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The humidity of the Thai countryside clung to the air, thick and sweet with the scent of damp earth and tropical greenery. Inside the modest hotel room—all clean lines, large glass panes, and light wood—the atmosphere was even heavier, though for an entirely different reason.
Moth leaned against the window frame, watching the way the sunlight filtered through the bamboo fencing outside. He looked expensive even in the middle of nowhere, his posture radiating a practiced, sharp indifference. He knew Dean was watching him. Dean was always watching him.
"You’re doing that thing again," Moth said, not turning around. His voice was clipped, the 'bitchy' edge he used as a shield fully intact. "Staring. It’s creepy, Dean. Stop it."
Dean didn't stop. He was sprawled on the edge of the bed, already looking far too comfortable in the shared space. He had that look in his eyes—the one that suggested he’d already won, even if Moth was still putting up a fight.
"I’m not staring, Theerak," Dean sang out, intentionally dragging out the endearment in that specific, honey-thick tone that made Moth’s teeth ache. "I’m appreciating. There’s a difference. Besides, Pun and Ten went through all the trouble of dragging us out here for 'fresh air.' It would be rude not to enjoy the view."
Moth finally turned, crossing his arms over his chest. "The 'view' is outside. And don't call me that. I'm here because of you guys, I’m covered in a layer of dust from the drive, and you’re currently occupying sixty percent of the only bed in this room. Move."
Instead of moving, Dean leaned back on his elbows, the fabric of his shirt straining slightly. He grinned, a slow, predatory thing that never failed to make Moth’s heart do a traitorous stutter. He loved this—how easily he could bait Moth, and how Moth, despite the eye-rolls and the sharp tongue, never actually walked away.
"Make me move," Dean challenged, his voice dropping an octave, the playfulness suddenly replaced by something much hungrier. "You spent the whole car ride acting like you hated my guts, but you’re still wearing the necklace I bought you. And you haven't left the room yet."
Moth felt his face heat up, his fingers instinctively twitching toward his throat. He hated how well Dean knew him. He hated that he was used to the way Dean smelled—like expensive cologne mixed with the heat of the sun—and he hated that he secretly thrived on the way Dean lost his mind whenever Moth pushed him just a little too far.
"I'm staying because I paid for half the gas," Moth lied smoothly, taking a slow, deliberate step toward the bed. He looked down at Dean, his expression cold but his eyes burning. "And if you say Theerak in that whiny voice one more time, I’m going to make sure you spend the rest of this 'romantic getaway' outside the room and mosquitos sucks all your blood"
Dean’s grin didn't flicker. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Moth’s wrist, trailing up toward the hem of his sleeve. The touch was light, almost teasing, but the tension behind it was vibrating.
"Is that a threat?" Dean murmured, pulling him just an inch closer. "You know how much I love it when you get mean.”
Moth didn't give him the satisfaction of a verbal comeback. He just scoffed, a sharp sound of pure exasperation, and turned on his heel. The long drive had left a restless, gritty tension under his skin that Dean’s constant hovering was only making worse.
He stormed through the sliding glass door toward the private outdoor annex. It was a secluded little pocket of the room, walled off by tall, weathered bamboo poles that let the dappled sunlight streak through in golden bars. In the center sat a deep, stone-colored bathtub, looking far more luxurious than the rest of the hotel combined.
Moth grabbed the wall-mounted phone and dialed the front desk with aggressive precision. "Room 204. I need the bathtub filled. And I want ice. Yeah. Thank you”
He hung up before they could even confirm, leaning his hands against the cool rim of the tub. The air out here was still, humming with the distant sound of cicadas, but he could feel the weight of Dean’s gaze through the glass behind him.
Dean hadn't followed him out yet. He stayed in the room, leaning against the doorframe, watching Moth’s every move with a dark, contemplative focus. He watched the way the sunlight caught the line of Moth’s shoulders and the agitated rise and fall of his chest.
A few minutes later, a knock at the door signaled the arrival of the staff. Dean tipped the worker and took the heavy buckets of ice himself, carrying them out to the annex. He didn't say a word as he began to tip them into the steaming water Moth had started running. The clatter of the ice hitting the stone and the hiss of the melting cubes filled the small space.
Moth watched him, his jaw set. "I told you to stay in the room."
