don’t question me.”
Est’s voice left no room for negotiation.
“Turn. Around.”
William’s pulse skittered, but he obeyed—slowly, breath trembling as he turned away from Est, each inch of movement feeling like stepping deeper into something he couldn’t undo.
He faced the table. Chest fluttering.
Hot.
Unsteady.
Waiting.
He felt, rather than saw, Est step behind him.
Not touching.
Not yet.
Just close enough for heat to radiate between them.
William’s fingers curled against the table’s edge, seeking stability.
Est’s hand touched his waist—finally—warm, firm, thumb brushing a slow line over skin before sliding inside the hem of his shirt.
William’s breath caught hard.
“Why are you—”
The question broke on a quiet sound as Est’s hand moved higher, palm spreading over the curve of his lower ribs, fingertips caressing the soft skin.
His body folded into the touch instantly.
“Sensitive,” Est murmured.
William flushed violently. “Shut up—”
Est’s hand slid higher the lower, almost dipping into William’s pants.
Slow.
Excruciating.
“Sensitive… everywhere.”
William let out an involuntary sound—soft, humiliating, too honest.
“Don’t…” he breathed.
“If you want me to stop,” Est said, palm warming the skin under William’s shirt, “you have to say it.”
William didn’t.
Couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
Est’s other hand lifted—slowly—fingertips brushing William’s hip before sliding around to his stomach, fingers splaying wide as he pulled William back just enough to press him against his body.
William felt everything.
Strength.
Warmth.
Steadiness.
Control.
His knees nearly buckled.
Est leaned down, lips hovering a breath from William’s ear.
“You’re trembling. So excited and I haven’t even properly touched you,” he murmured.
William’s face burned. “No I’m not—I just—no”
Est’s teeth grazed the shell of his ear—lightly, barely there.
“Yes you are.”
A shiver ripped through William so violently he gripped the table to stay standing.
Est felt it.
Smiled.
Then pressed his mouth to the side of William’s neck—finally kissing him.
Slow.
Warm.
Purposeful.
Each kiss trailed lower—along the tendon of William’s neck, to the edge of his collar, to the place that made William gasp aloud before he could bite it back.
His whole body vibrated, overwhelmed and wanting and helplessly leaning back into everything Est gave him.
“Est…” William whispered, voice breaking on the name.
Est tightened his grip around his waist—teeth lightly grazing, tongue soothing the sting.
“Good,” he murmured against William’s skin. “Say my name.”
William’s knees almost gave.
He would have fallen—but Est held him upright with one strong arm, hand spreading across his stomach, pulling him closer, grounding him with quiet certainty.
“Est…” William whispered again, softer, desperate.
Est nuzzled into the curve of his neck.
Warm breath.
Firm hold.
Steady presence.
“You’re a brat,” Est murmured against his skin.
William’s breath stuttered—and then he smiled. Small. Flushed.
Softened in a way he rarely let anyone see.
“…your brat,” he whispered back.
His. All his.
William’s whisper hung in the air like a spark dropped into gasoline.
Est stilled.
Not a breath.
Not a blink.
Not a shift of muscle.
Just stillness—so profound William could feel the change in pressure around them.
Then Est’s hand tightened at William’s waist.
Slow.
Gradual.
Controlled.
Enough for William to gasp—quiet, sharp, helpless.
“You’re very bold tonight,” Est murmured, voice low enough to feel rather than hear.
William’s breath hitched—cheeks flushed, chest rising too fast—but he still had the audacity to lift his chin.
“Maybe you bring it out of me.”
Est’s palm slid higher, fingers dragging up William’s torso, slow enough that William’s entire body tightened from the heat of it.
That one involuntary arch of his back—Est caught it immediately.
“Is that what this is?” Est asked quietly, his mouth near William’s ear. “You pushing to see how far I’ll let you go?”
William exhaled shakily. “…Maybe.”
Est’s fingers brushed the sensitive spot under William’s ribs.
“And you think I won’t answer you?”
“I—I didn’t say that.”
Est’s voice dropped even lower, warm and dangerous against his skin.
“No,” he murmured, “but you want me to.”
William’s lips parted—just slightly.
A soft, involuntary sound escaped.
Est smiled against his cheek.
“You want a reaction. You always do,” he said quietly.
William’s voice came out like a confession he hadn’t meant to speak aloud.
“I want you.”
Est’s hand tightened on his waist—firm, final, making William gasp.
“That,” Est whispered, “is all you had to say.”
Est hummed—a deep, pleased sound that vibrated against William’s spine.
“Then keep your eyes forward.”
