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Pond burst through the door, barely stopping to breathe, with Phuwin following a few steps behind — slower, like he wasn’t feeling that same urgency crawling under his skin.
He still had his jacket on.
The same one he had wrapped around Phuwin’s waist to hide the stain.
Wet.
Dirty.
He slammed the door shut and turned around, ready to pin Phuwin against the wall, maybe kiss him until he ran out of air — push him to his knees right there in the entryway, like it was a natural extension of what had happened in the dark room.
He had been thinking about that “I’ll make you pay when we get home” the entire time.
In the taxi, he couldn’t sit still.
His whole body was pulsing — his hands, his chest, his cock straining painfully against his pants.
He had imagined every detail.
Every moan.
Every submission.
But Phuwin didn’t do anything.
He walked in calmly, almost lazily, and closed the door behind him without even looking at him.
No blushing.
No teasing.
No sly wink.
He took off his shoes slowly, stretched his arms up, then pulled off his shirt — the one Pond had wanted to tear off him — and let it fall onto the chair by the entrance.
Pond stared.
“…So?” — he asked, his voice rough.
There was a shiver down his spine, and his heart pounded in his chest like he’d just sprinted home.
Phuwin turned only briefly.
He looked at him with calm, liquid eyes, not even a hint of mischief.
“I’m gonna take a shower”.
And he said it like it was obvious.
Like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn’t just moaned into Pond’s ear while coming in his pants.
“Wait—” — Pond stepped forward, but Phuwin had already vanished down the hallway.
Of course he followed him.
His body moved on its own.
His stomach a mess, his cock hard and swollen behind the zipper.
And with every step toward that closed door, the agitation built up.
“Phuwin?” — He knocked — “Hey… you’re not seriously locking yourself in there alone now, are you?”
No answer.
Just the sound of running water.
Pond pressed the handle.
Locked.
The door wouldn’t budge.
“Phuwin” — A sharp knock — “Open up” — Silence.
He stepped back, running his hands through his hair.
He was losing it.
Literally.
What the fuck was happening?
He still smelled like him.
Still had images burned into his eyes — his hands on that skin, that mouth moaning wide open.
He’d spent the entire ride imagining how he’d fuck him.
How Phuwin would really make him pay for every look.
And yet here he was.
Hard as a rock, head spinning, outside a locked door.
He leaned his forehead against it.
Took a deep breath.
“You can’t do this to me. Not after that line…” — The words came out low, like a frustrated whimper.
“You said it yourself. “I’ll make you pay when we get home”.”
His hand slid down to the front of his pants, resisting the urge to touch himself.
He closed his eyes.
Still nothing from the other side.
Just water.
No moans.
No movement.
He didn’t know if he was more turned on or angry.
Probably both.
But one thing was certain:
Whatever game Phuwin was playing, he was going to pay for it — with interest.
With a push, Pond pulled away from the door, clenched his jaw, and sat on the edge of the bed.
He unbuttoned his jeans, yanked down the zipper, and tried to relax.
But it was useless.
Every second without touching him was torture.
He reached under his boxers, just a light touch — but— “No” — he told himself through gritted teeth.
“He doesn’t get to win. Not yet”.
He fell back, heart pounding, erection still painfully alive between his legs.
Moments later, the bathroom door clicked open, and Pond immediately looked up from the ceiling.
Phuwin stepped out slowly, barely covered by a white towel hanging loosely around his hips.
Water droplets slid lazily down his collarbones, tracing the narrow lines of his chest, down his stomach and disappearing beneath the damp hem of fabric.
He walked like there was no one else in the room.
No one to tease.
No one to punish.
Just himself.
Just his wet body.
Just the sound of his bare feet on the floor.
Pond sat still on the bed, caught between recovery and ruin.
He stared.
Didn’t know where to look, because every inch of that skin looked like sin — and Phuwin knew it.
Fuck, he knew it.
He watched him walk to the wardrobe with the kind of slowness that said:
I have all the time in the world.
I know exactly what I’m doing.