"And I told you I can't keep my eyes off you," Dean replied, his voice low and steady, a sharp contrast to the cold water splashing around his hands. He dumped the last bucket and stood up, the heat of the afternoon and the steam from the water making his shirt cling to his skin. "Water’s ready, sir. You want to keep acting like you hate me, or are you going to get in?”
Moth didn’t give him a single glance. He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one fluid, defiant motion, tossing it onto the wooden bench nearby. He followed it with his trousers, moving with a clinical coldness that ignored the way the air in the small enclosure had suddenly become electric.
Dean didn't move. He stood with his arms crossed, his eyes dark and heavy as they traced the sharp line of Moth’s collarbones, the dip of his narrow waist, and the pale, firm curve of his ass. Even though Moth was still in his briefs, the sheer intensity of that gaze felt like hands on his skin, stripping away every last layer of defense. Moth felt the heat rising, coiling stubbornly at the nape of his neck, but he refused to let his hands shake.
He stepped into the tub. The ice-cold water surged up around his thighs, and Moth let out a sharp, choked-off gasp. Shivers raced through his frame, his breath hitching as his body fought the sudden drop in temperature. He sank deeper, resting his head back against the rim and closing his eyes, forcing his muscles to go slack against the chill.
The peace lasted exactly five seconds.
The water shifted violently, splashing over the edge as a heavy weight entered the tub. Moth’s eyes snapped open. Dean was stepping in directly opposite him, completely, unashamedly naked. The sunlight hit the broad planes of his chest and the damp skin of his stomach as he sat down, his knees brushing against Moth’s underwater.
"What the hell are you doing?" Moth snapped, his voice a mix of shock and the lingering bite of the cold. "Get out. Aren't you even a little bit ashamed? We’re basically under the open sky. Anyone could be looking through the bamboo."
Dean didn't look even remotely concerned. He leaned back, spreading his arms along the rim of the tub, looking like he owned the entire resort. A slow, crooked smirk pulled at his lips.
"None of the rooms overlook this side," Dean said, his voice dropping into that smooth, resonant register that always got under Moth’s skin. "The only person watching me is you."
"I'm not watching you. I'm judging you," Moth hissed, though his eyes weren't exactly moving away from the sight of Dean’s bare shoulders.
"Judge all you want," Dean chuckled, the sound vibrating through the water. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze dropping to Moth’s lips before locking back onto his eyes. "It’s a bit late for modesty, don’t you think? You’ve seen every inch of me a dozen times over. Besides... I know you like the view just as much as I do.”
The distance between them vanished until Moth could feel the radiant heat coming off Dean’s skin, clashing with the icy water. Dean leaned in, his eyes fixed on Moth’s lips as he tilted his head to claim Moth’s mouth, but just as their lips were about to graze, Moth’s hand shot up. He pressed his palm against Dean’s chest and shoved—hard.
Dean wasn't expecting the resistance. He fell back with a heavy splash, his spine hitting the wooden rim of the tub with a dull thud. The shift in the water was cold, but the air between them was scorching. Dean didn't look bothered by the shove, instead, he leaned back against the stone, a wide, challenging grin stretching across his face. He watched Moth’s every move with a look of pure amusement, his eyes shimmering with the delight of a man who loved being played with. Moth moved but he didn't use his hands. Instead, he braced himself against the opposite side of the tub and lifted his leg. He pressed the sole of his foot firmly against Dean’s flat stomach. The skin-to-skin contact in the freezing water sent a fresh jolt through both of them, but Moth’s expression remained cruelly composed.
Slowly, deliberately, Moth dragged his foot upward. He watched with a sharp, predatory satisfaction. But Dean’s grin never wavered. Even as Moth’s toes reached his chest and caught one nipple—rolling the sensitive peak and giving it a sharp, punishing tug—Dean just chuckled, his gaze fixed on Moth’s face like he was enjoying a private show.
"Is that all you've got?" Dean teased, his voice steady despite the stimulation.
Moth's eyes darkened. He wasn't finished. Under the surface of the shifting ice and water, his other foot moved. He found the heavy, pulsing length of Dean’s cock and began to slide his arch over it, the friction of his skin firm and rhythmic.
That was the breaking point. Dean’s head snapped back against the tub, the grin finally vanishing as a low, guttural groan escaped his throat. "Oh…fuck," he hissed, his composure shattering. His hands reflexively shot out, reaching through the water to grab Moth’s ankle.