William’s breath caught. “W-Why—”
Est pressed a hand flat against William’s stomach, just under his ribs.
“Don’t turn around,” Est warned softly. “If you look at me right now, I might do something you’re not ready for tonight.”
William’s heartbeat hammered.
Which meant he desperately, painfully wanted to look.
But he obeyed.
For one reason only:
The anticipation burned.
Est leaned in—body almost flush against William’s back, warmth seeping through clothes, breath heavy at the base of his neck.
“Good,” Est whispered. “Stay like that.”
William gripped the edge of the table again—knuckles white, breath uneven.
He felt Est’s fingertips slide down his side—slow, unbearably slow—and William’s entire body tensed, a coil of heat and want tightening low in his stomach.
“Beautiful,” Est murmured—soft, against William’s skin, like the word itself was meant for the spot he was touching.
William reacted instantly.
“No.”
Est’s lips curved—slow, deliberate—right against the side of William’s neck.
A smile William felt more than saw.
The kind of smile that said don’t lie to me.
He dragged his fingertips over the same place again—light, precise, knowing exactly what it did to William.
William’s breath stuttered, his hips jerking forward before he could stop himself.
Est’s voice dropped, warm enough to melt bone.
“Mm,” he hummed. “There it is.”
William’s face went hot. “That— that doesn’t mean anything—”
Est cut him off gently, the edge of amusement threading through his tone.
“It means you react to me,” he murmured.
Another slow brush of lips to soft skin.
“And you do it beautifully.”
William swallowed hard.
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are,” Est said quietly, firmly, as if stating a simple fact.
“You always are.”
William trembled.
And Est’s hand tightened on his waist, steadying him.
“Stop pretending you don’t know what you look like when I touch you,” Est said, low in his ear.
William made a sound—small, helpless, ruined.
Est smiled again.
Not mocking.
Just sure.
William hated how quickly his breath betrayed him.
Est’s hands moved again—one sliding around his waist, fingers splaying wide, the other gliding lower along William’s hip, fingertips dipping just barely under the fabric.
William’s spine arched.
“Est—” he gasped.
“Eyes forward,” Est warned again, voice dropping an octave.
William obeyed—barely—jaw clenched, chest heaving.
He wanted to turn.
He wanted to see Est’s expression.
He wanted—
No.
He needed.
Est leaned in until his chest pressed firmly against William’s back. The contact was strong enough to push a groan out of William’s mouth before he could swallow it down.
Est closed the last bit of distance and pressed his chest to William’s back—solid, unmovable, too warm.
William sucked in a breath, the sound embarrassingly shaky, and Est heard every trembling edge of it.
“You’re trembling again,” Est murmured near his ear.
William bristled immediately. “I’m not.”
That tone.
That little spark of attitude.
Est’s hand slid to William’s hip—and his thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle there.
“You are,” Est said, calm, infuriatingly sure.
William tried to lift his chin, trying for dignity, but the motion made his breath catch. That tiny show of defiance—the smallest tilt of his head—was all it took.
Est reacted instantly.
He didn’t warn.
He didn’t speak.
He leaned in and bit William’s neck—slow, controlled pressure just beneath the ear, teeth sinking in enough to pull a broken sound out of William’s throat.
William gasped—half whine, half outrage—his fingers flying to Est’s arm for balance.
“E-Est!”
“Mmm,” Est hummed against his skin, the vibration running straight down William’s spine. “That tone again.”
“I wasn’t—”
Another bite, sharper this time—
not enough to hurt,
just enough to shut him up.
William’s knees actually buckled.
He caught himself on the table with one hand, breath shuddering.
Est’s lips brushed the bite-mark he’d just made—slow, claiming, achingly gentle after the sting.
“You start misbehaving,” Est murmured at William’s throat, “and this is what you get.”
William was red from his ears to his collarbone, chest rising too fast.
“You can’t just—”
A third bite, deeper this time, right at the curve of his neck.
William’s protest dissolved into a helpless, breathless moan.
Est smiled against his skin.
“You were saying?”
“I—” William panted, voice trembling, “I wasn’t— I didn’t—”
“You did,” Est corrected quietly, lips dragging up his jaw.
“And I answered.”
Est’s hand tightened on his waist, pulling him back against his chest.
“You don’t get to be bratty,” Est whispered, “without me putting my mouth on you.”
William nearly melted.
His fingers curled in Est’s shirt, gripping, needing, clinging.
“Then—then maybe I’ll do it again,” he breathed, shaky, reckless.
Est let out a soft laugh against his skin—warm, low, devastating.
“Good,” he murmured, teeth grazing William’s neck once more.
“Give me a reason.”