“So…?” — Pond’s voice broke the tense silence, slippery, soaked in all the erotic venom burning in his veins — “Weren’t you supposed to make me pay?”
Phuwin didn’t turn around right away.
He opened the closet door, tilted his head slightly as he looked through the clothes, then finally replied.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about”.
Sharp.
Clean.
And he said it in such a calm, sincere voice, Pond nearly ripped the towel off him and fucked him right there, against the mirror, without even making it to the bed.
Instead, he stood frozen.
Watching from behind.
Watching the droplets roll down his back.
Watching the teasing reveal of his hips.
Phuwin bent down slightly to grab a shirt.
The towel tugged just enough to reveal a stretch of smooth, impossibly perfect skin.
Pond felt all the blood in his body rush downward again.
But he said nothing.
Did nothing.
He got up slowly, like he’d just lost a game he hadn’t even realized he was playing.
“I’m gonna take a shower too” — His voice came out rougher than he wanted.
Phuwin simply nodded, not turning, still browsing the wardrobe.
As if he hadn’t heard.
As if his skin wasn’t still burning from what happened in that dark room.
Pond stepped into the bathroom, running a hand down his face.
Hot water started to pour, but it didn’t help.
His cock was like stone.
He tried to ignore it, to breathe.
Nothing worked.
His head was full of Phuwin.
That innocent look.
That ass under the towel.
That fake innocence that drove him crazier than any dirty talk.
He touched himself again, harder this time.
A short, muffled moan escaped.
Still not enough.
Every time he got close, something inside him pulled back.
Like his body was saying: “No. Not like this. Not without him”.
Eventually, he stopped.
Let himself slide down the tiles, breath ragged, lips wet, cock throbbing, brain in shambles.
With one crystal-clear realization:
Phuwin wasn’t done with him yet.
When Pond stepped out of the bathroom — hair still damp, skin flushed from the steam — the first thing he saw was Phuwin.
Lying on the bed.
On his side.
Wearing only Pond’s T-shirt.
Way too big for him.
The one Pond usually wore during rehearsals with Jasp.er.
The one he had left at the bottom of the drawer days ago.
The one now draping loosely over Phuwin’s ass and baring his thighs.
Bare legs.
Damp skin still glistening under the dim room light.
Pond froze in the doorway.
He looked at him.
Looked properly.
And the desire slammed into him again like it had never left, like every drop of cold water had been useless.
Because yes, he had wanted him naked.
But like this… this was much worse.
There was something infinitely sexier about the idea of fucking him with his own T-shirt on.
Like a brand.
Like a reminder.
Like even his scent was pressed against Phuwin’s skin.
He cleared his throat, trying to sound neutral, and walked over.
Phuwin didn’t even glance at him, just stared at his phone.
Pond got dressed, slipped under the covers.
Faced the opposite direction.
Tried not to look.
Not to stare at the bare thighs.
Not to think about how soft and fragrant that skin must be.
He failed.
Miserably.
He shut his eyes, tried to breathe.
But his cock was already hard again under the pajama pants.
Phuwin, meanwhile, didn’t move.
Still scrolling silently on his phone.
Pretending nothing was happening.
And Pond…
Pond stared at the ceiling.
Tense.
Rigid.
Still frustrated.
Still caught in that same game from earlier.
The room was thick with silence.
Too full to be comfortable.
Too charged to be casual.
Pond turned just enough to catch a glimpse of Phuwin’s profile under the shirt.
And it was in that moment, in that feigned stillness, that he realized:
This was the real trap.
Phuwin wasn’t punishing him with distance.
He was punishing him with presence.
With a warm, fragrant body right there beside him.
With skin within reach and indifference on his lips.
And Pond had no idea how long he could hold out.
He was still trying to relax.
Still trying to think about anything — anything — other than Phuwin’s body next to him.
But of course, that luxury was denied.
Something — maybe the remote, maybe a charger, maybe nothing at all — fell to the floor beside the bed.
A soft, deliberate thud.
Pond turned reflexively.
Phuwin didn’t get up.