But Moth was faster. He kicked Dean’s hands away with a sharp, stinging splash, keeping his feet exactly where they were—grinding into Dean’s lap while his other foot maintained its teasing grip on Dean's chest.
"I didn't say you could touch me," Moth whispered, his voice like velvet over a blade.
A dark, triumphant smirk finally broke across Moth’s face as he watched Dean’s composure crumble. Dean was cursing under his breath now, his eyes clouded with a mix of frustration and pure, unadulterated want.
"Hands off" Moth commanded, his toes tightening their grip.
Moth didn't let up. He focused the pressure of his arch, sliding it firmly along the length of Dean’s cock while his toes teased the very tip. He watched with a sharp, clinical interest as a bead of precum smeared against his skin, slicking the friction. Dean’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the rim of the tub, his chest heaving as he fought the urge to lung forward.
Moth’s other foot abandoned Dean's chest, trailing upward past his throat until his toes were hovering just inches from Dean’s nose.
"Open up," Moth commanded, his voice dropping to a low, haughty simmer. "Suck them."
Dean didn't hesitate. He leaned in, pressing a lingering, reverent kiss to the ball of Moth’s foot before parting his lips. He took Moth’s big toe into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the tip with a rhythmic, hungry pressure. The wet, slurping sound of Dean’s mouth working over him was loud in the small enclosure, echoing off the bamboo walls. Moth’s cool composure finally began to fray; the friction below and the heat of Dean’s mouth above sent a rush of blood straight to his core, his skin flushing a deep, dusty pink.
But Dean was tired of being a spectator.
Still sucking, Dean’s eyes locked onto Moth’s, dark and full of a sudden, predatory intent. He dragged his mouth downward, his tongue leaving a wet trail along Moth’s arch and down his calf. Before Moth could process the shift, Dean’s hands—no longer restrained—shot out through the water.
He grabbed Moth’s legs with bruising strength. With one powerful surge, Dean pulled Moth across the tub. Moth’s eyes widened, a startled gasp escaping him as his balance vanished. In a blur of splashing water and shifting ice, Dean hooked one of Moth’s legs firmly around his own waist and draped the other over his shoulder.
The cold was gone, replaced by the sheer, overwhelming heat of Dean’s body. Moth was now pressed flush against him, his thighs pinned back, feeling the heavy, throbbing weight of Dean’s erection branded against his skin.
"My turn," Dean growled, his voice vibrating directly against Moth’s chest. "And I'm definitely touching back now.”
The water in the tub was no longer cold; the ice had long since surrendered to the feverish heat radiating between them. Dean’s mouth moved with a relentless, devouring focus against the sensitive skin of Moth’s inner thighs. He left a trail of blooming, red marks in his wake, his lips hot and insistent.
Moth’s composure was a shattered memory. His head fell back, his neck baring a vulnerable line to the afternoon sun as his hands scrambled for purchase against the slick wood of the tub floor. He felt Dean’s large hand slide around his waist, the palm hot and heavy as he scooped Moth closer, bridging the final gap of space.
"You’re such a bastard," Moth hissed, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and overstimulation. Dean only looked up, that sly, infuriating smile still etched onto his face, clearly thriving on every curse Moth hurled his way.
Fed up with the teasing, Moth reached out, fingers tangling roughly into Dean’s damp hair to yank him upward. He crashed their mouths together. It wasn't a request—it was a collision. The kiss was desperate and messy—a war of tongue and teeth. Moth pushed his tongue deep, tasting the mint and salt of Dean’s mouth, claiming him with a ferocity that drew a muffled grunt from Dean’s throat. Their breaths hitched together, the sound lost in the friction of their lips grinding against one another.
As they fought for dominance in the kiss, Dean’s hand found Moth’s chest. He didn't hesitate, catching the firm muscle in a heavy, grounding squeeze that made Moth’s vision blur. Dean’s fingers then moved to the metal piercing Moth’s nipple, catching the stud between his thumb and forefinger. He rolled it with punishing pressure and gave it a sharp, sudden pull.
A broken, soft moan escaped Moth, a sound of pure surrender that melted directly into Dean’s mouth. It was the sound Dean had been waiting for.
Taking advantage of Moth’s momentary weakness, Dean hauled him upward. Moth was now fully on Dean’s lap, his world narrowed down to the feel of Dean’s skin. With one leg still draped high over Dean’s shoulder, his center was completely exposed.