William whimpered—loud, unrestrained, ruined.
Est’s lips brushed the sound away.
Then—
“Turn around.”
William turned—too fast, too eager—and Est was right there, inches away, eyes dark, jaw tight, fingers still hooked in William’s waistband.
William inhaled sharply.
Est didn’t touch him.
He didn’t have to.
He simply looked at him—looked at his flushed cheeks, messy hair, swollen lips, the pulse fluttering wildly at the base of his throat.
William felt naked under that gaze.
Seen.
Stripped open.
Claimed without a word spoken.
Est lifted William’s chin with one knuckle.
“Say it again.”
William blinked hard. “…Say what?”
“What you called yourself.”
William’s breath trembled—more from emotion than fear.
“…I said,” he whispered, “I’m your brat. Yours.”
A muscle jumped in Est’s jaw.
He inhaled slowly, deeply—as if steadying something inside him—before he slid his hand up William’s torso and gripped his waist firmly.
Not softly.
Not sweetly.
With intent.
“You have no idea,” Est murmured, “what that does to me.”
William’s knees nearly buckled.
Est stepped forward—not rough, but unavoidable—cornering William against the table edge, one hand braced beside his head, the other gripping his waist, anchoring him in place.
William tried to smirk.
Tried.
But the moment Est stepped in—close enough that William felt the warmth of his breath against his cheek, close enough that the air between them thinned into something electric—William’s composure snapped like overstretched thread.
Est murmured, low enough to vibrate against William’s skin,
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“Yes,” William answered too fast, too eager, too breathless.
Est’s lips grazed along William’s jaw—barely there, just the ghost of heat tracing bone. Not a kiss. A warning. A promise. A test.
“Let’s see.”
William tried to inhale steadily as Est’s lips hovered over his jaw. Barely touching. “Est—please”
Instead of answering, Est’s hand slid to William’s waist, fingers tightening with slow, deliberate pressure that sent a jolt straight through him.
William shivered.
Est noticed.
Of course he did.
And that was when William—reckless, prideful—tried.
He lifted a hand to Est’s shirt collar, fingers brushing the fabric, guiding Est closer as if he were the one setting the pace.
Est’s reaction was instant.
He caught William’s wrist mid-movement, grip unyielding, wrist pinned effortlessly against William’s own chest.
A soft, devastated sound escaped William’s throat.
“You lead?” Est murmured, tone soft but merciless. “Not tonight.”
William’s pulse kicked hard. “I always lead—”
Est kissed him.
Hard.
Not careful like before.
Not restrained.
Not measured.
This kiss cracked through William like impact.
Heat.
Teeth.
Breath stolen right out of him.
Est’s mouth claimed his with dizzying precision, shaping the kiss, controlling its depth, dragging William under with every slow, devastating press of lips.
William tried to match him—tried to kiss back harder, faster, deeper—
But Est didn’t let him.
A hand slid up William’s spine, under his shirt, fingers spreading heat over sensitive skin. The sensation hit William so sharply his knees buckled, and Est caught him by the waist before he could fall.
William gasped into the kiss—humiliation and want mixing into something molten.
Est angled William’s jaw with one firm hand, forcing his chin up, guiding his mouth open exactly the way he wanted.
William groaned, helplessly following.
Then Est pulled back just enough that their lips brushed but didn’t meet.
William chased the kiss—mouth parted, eyes half-lidded, breath wrecked.
Est stopped him with a single hand to the jaw, holding him there.
Still.
Breathless.
Wanting.
His voice was a low scrape of heat against William’s lips.
“You break,” he murmured, fingers tightening just slightly, “and I stop.”
William’s whole body trembled. “I won’t break.”
Est hummed, unconvinced.
“Show me.”
Before William could speak, Est’s mouth descended—not to his lips this time, but his throat.
William’s breath fractured.
Est kissed the side of his neck—slow pressure first, then open-mouthed heat that made William’s entire spine bow. William clutched at Est’s shoulders, fingers slipping, desperate for something to hold onto.
Est’s teeth grazed skin.
William nearly choked on his own breath.
“Est—”
Another kiss—lower.
Another—hotter.
Then Est sucked a bruising mark into the soft spot beneath William’s ear.
William gasped—sharp and high and unguarded.
Est did it again.
And again.
Tracing William’s throat like he owned every inch of it.
William’s hands slid up Est’s chest, fists curling in fabric as he tried—really tried—to pull Est closer, to take control of the kiss, to flip the balance for even a second.
Est’s answer was to pin William’s wrists behind him against the table, his own body pressing flush into William’s front, chest to chest, hips aligned, heat everywhere.
William’s breath stuttered violently.