Didn’t move much.
He leaned forward.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
His shoulders folded.
The shirt slid upward.
And his body dipped toward the edge of the bed…
…giving Pond a perfect view.
Phuwin’s ass was completely bare.
Still slightly red from what they’d done earlier.
Muscles gently flexed.
So close.
So shamelessly exposed.
Pond’s brain shut down instantly.
His blood roared in his ears.
His cock throbbed painfully.
Phuwin sat back up slowly.
Adjusted the shirt like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn’t just calculated every inch of that bend, every second of that silence.
He turned slightly toward him, innocent eyes —
“Wanna watch a movie?” — Flat voice.
Calm.
Indifferent.
Pond clenched the sheets.
Tried to smile, but tension clawed up his spine like a bite.
“Sure” — he muttered, barely hiding the sarcasm — “Maybe Fifty Shades of Grey.”
Phuwin didn’t flinch.
Just raised an eyebrow.
“I was thinking more like Spiderman, actually”.
Silence.
Sharp.
Brutal.
And that was when Pond laughed.
Because he understood.
It was a challenge.
Clear, direct, ruthless.
Phuwin wanted to see if he could watch his favorite movie… while sitting there completely naked under Pond’s oversized T-shirt.
Pond nodded slowly.
Said nothing.
His throat was dry.
Breath heavy.
Phuwin moved first.
Got up.
Turned on the TV.
Picked the film.
But before pressing play, he returned to the bed…
And didn’t go to his side.
Pond realized it only when he saw him move — slow, sure — and step over his legs without asking.
He settled between them.
Back to his chest.
Sat down casually.
His ass landed directly on Pond’s cock.
Not forcefully.
Not provocatively.
Just… inevitably.
Pond held his breath.
His body reacted before his mind could even form a thought.
Phuwin settled deeper, his back against Pond’s chest, and Pond — almost instinctively, maybe out of self-preservation — wrapped his arms around his waist.
Held him.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The movie started.
Spiderman’s opening score filled the room.
Bright colors flickered across the screen.
But to Pond, the screen no longer existed.
Phuwin wasn’t still.
He stretched, raising his arms above his head, causing the shirt to ride up past his thighs.
Shifted slightly.
Adjusted his position like he was searching for the perfect spot to get comfortable.
Every movement was a slow grind.
Deliberate.
Cruel.
Pond’s cock, already hard, pressed tightly against him — sensitive, aching — and every shift sent jolts through his spine.
His hands gripped Phuwin’s waist tighter, trying not to react too obviously.
Phuwin sighed.
An innocent little breath.
Then he moved again.
And this time… he miscalculated.
His hips tilted just a fraction too far.
The contact became more intense — fuller — and a soft moan slipped from his lips before he could stop it.
A short sound.
Surprisingly real.
Pond let out a guttural noise.
Low.
Animal.
His arms tightened around him instantly, fingers digging into the fabric of the shirt.
Phuwin froze for half a second.
Then he understood.
Felt the tension in the body behind him.
Felt the breath hitching.
Felt how much it was affecting him.
So…
Instead of stopping, he kept going.
Moved again.
Slower.
More intentional.
Another moan — this time lower, more controlled.
Then another, like he just couldn’t help himself.
Pond clenched his jaw.
His hands still on his hips, every muscle in his body pulled taut.
Phuwin was playing.
And winning — for now.
It only took a second.
Phuwin moved again, one of those fake “accidental” thrusts.
And Pond grabbed him.
Both hands on his thighs, sudden and firm, pulling them apart.
Phuwin gasped.
His ass was now fully exposed, still pressed against Pond’s hard cock.
A breath escaped — sharp, from shock more than fear.
He hadn’t expected Pond to react so fast, so decisively.
“Stop”.
Pond’s voice was low.
Steady.
Dangerously calm.
Phuwin turned slightly, a shaky smile hiding his racing heart.
“Stop what?”
The tone was innocent.
But his eyes sparkled too much.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Pond didn’t answer with words.
He kept him still, thighs held wide open between his own.