Moth’s back arched violently as he felt it—the blunt, scorching head of Dean’s cock poking right against his entrance. The contact was electric, a silent promise of exactly how the rest of the afternoon was going to go. Moth’s fingers dug into Dean's shoulders, his breath coming in shallow, jagged hitches as he waited for the next move.
Dean broke the kiss, but he didn't pull away. His mouth remained a scorching presence against Moth’s skin, trailing down to his chin and along the sharp, trembling line of his jaw. Moth’s breath was coming in ragged stutters now, his head lolling to the side as Dean reached his earlobe.
Knowing exactly where Moth was weakest, Dean caught the tender flesh between his teeth. He bit down—not enough to break the skin, but hard enough to send a jolt of pure electricity straight to Moth's toes—and gave it a sharp, lingering pull.
Moth’s reaction was instantaneous. A high, needy sound caught in the back of his throat, and his fingers, which had been loosely tangled in Dean’s hair, tightened into a white-knuckled grip. He yanked Dean’s head closer, his body reacting instinctively to the spike of pleasure.
"Damn you," Moth gasped, but his actions betrayed him. Underwater, his hips began to move. He started a slow, rhythmic grind against the pulsing weight of Dean’s cock. The friction was unbearable in the best way possible, the slickness of the water making every slide of skin-on-skin feel amplified.
Dean moved lower, his tongue lashing out to lick the pulse point at Moth’s neck before moving to the slope of his shoulder. He left wet, shimmering marks everywhere he touched, his breath hot against Moth’s damp skin. The water in the tub was in constant, violent motion now, sloshing over the stone rim and splashing against the bamboo floor as their bodies collided. The rhythm of the water hitting the wood created a heavy, wet percussion that filled the quiet afternoon air.
As Dean’s mouth reached his chest, his tongue circled the metal piercing again, teasing the sensitive area until Moth was squirming in his lap. Moth’s hips became more frantic, his arching back and the way he dug his heels into Dean’s shoulder and waist sending waves through the tub.
"Fuck…yes," Moth whispered, the "bitchy" facade completely gone, replaced by a raw, desperate hunger. He was grinding down harder now, seeking the friction, his eyes blown wide and glassy as he watched the way Dean’s head moved against his chest. The intensity was suffocating—the heat of the sun, the smell of the damp bamboo, and the overwhelming, localized fire where their bodies were joined. Every time Moth pushed his hips down, the water surged, trapping the heat between them and making it impossible to tell where the sweat ended and the bathwater began.
Dean didn’t stop at the skin; he moved his focus entirely to Moth’s chest, taking one of those silver-pierced nipples into his mouth. He sucked with a rhythmic, heavy pressure, his tongue flicking against the metal and the sensitive, swollen flesh until both peaks were angry, red, and puffy. Moth’s breath hitched with every tug, his back arching so high his chest felt like it was being offered up as a sacrifice.
Under the surface of the churning water, Dean’s hand finally abandoned Moth's neck. He slid his palm down, the water acting as a slick lubricant as he slipped his fingers under the elastic waistband of Moth’s briefs. Moth’s eyes snapped shut, a jagged moan escaping him as he felt Dean’s fingers trail down the deep curve of his ass, settling right at his rim. With a slow, maddening deliberation, Dean’s middle finger began to trail up and down the center line, rubbing again and again over Moth's rim with a maddening, persistent friction that promised everything and gave nothing.
Moth was a mess—shuddering, flushed, and vocal—but his pride was a stubborn thing. He wouldn't beg. He wouldn't give Dean the satisfaction of hearing him plead. Instead, he reached down, his fingers locking into Dean’s damp hair with a brutal, grounding force. He yanked Dean’s head back, forcing him to look up. He leaned down and crashed his mouth against Dean’s in a filthy, desperate kiss. It was all spit and friction, Moth’s tongue thrusting deep into Dean’s mouth as if he were trying to consume him. He tasted the salt of the bathwater and the heat of Dean’s desire, their teeth clashing in a messy, uncoordinated struggle for dominance that left both of them breathless.
Then, abruptly, Moth broke the kiss and pushed Dean back.