“Trying to lead again?” Est whispered into his neck, lips brushing over fresh marks. “Cute.”
William whined—actually whined—which only made Est bite gently at his collarbone, then kiss the sting away.
“Still want more?” Est murmured against his throat, voice warm, dangerous, devastating.
William’s reply came out broken.
Shaky.
Barely a sound.
“Yes. I—I’m not breaking.”
Est kissed up the column of his neck—slow, claiming, unbearably gentle compared to the heat from before—each kiss landing like a reward William didn’t know he’d earned.
“You’re shaking,” Est said quietly.
William swallowed hard. “N-No—”
“You are.”
Est’s lips brushed the corner of William’s jaw, soft as a breath.
And William melted.
Actually melted—body going pliant, breaths erratic, wrists weak in Est’s hands.
He hated how quickly he went soft under that voice.
Hated.
Craved.
Est nipped lightly at his jaw, then kissed the mark.
William actually whimpered.
Then Est’s mouth reclaimed his in another heated, consuming kiss—one that dragged every ounce of stubbornness right out of him.
Pinned wrists and hips.
William kissed back—messy, breathless, desperate.
Est didn’t budge.
He held him steady, kissed him deeper, slower, until William was trembling against him helplessly.
Then Est broke the kiss just enough to whisper against swollen lips:
“Stop?”
William, dizzy and blushing and on the edge of collapsing into Est entirely, whispered:
“…Not yet.”
Est smiled.
“Good.”
William surged forward, kissing Est with a hunger that surprised even himself—messy, desperate, unrestrained.
Est let him.
For two seconds.
Then he cupped the back of William’s head and deepened the kiss so thoroughly William’s breath fractured into small, helpless noises he couldn’t bite back.
Est groaned softly into his mouth, biting lightly at William's swollen lower lip, tugging until William whimpered. The sound had been small, broken and everything Est had been waiting for.
When Est finally pulled back—a thin thread of saliva hung between them, hot and trembling.
William’s hands were shaking.
His chest rose and fell too fast.
His lips were parted, swollen, waiting.
Est searched his face—every flicker of emotion, every ounce of want, every crack in his composure.
“You’re mine,” Est whispered.
William nodded—tiny, breathless.
“Good,” Est said.
Then he kissed him again—slow this time.
Deep.
Focused.
Inescapable.
And William didn’t break.
He held on.
Trembling.
Breathless.
Alive under Est’s hands.
And Est finally murmured against his lips:
“Good boy.”
The words slid straight down William’s spine like warm electricity, pooling low and tight in his stomach. He didn’t even realize his hip moving until Est’s hand flattened against him, stopping him with a steady, terrifyingly gentle pressure.
William looked up — flushed, breathless, pupils blown wide.
“You like that,” Est said quietly.
“I don’t,” William said instantly.
Est raised one eyebrow — slow, skeptical, beautiful.
“Then why are you gripping my shoulders like you’re afraid I’ll disappear?”
William’s fingers, curled tight into fabric, twitched like they’d been caught stealing.
“I’m not afraid,” William snapped softly.
“No.” Est leaned in until their noses brushed. “You’re hungry.”
William’s breath faltered — a tiny hitch he hated Est could hear.
Est didn’t kiss him.
He just let the warmth of his mouth hover against William’s cheek, lips ghosting close enough that William could feel every exhale.
“Show me you can handle more,” Est murmured.
William’s pride flared hot. “I can.”
His voice cracked on the second letter.
Est heard it.
Of course he did.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Try again.”
William hated how his body reacted—heart kicking, breath shortening, palms sweating against the edge of the table. He forced composure anyway.
“I’m not nervous.”
“That’s better,” Est murmured, leaning forward until their foreheads almost touched. “Lie to me with your whole voice.”
William’s lips parted—a sound trapped somewhere in his throat—but Est still didn’t touch him.
Instead, he moved lower.
Not kissing.
Not teasing.
Just breathing slowly against the hollow of William’s throat, listening to the way William’s pulse jumped against the air.
William swallowed hard.
Est murmured, “There it is.”
“There what is?” William snapped—too quickly, too defensively.
Est’s voice dropped.
“Your tell.”
William’s hands clenched on the table. “I don’t have one.”
“You just used it,” Est said. “Twice.”
William shook his head. “No—”
“Every time your pride panics,” Est murmured, breath warm against William’s collar, “your breathing stutters first.”
William froze.
In his entire life, no one had ever read him that easily.
Est lifted his head slowly—face inches from William’s, eyes steady, devastatingly calm.
“You pretend you push me,” Est said, “but your body gives you away every time.”