One hand slid to his stomach — flat, warm — pressing him back into his chest.
The other he brought to his mouth.
Licked his fingers slowly.
Once.
Twice.
Soaking them, never taking his eyes off Phuwin.
Then he moved the hand down.
Between Phuwin’s spread legs.
To the most sensitive spot.
He paused.
And with those wet fingers… he touched.
Just a light stroke.
Just that exact place.
A slow, wet circle.
Like asking “Are you ready to really play?”
Phuwin trembled.
His body arched slightly, and it wasn’t a game anymore.
The first finger slipped in slowly.
No rush.
No force.
Just steady pressure, patient — making Phuwin’s body open up bit by bit.
Pond wasn’t in a hurry.
He’d waited long enough.
Phuwin held his breath.
His hands gripped the sheets, shoulders stiff against Pond’s chest.
He didn’t moan.
Not yet.
The finger moved in and out with maddening slowness.
Just a few centimeters.
Just enough to make him feel every single movement.
Pond watched it all.
The way Phuwin’s body reacted before he could even control it.
The slight tremble in his thighs.
The shortening breaths.
Then he added a second finger.
Even slower.
Phuwin let out a sound — short, choked — immediately biting his lip to stop it.
His chest rose and fell quickly, his skin heating under Pond’s hands.
“No” — he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Pond.
Like he was trying to convince himself.
Like he could still hold on.
Pond smirked faintly.
The fingers started moving together.
Slow.
Deep.
Cruel in their precision.
He didn’t aim for the spot right away.
He wanted to prepare him.
Feel him open up completely.
Then he leaned down, lips close to Phuwin’s ear, voice low and steady — “Wanna play?”
A pause — “Then let’s play”.
The fingers pushed deeper.
“Let’s keep watching the movie”.
Phuwin’s eyes snapped shut.
The film played on in the background — absurd, irrelevant — while his body began to come apart.
He tried to stay still.
Tried not to move.
Tried not to give in.
But Pond could feel everything.
The tension in his muscles.
The way he stifled his moans.
The sweat beginning to pearl on his forehead.
The fingers changed rhythm.
Deeper.
More focused.
Phuwin trembled.
A moan slipped free, lower this time.
He covered his mouth with one hand.
Jaw clenched.
Eyes glassy.
Pond didn’t speed up.
He did something worse.
He adjusted the angle.
Just slightly.
Perfectly calculated.
And slipped in a third finger.
Phuwin jolted violently.
His breath caught, his body arched — and when Pond hit that spot, it was like every bit of control shattered.
“Ah—!”
The moan tore from his throat — loud, raw, unrestrained.
His legs gave out, collapsing back onto Pond’s chest.
Head falling to his shoulder.
Body trembling.
Pond held him firmly, one arm locking around him, the other never stopping.
In fact —
He moved faster.
In.
Out.
Hitting that spot every time.
Phuwin couldn’t hold anything back anymore.
Moans poured out, broken, pleading, his hips moving on their own, chasing more, begging for release.
“Ah— Pond…” — His name came out like pure supplication.
Pond lowered his lips to his neck, brushing hot skin, and continued.
Calm.
Dominant.
Relentless.
And the movie…
The movie kept playing.
But Phuwin saw nothing.
Heard nothing.
Only those fingers inside him.
Only Pond’s body holding him together as he fell apart.
He was trembling.
The orgasm was right there.
Just a breath away.
One more touch.
Just one.
And that’s when Pond did it.
He pulled his fingers out.
Suddenly.
No warning.
“Look at this scene” — he said.
Voice calm.
But the ragged breath betrayed him — “It’s important”.
Phuwin’s eyes flew open, confused, gasping.
Head still resting on Pond’s shoulder.
His body shaking.
On the TV, some meaningless scene.
A background character talking flatly.
No tension.
No plot.
Completely irrelevant.
Phuwin didn’t speak.
Didn’t turn.
Didn’t beg.
He just shifted slowly, getting up onto his knees.
Then raised one hand.