Dean fell against the stone rim, his face a mask of immediate displeasure. His eyebrows snapped together, his lips curling into a curse as he reached out to pull Moth back down. "What the hell, Moth? I was just—"
Before he could finish the sentence, Moth’s hands moved to his own waistband. He hooked his thumbs into the damp fabric and gave it a slow, deliberate tug.
The frown on Dean’s face vanished instantly, replaced by that familiar, filthy grin that made Moth’s blood boil. Dean leaned back, his eyes darkening as he watched Moth with the intensity of a predator watching its prey finally surrender.
Moth didn't look away. He kept his eyes locked onto Dean’s as he dragged the last piece of cloth down his hips. He moved slowly, almost mockingly, bending down to slide the briefs over his knees and down to his ankles. When the wet fabric finally hit the wooden floor with a heavy *thwack*, Moth stood tall, completely bare in the golden afternoon light.
Dean let out a low, appreciative whistle, his eyes roaming over every inch of Moth's damp, shivering body. "Oho... so sexy" Dean murmured, his voice dripping with mock-innocence and genuine hunger. "I think I like this view even better than the last one.”
Moth didn't wait for an invitation. He pressed the sole of his foot against the center of Dean’s chest and shoved, sending Dean’s back hitting the wood of the tub with a dull, echoing thud. With a gaze that remained sharp and challenging, Moth stepped forward, hiking one leg over Dean’s shoulder to anchor himself, effectively pinning Dean between his thighs and the corner of the tub.
Then, he began the show.
Moth took his middle finger into his mouth, sucking on it slowly, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. He pulled it out with a wet pop, slick with saliva, and reached behind himself. Dean watched, mesmerized, as Moth spread his own ass cheeks and pushed the spit-coated finger deep into his tight, puckered heat.
Dean’s breath turned into a series of jagged hitches. He was getting a front-row seat to Moth’s undoing, watching the way Moth’s own finger disappeared inside him right in front of Dean's face. Moth’s cock, heavy and leaking, was practically brushing against Dean’s throat with every rhythmic movement of his hand. Dean couldn't help himself; he leaned forward to press feverish kisses to Moth’s inner thighs, his large hands coming up to cup Moth’s ass and squeeze the pale flesh until his finger marks bloomed.
But Dean had had enough of being a spectator. He grabbed Moth’s thighs and hauled him upward, shifting Moth until he was positioned directly over Dean’s face. Dean used his thumbs to pry Moth’s entrance wide, and without a second's hesitation, he licked the sensitive rim of his hole.
Moth’s eyes snapped wide, his fingers digging into Dean’s hair. "What the fuck—What the fuck are you doing?"
Dean didn't answer with words. He reached up, pulled Moth’s finger out of the heat, and licked the moisture off it while staring Moth down. "Hold on" Dean commanded, his voice a dark, rough rasp. "I don’t want you falling and breaking your legs while I’m tasting you. I’d much rather be the one breaking them myself when I finally fuck you."
"Fuck you," Moth breathed out, his voice cracking.
"No, babe," Dean grinned, his eyes flashing with a filthy intent. "I'm fucking you."
With that, Dean drove his tongue inside.
Moth’s head snapped back, a high, broken wail of a moan escaping him. The sensation was too much—the hot, muscular intrusion of Dean’s tongue was far more intense than any finger could ever be. Dean didn't hold back; he used his hands to spread Moth’s cheeks even further, exposing the pink, fluttering muscle as he lapped and thrust into the tight heat.
Moth’s pride finally disintegrated. He gripped the edges of the wooden tub so hard his knuckles turned white, his body taking over where his mind couldn't. He began to move his hips in a slow, circular motion, grinding himself down onto Dean’s face. He went up and down, seeking the friction of Dean’s tongue, his moans turning into a continuous, dirty soundtrack to the splashing water. The rhythm was frantic, the sound of Dean’s wet, rhythmic lapping filling the space between Moth’s gasps as he rode Dean’s mouth like he was already being claimed.
Dean wasn’t just tasting him; he was devouring him. He used the flat of his tongue to broad-stroke over the sensitive bundles of nerves before curling the tip to flick deep inside, mimicking the sharp, rhythmic thrusts of a cock. Every time Dean’s tongue retreated, the suction created a vacuum that had Moth sobbing into the quiet afternoon air, his fingers scratching uselessly at the bamboo walls. Dean was relentless, his own breath hot and jagged against Moth’s damp skin, his eyes squeezed shut as he focused on the way Moth’s inner muscles were spasming around his tongue in a desperate, uncoordinated rhythm.