William’s cheeks burned. “You’re imagining things.”
“No,” Est said quietly. “I’m watching. I have been watching you since the first day.”
William’s throat tightened.
Heat spread up the back of his neck in a humiliated rush.
Est finally touched him.
A single fingertip.
To William’s wrist.
Light, barely-there contact.
But William flinched anyway—half a breath, a twitch of instinct.
Est hummed—approval, victory, something warm and dangerous.
“You’re already reacting.”
“I’m not,” William whispered, even as his pulse thrashed beneath Est’s fingertip.
“This,” Est said, thumb brushing the pounding vein along William’s wrist, “is the only truth I need.”
William tried to pull his hand back.
Est didn’t let him.
He tightened his grip just enough to keep William there—not rough, not hurting—just firm, steady, unshakeable.
Then he slowly, deliberately guided William’s wrist upward… and pressed it flat against his own chest.
Right over Est’s heartbeat.
William’s breath caught hard.
Est leaned in until their foreheads touched, eyes half-lidded.
“Feel that?”
William nodded—barely.
“My pulse is slow,” Est whispered. “Yours isn’t.”
William’s knees nearly buckled.
Est kept going.
“That’s why I’m in control.”
A beat—warm, intimate.
“And that’s why you stay exactly where I put you.”
William’s lips parted—soft, soundless, undone.
“Est—”
“Shh,” Est murmured.
He slid his fingers up to the inside of William’s elbow—slow, deliberate—before pressing William’s arm back against the table again.
A full pin.
A quiet one.
A devastating one.
“You said you can handle more,” Est said. “So don’t run. Stay still. Be a good boy for me.”
William froze.
Est’s hand slid up his waist, tracing the curve of his side with maddening slowness, fingertips gliding over fabric, then skimming skin underneath. William’s breath grew sharp and uneven, chest rising against the cage of Est’s arm.
And then—
Est suddenly seized William’s waist with both hands and lifted him.
Effortless.
Controlled.
Like William weighed nothing.
William’s back hit the table edge with a soft thud, legs parting instinctively from the momentum, hands flying to Est’s shoulders for balance.
“E-Est—”
His voice came out too soft. Too needy.
Est stepped between his legs, close enough that William felt heat radiating off him in waves.
“Keep your hands where they are,” Est murmured against his jaw.
William almost replied — something bratty, sharp, defensive — but the words dissolved when Est’s hand trailed up his thigh, gentle but firm enough to ground him to the table.
“Do you want to keep pretending,” Est asked, “or are you done performing?”
William’s heart slammed against his ribs.
“I’m not performing,” he whispered stubbornly. “I just — I—”
Est pressed a hand to William’s sternum — steady, warm — coaxing him back until he lay half-leaning along the table, breath caught in his throat.
“You want power,” Est murmured. “You want control.”
William swallowed. “Maybe.”
“You want to challenge me.”
“Always.”
“You want to win.”
“Yes.”
Est hummed — pleased.
“So… cute.”
William’s breath escaped him fast — humiliation and want burning through him at once.
“I — I’m not.”
Est slid a hand up the inside of William’s arm — slow enough to ruin him — until his fingers wrapped around William’s wrist. He lifted it gently above William’s head, pinning it to the table without force — just presence.
William’s entire body tensed.
“Still lying,” Est murmured.
William’s pride snapped. “I’m not lying, you’re just—”
Est leaned down suddenly, lips brushing the corner of William’s mouth without fully kissing.
“Say it,” Est whispered. “You’re trembling because of me. Your breath stutters because of me.”
William made a small, desperate sound — one he tried to swallow back but couldn’t.
His voice came out ragged:
“I’m— I hate you.”
“No.” Est captured William’s jaw, tilting him up. “You don’t.”
William’s eyes flickered — heat, defiance, honesty tangled together.
“You’re just — intense,” William whispered. “Too intense.”
Est smiled — teeth barely showing, a dangerous, slow drag of lips that turned William’s stomach inside out.
“And you,” Est murmured, leaning closer, “are the one who keeps asking for more.”
William’s hand — the one still free — fisted in Est’s shirt, pulling him closer with sudden boldness.
“Then give me more.”
Est’s eyes sharpened — heat, pride, power all tightening into a single devastating look.
“You don’t get to demand.”
“I’m not demanding,” William whispered. “I’m taking what’s mine.”
He leaned up and kissed Est.
Hard.
Not controlled, not patient, not guided.
William kissed him like he wanted to win.
Like he wanted to flip the power between them. As always.
Like he needed to feel Est come undone even once. Like Est was doing to him.
And for a second —
Est let him.