Brought two fingers to his lips.
Coated them with spit — slowly, deliberately, letting them glide over his tongue.
Pond watched in silence.
Then saw him slide them inside.
Phuwin fucked himself.
Gently.
Precise movements.
And moaned.
Loud.
Folded in on himself.
Chest heaving, thighs taut, back arched.
A rough, filthy sound that filled the room.
Pond clenched his jaw.
His cock was on fire.
“Phuwin…” — he growled, gripping him from behind.
One hand on his bare stomach under the shirt, mouth close to his ear.
“You know damn well…” — he whispered, low, almost a restrained growl — “…you’ll never make yourself feel as good as I do”.
Phuwin moaned again.
But didn’t stop.
He kept thrusting his fingers deep, rubbing that hidden spot on purpose.
Sweat slicked his thighs, breath breaking, forehead wet.
The next moan was louder.
Clear.
Direct.
Uncontrollable.
Pond held him tighter, lips against his neck, watching helplessly as Phuwin fucked himself in front of him.
Moaning shamelessly.
Open-mouthed.
Driving himself to the edge without Pond.
A long orgasm.
Later.
Slower.
But it came.
Phuwin didn’t hold back.
Didn’t even try.
It hit him all at once — violent, deep, like his body took what it wanted without asking.
His breath shattered, his voice cracked high and raw.
He came — soaking Pond’s shirt.
The fabric clung to his chest as his body trembled, shaking with irregular waves.
His legs gave out completely, collapsing backward against Pond like he couldn’t even sit upright anymore.
Pond caught him immediately.
Arms wrapped tight around his waist — firm, protective, possessive.
Held him close, feeling every shudder slowly fade.
Phuwin was still panting, head tilted, mouth open, lashes damp.
Motionless.
Completely spent.
And Pond said nothing.
No teasing.
No jokes.
No smug remarks.
He just stayed there in silence, chin resting on his shoulder, breathing slow against heated skin.
But his body was anything but calm.
His cock was still painfully hard, pressed tight between Phuwin’s cheeks.
Every little twitch, every residual tremor, was pure torture.
Pond gritted his teeth.
His hands stayed still, but tension coiled under his skin.
He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears.
Desire screaming inside, begging him to take him, to remind him who was going to win this game.
But not yet.
Phuwin was still limp in his arms.
Still sensitive.
Still warm.
So Pond just held him tighter, his breath sliding over Phuwin’s neck — a promise yet to be spoken.
Because this wasn’t the end.
This was the exact moment he decided how he’d make Phuwin pay back — in full.
Phuwin was still trembling.
His breath was shallow, labored, his torso slumped against Pond’s chest like his bones couldn’t support him anymore.
And yet…
Something inside him was already beginning to tense again.
His thighs, once limp, were now unconsciously trying to stabilize.
His fingers curled slightly into the sheets.
And his breathing — most of all — wasn’t slowing down.
Pond noticed immediately.
He leaned in, lips brushing his ear, and whispered in a tone that was both a caress and a threat — “Lift your hips a bit, love”.
Phuwin moaned at just the words — but obeyed.
Slowly.
Clumsily.
His legs shook again, but they held.
Pond let go only for a second — just long enough to strip off his pajama pants and boxers in one swift motion.
He wasn’t impatient.
But he needed to do it right.
He brought his hand to his mouth, licked it slowly, soaking his palm thoroughly.
Then wrapped it around his cock, coating it completely — from base to tip — with deliberate, hungry pressure.
Phuwin felt everything.
The heat behind him.
The weight of Pond’s body closing in.
The pulse of want growing unbearable.
And then…
A hand on his hip.
Firm.
Grounded.
Pond guided him.
Lowered him gently, lining up perfectly.
And when the head of his cock touched that already-stretched, already-wet entrance.
Phuwin jolted.
He felt it.
Recognized it.
Welcomed it.
Pond pushed in slowly.
Pressed.
Slid.
Sank in one inch at a time, savoring every second of it.
“A-ah—”
Phuwin’s moan broke halfway through.
High, cracked, like a sob.
Pond gripped his side tighter.
Inhaled against his nape.
Pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder — the shirt had slipped again — as he slid in all the way.
And once he was fully inside, to the hilt, he stopped.
Just for a moment.
Just to feel.
The way Phuwin trembled, silent, wordless.
The way his body clenched tight around him, still sensitive, still raw — and yet already ready again.
“You’re perfect…” — Pond whispered, lips brushing sweat-damp skin.
Then he began to move.
From beneath.
Slow.
Every thrust deep, deliberate.
Every withdrawal partial. Every return total.
Phuwin couldn’t breathe.
Pond filled him so completely, so thoroughly, he could feel each heartbeat pounding in his belly.
Every movement slid up his spine and spilled out of his mouth as moans.
“Mmh— P-Pond…”
It was all he could say.
His voice wrecked.
His mind blank.
The rhythm stayed slow but steady.
Deeper.
Pond held him tightly, arms around his waist, thumbs stroking the tense belly.
The thrusts grew firmer.
Phuwin felt him everywhere.
In his stomach.
In his chest.
In the kisses to his neck.
In his cock — which, incredibly, was hard again, aching from the friction, pressing against his abs.
And when the second orgasm hit — he couldn’t stop it.
“Ah—! Na- Naravit!”
The name burst out.
Loud.
Uncontrollable.
His body convulsed, and the climax hit — hotter, rougher than the first.
He came again, spilling against Pond’s shirt.
And this time, Pond was inside.
He groaned low into Phuwin’s ear, holding him tighter.
A few thrusts later, he came too — deep inside him.
Phuwin felt it fill him, felt him push in deeper, felt him shudder as he fucked him a second time that day, in less than two hours.
The second orgasm left him utterly destroyed.
Phuwin collapsed back completely, spine molded to Pond’s chest, trembling, boneless.
Legs still open, cock soft and sticky, skin flushed and sweating.
And Pond didn’t pull out.
He didn’t even move.
He held him — one arm tight around his waist, the other reaching for the remote on the nightstand.
Clicked it.
Checked the time left on the movie.
One hour and thirty-six minutes.
“There’s still a bit left” — he said, voice hoarse.
Phuwin didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
He just melted into him, eyes half-shut, head resting on Pond’s shoulder.
That’s when Pond leaned in.
Kissed his neck — slow.
Then bit him.
Small.
Sharp.
Right behind the ear.
And with a voice like fire etched into flesh, he whispered — “I’m staying inside you until the end.
And maybe I’ll fuck you a couple more times”.
Phuwin let out a choked sound.
Half whimper, half moan.
Didn’t move.
But his body reacted anyway.
Everything clenched tight around Pond’s cock.
His hole — already used, already full — contracted like it wanted to keep him in.
Like it was saying: “yes, again, more”.
And Pond smiled.
Just slightly.
Without warning, he thrust.
One long, slow stroke.
Deep.
All the way in.
Phuwin trembled.
A moan slipped from his lips — soft, but alive.
Weak, but still needy.
And that’s exactly what happened.
In the remaining hour and a half of that movie, Pond fucked him two more times.
Never pulling out completely.
With thrusts that were soft at first — then deeper.
With whispers between kisses and bites.
With hands that held him open.
Worshipped him.
Phuwin came both times.
Not as violently as before — but desperate, sensitive, near tears.
And Pond followed each time.
Deep inside.
Every time.
By the end of the movie, Phuwin was destroyed.
He couldn’t keep his eyes open.
His body was completely draped over Pond’s, legs limp, muscles quivering.
The shirt — Pond’s shirt — clung to his sticky, damp body.
Never removed.
His thighs marked by hours of caresses and thrusts.
And Pond still inside him, like he promised.
He held him once more.
Said nothing.
Kissed his face, slowly.
And as the credits rolled on the screen…
One thing was painfully clear to them both:
Phuwin thought he could tease him.
Thought he could provoke him.
Drive him crazy.
And he did.
But he never expected Pond would win anyway.