William deepened the kiss, hand sliding up to Est’s nape, tugging him closer, kissing with teeth, breath, sheer stubborn hunger.
Est kissed back — steady, grounded — letting William try.
Letting him push.
Letting him take.
Letting him feel the illusion of power.
Then —
Est caught William’s lower lip between his teeth — gentle at first — then tugged, slow and deliberate.
William’s breath shattered.
Est pulled back only enough for their foreheads to touch.
“No,” Est whispered. “You get nothing not until you earn it and after last week you won’t get it that easily.”
William gasped.
“You want control so badly?” Est asked.
William nodded — tiny, breathless.
Est’s hand slid to William’s jaw, thumb pressing lightly under his chin, guiding his face upward.
“Then earn it.”
William’s heart nearly stopped.
“How?” he whispered.
Est kissed him again — slow, deep, devastating — one hand gripping William’s waist, the other still holding his wrist above his head, pinning him with nothing more than intention.
When Est finally pulled back, his voice was a low growl.
“Be good for me..”
William’s chest rose sharply.
“I— I am.”
“We’ll see.”
Est’s hand slid down the table until it found William’s other wrist. He laced their fingers together and pressed both William’s hands above his head — not forcing, just holding — grounding him, owning the space around him.
“Now breathe, properly.” Est murmured, lips brushing William’s jaw.
William inhaled — the air catching in his throat, shaky, uneven. His chest rose against Est’s forearm, the closeness overwhelming, heat building in tight, dizzy waves.
Est watched every second of it.
“No need to be tense. I won’t let you fall,” Est murmured, voice low against William’s cheek.
“I’m not—”
Est cut him off by leaning in.
Not to kiss — to breathe.
His lips hovered just below William’s jaw, close enough for his teeth to drag across William’s skin, slow and devastating. William could tell his jaw had become Est’s favored spot.
William’s grip around Est’s fingers tightened involuntarily.
William’s entire body arched. And then Est kissed him at the base of his jaw.
Slow.
Precise.
Possessive in a way that didn’t need pressure — just presence.
William’s breath broke open on a soft sound, embarrassing and helpless. His hips betrayed him, bucking slightly against Est’s thigh that had lodged between his legs, heat rushing to his face.
Est hummed against his skin — a low, pleased vibration that spread heat through William’s entire body as his mouth travelled downwards along William’s jaw, biting at the tender skin.
William clutched at his shoulders, he tried to keep quiet, to swallow all the sounds, but a tiny moan escaped
“Sensitive,” Est murmured.
“No—” William panted, “I’m not— you’re— you’re just—”
But he couldn’t finish.
Not when Est wedged his thigh up higher, pressing up incessantly, William unable to stop himself from moving against it.
Not when Est dragged his lips lower, brushing along the hollow of William’s collarbone, not quite kissing, not quite biting — just tracing the line of tension with infuriating gentleness.
William’s head dropped back onto the table, exposing his throat completely.
As if he couldn’t help it.
As if surrender was instinct.
Est noticed.
Of course he did.
His hand tightened slightly around William’s wrists, pinning them more firmly to the table.
“Look at that,” Est murmured softly against his throat. “You’re opening up for me baby.”
William shuddered. “I’m not—”
Est kissed the hollow just beneath William’s ear.
A slow, warm press of lips.
William’s back arched so sharply the table creaked.
His voice cracked into something breathless and tiny:
“Est—please—”
Est stilled.
Then lifted his head just enough that William could feel his breath but not his mouth.
“Please what?”
William’s breathing was unsteady, chest rising too fast, lips parted and trembling.
He didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
So Est lowered his mouth again — this time kissing the pulse point at William’s neck. Soft. Perfectly placed. Slow enough that William felt every second of it.
His body went molten.
Est dragged him closer by his waist, pulling him closer, William’s breath breaking in choked, helpless gasps as he slowly reached his peak.
“Please—don’t stop! More! Please!” William whispered, voice shaking, his hips taking on a faster rhythm.
“Hmm?” Est brushed his lips lower, hitting another sensitive spot.
William whimpered.
Actually whimpered.
“That.” He gasped. “You’re— you’re making me—”
“Fall apart?” Est said softly against his skin. “Yes. I know.”
Then he kissed him again — lower this time — slow, deep, warm, leaving William trembling so hard he could barely hold onto Est’s hands.
Every kiss felt like a command.
Every breath against his throat felt like domination disguised as tenderness.
Every drag of his hips turned William’s body to absolute putty — soft, melting, helpless in Est’s hands just as Est’s thigh shifted.
Est shifted closer, chest pressed fully against William’s, pinning him with nothing but weight and intention.
Est’s hands slid from William’s wrists to cradle the side of his face, thumb stroking gently over his cheekbone while his mouth moved along William’s neck.
It was that contrast —
the firm hold,
the rough drag,
the soft touch,
the slow kisses —
that unraveled William completely.
“Est—” he gasped, voice cracking wide open. “I can’t— I can’t—”
“Yes you can,” Est murmured, lips brushing lower, slow enough to torture him. “You can take this.”
William shook his head, chest heaving in frantic, heat-filled waves. “No— I— you’re— too—”
“Too what?” Est whispered against his skin.
“Too much,” William breathed. “You’re too much.”
Est smiled — lips curving against William’s neck.
“Good.”
Then he kissed the center of William’s throat — slow, warm, devastatingly gentle.
William’s eyes rolled back.
Every nerve in his body lit up, fire racing through his skin. His legs shook, breath coming in desperate gasps, as Est held him steady, still marking his neck, still making him ride his thigh.
His entire body went limp.
Not broken.
Not defeated.
Just undone.
Completely, utterly undone.
Est lifted his head then, gaze dark with pride and possession, one thumb stroking William’s cheek as the other hand pinned his hip to the table.
“That,” Est murmured, voice low and velvet-dark, “is what you look like when you stop pretending. All mine”
William swallowed — hard — eyes unfocused, lips parted, chest rising in quick, shaking breaths.
“I’m not pretending,” he whispered, barely audible.
Est leaned in.
Pressed one final, slow kiss to the softest part of William’s jaw.
“You were before,” Est whispered. “But not anymore.”
William lay half-sprawled along the table, wrists still pinned above his head by Est’s fingers, chest rising and falling too fast for dignity. His neck was flushed, marked, the sensation alone had left him trembling like every nerve had been rewired under Est’s mouth.
He wasn’t broken.
He wasn’t defeated.
He was ruined — in the beautiful, dizzying, impossible-to-hide way.
Est studied him like that.
Like he was something rare.
Something dangerous.
Something he had just tamed with nothing but patience and lips and breath.
William tried — genuinely tried — to pull himself together, forcing a shaky exhale, trying to lift his chin.
To regain even one shred of the bratty defiance he lived on.
But Est slid a hand slowly down his arm, wrapped his fingers around William’s wrist, and guided his hand down to his own chest.
Warm. Firm. Solid.
William’s breath stuttered helplessly.
“Feel that?” Est murmured.
William swallowed hard.
“Yes.”
“Good.” Est stepped between his legs, pushing William just slightly further back on the table. “Because you’ve been pretending you’re the only one affected.”
William’s eyes widened.
Est rarely admitted.
Rarely revealed.
Rarely let anything slip past his control.
William felt the steady thrum of Est’s heart under his palm, strong and quick and anchored by restraint rather than calm.
He whispered, almost scared of how much he meant it:
“Phi Est…”
Est tilted William’s chin up again — one finger, slow, deliberate — forcing William’s eyes to meet his.
“No performing,” Est said. “Not right now.”
William’s lips parted, breath shaky.
He nodded.
Est loosened his hold on William’s wrists, letting them slide free — but William didn’t move. Not even an inch.
His arms fell beside him, limp from tension, mind empty, body warm and buzzing.
Est brushed a thumb across William’s jaw.
Softly.
Once.
A single stroke filled with meaning William couldn’t decipher yet.
“You did well. My good boy,” Est murmured.
William closed his eyes — just for a second — because praise from Est felt like a strike straight to the heart.
When he opened them again, Est was closer.
Close enough that William felt his breath on his lips, close enough that every inch of space seemed intentionally crafted.
“Sit up,” Est said quietly.
William obeyed — shaky, slow — and Est guided him upright with a hand at his lower back, steadying him without taking away control.
Their foreheads nearly touched.
“Look at me,” Est said.
William did.
And Est kissed him.
Not with heat.
Not with teasing.
Not with dominance.
But with finality.
A slow, deep, sealing kiss — one that tasted like truth, and gravity, and the moment something shifts between two people who don’t know how to name it yet.
William melted into it with a soft, involuntary sigh, fingers curling in the fabric at Est’s waist.
Est broke the kiss gently — lips lingering, breath mingling.
Then he pressed one slow kiss to William’s jaw — right where his pulse jumped wildly.
The last one.
The confirmation.
“William,” Est murmured, voice warm, quiet, devastating, “you are trouble.”
William smiled — dazed, breathless, undone.
“And you,” he whispered back, “like trouble.”
Est’s hand slid along his spine, settling at the curve of his waist in a way that felt dangerously close to claiming.
“I tolerate trouble,” Est corrected, lips brushing his cheek.
“But you—”
He lifted William’s chin, eyes steady and unreadable.
“You are the only kind I don’t walk away from.”
William’s breath caught.
His fingers tightened around Est’s shirt.
And for the first time all night — he didn’t feel like a brat trying to win.
He felt seen.
Wanted.
Chosen.
Est stepped back a little — enough to give William space, enough to let him breathe again, enough to let the moment settle like warm gravity around them.
Then he offered a hand.
William looked at it.
Looked at Est.
And placed his hand into his without hesitation.
Est’s grip was warm, steady, controlled.
William stood shakily, hand in Est’s, still breathless, still too warm everywhere Est had touched. His legs felt unsteady.
As soon as he got his balance, William felt heat surge up his neck.
Not the good kind.
The embarrassed kind.
He ducked his head quickly — too quickly — and Est absolutely noticed.
A slow smile touched Est’s lips.
“Why are you hiding?”
“I’m not,” William mumbled.
But he was already leaning forward, forehead pressing lightly into Est’s chest, hands gripping his shirt like he was trying to bury himself there.
Est raised an eyebrow, amused but devastatingly fond.
“You’re red.”
“I’m not red.”
“You’re very red,” Est corrected calmly, one hand sliding up to cup the back of William’s head.
“I’m— it’s just warm,” William muttered into his chest, words muffled against fabric.
Est didn’t expose him.
Didn’t tease.
He only brushed a thumb over William’s temple and guided his face deeper into the safe space between shoulder and neck.
“Come here,” Est murmured.
William inhaled sharply as Est’s arms wrapped fully around him — strong, warm, careful. Est’s palm flattened against the small of William’s back, sliding up slowly to settle between his shoulder blades.
William melted.
Not in the table, not in tension — but in the quiet kind of surrender that felt even more dangerous.
His ears burned hot, the flush spreading down his throat. He tried to hide it, tucking himself closer.
Est chuckled — low, warm — the sound rumbling through his chest into William’s cheek.
“So shy suddenly?”
William groaned softly. “Please stop.”
Est leaned his chin lightly on William’s head.
“I told you,” he murmured. “You’re sensitive.”
William pulled back a tiny bit — just enough to glare, though his eyes were still dazed and soft.
“You’re the one who made me like this.”
“Yes,” Est agreed. “And now I have to fix the mess I made.”
Before William could react, Est gently took his chin and tilted it up. William’s ears, neck, and cheeks were a vivid shade of red — and the realization made his legs wobble again.
“Don’t look at me,” he whispered.
“Look at me then,” Est countered softly.
William obeyed — barely — blinking up through messy lashes.
Est brushed his fingers through William’s hair, smoothing it back into place. William’s breath caught each time the warm fingertips grazed his scalp.
Then Est fixed the collar of his shirt. Then the hem. Then the wrinkle at his waist.
Each touch careful.
Each movement grounding.
Each correction saying more than words ever could.
When Est finished, he placed one hand at William’s cheek, thumb sweeping once, slow.
“Better.”
William’s voice was a quiet, shy grumble. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
William froze.
His eyes widened a little.
His breath faltered.
And for the first time that night, William didn’t have a comeback.
Est stepped closer again, sliding an arm around William’s waist and pulling him gently against his chest. William let it happen without resistance — his forehead finding its place against Est’s shoulder.
Est’s hand cupped the back of his head, thumb stroking lightly behind his ear until William practically melted into him.
“You’re warm,” Est murmured.
“You did that,” William whispered, voice soft and small.
“Yes,” Est said. “I did.”
And then, quieter:
“And I like seeing you like this. Mine”
William buried his face even deeper in Est’s chest — because if he showed his expression right now, he would combust.
Est’s arms tightened around him, pulling him in with slow certainty.
“You’re mine,” Est repeated, voice soft against William’s hair.
William nodded against his chest.
“Come on,” Est said softly, pulling him gently off the table and into his space again. “Before you fall apart on something less stable.”
William laughed under his breath — still shaken, still breathless — leaning into Est’s shoulder as he stood.
“I’m not falling apart,” he murmured.
Est looked down at him and smiled.
Slow.
Knowing.
Warm enough to melt bone.
“No,” Est agreed. “You’re just finally being honest.”
William looked up at him and didn’t argue.
Not this time.
Est stepped closer, brushing one last, soft kiss to William’s jaw — the gentlest of the night.
“I’ll take you home,” Est whispered.
And William did.
Without defiance.
Without performance.
Without hesitation.
Just—
William.
In Est’s hands.
Exactly where he wanted to be.