When Dean finally pulled away, the silence was heavy, broken only by Moth’s frantic, shallow breathing. Moth was vibrating, his legs turning to jelly as his cock wept a steady stream of slick, translucent heat onto Dean’s shoulder and neck.
Dean stood up, the water cascading off his broad frame, and surged forward to claim Moth’s mouth. The kiss was jarring—Moth could taste the salty, metallic tang of his own arousal on Dean’s tongue, a realization that sent a fresh spike of heat through his gut. They stumbled out of the tub, slick bodies sliding against each other as they moved back into the room, never once breaking the contact of their lips.
Dean hauled Moth up and slammed his back against the cool, solid glass door. The contrast of the chilled glass against his feverish skin made Moth gasp, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he hiked one leg up, locking his thigh around Dean’s hip and tangling his fingers deep into the hair at the base of Dean’s skull, pulling him in with a desperate, bruising force.
Moth was a mess of water and slick, the liquid dripping down his inner thighs and onto the floor. Dean groaned, his hands sliding down to Moth’s ass to spread him open against the glass. He lined the blunt, pulsing head of his cock against Moth's twitching entrance and pushed the tip in—just an inch—before pulling back out.
"Push it in already," Moth hissed, his voice a broken wreck. "stop playing."
Dean ignored him, his eyes dark with a cruel, playful light. He pushed the head in again, a little deeper this time, before sliding out until only the very tip remained. He did it again. And again. Moth was losing his mind; his internal muscles were clenching in mid-air, starving for the stretch, his body arching off the glass in a silent plea for friction.
"Dean, I swear to god," Moth growled, his teeth baring in a snarl. "If you don't put it in right now, I’m going to kick your balls so hard you'll never use them again. I'll leave you in this shitty hotel and find a random dude at the bar who actually knows how to use his cock."
The threat snapped something in Dean. The playful grin vanished, replaced by a dark, possessive territoriality. He grabbed the leg hooked around his hip and slung it over his arm, hauling Moth higher until his entrance was completely flared and vulnerable.
Dean didn't tease. He didn't slow down. He gripped Moth’s waist with fingers that would surely leave bruises and hammered home in one single, violent thrust.
The full length buried itself deep, bottoming out against Moth’s cervix with a force that made the glass door behind them rattle in its frame. Dean let out a pained, guttural groan, his forehead dropping onto Moth’s shoulder. "Fuck, Moth... how are you still this tight?" he cursed, his voice vibrating through Moth’s chest. "It feels like you're trying to crush me."
Moth’s mind went white, the sheer, overwhelming stretch of Dean’s girth finally filling the void that had been aching for the last hour. He couldn't even form a coherent curse. He just dug his nails into Dean’s shoulders, his voice a breathless, demanding command: "shut up and move now.”
Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled back until he was nearly out, the friction of the withdrawal making Moth’s breath catch, and then he slammed back in with everything he had. The sound of their bodies colliding—the wet, heavy slap of skin on skin—echoed sharply against the glass door.
Moth’s world reduced to the rhythmic, violent shock of Dean’s weight. With one hand, he reached back and gripped Dean’s bicep, his nails digging into the hard muscle to anchor himself. With the other, he reached down between them, fingers trembling as he pulled his own ass cheeks wider, clearing the way for Dean to bury himself even deeper.
"Yeah…fuck," Dean growled, his voice a low, distorted rasp against the shell of Moth's ear.
He found a brutal, unrelenting rhythm. Each thrust was a calculated strike, Dean’s hips hammering against Moth’s with a force that made the glass behind them shudder and groan. Moth’s head thrashed back against the pane, his eyes rolled back as the blunt heat of Dean’s cock hit his sweet spot over and over. He wasn’t just being fucked; he was being marked, the sheer girth of Dean stretching him to the absolute limit.
The moisture from the bathwater and their combined sweat acted as a slick, hot lubricant, making every slide of Dean’s cock inside him loud and squelching. Moth’s moans had turned into jagged, rhythmic barks of pleasure, his voice breaking as he felt the vibration of Dean’s groans deep in his own chest.
"Look at me, Moth," Dean demanded, his hand moving from Moth’s waist to his throat, not squeezing, but grounding him as he continued to pile-drive into him.
Moth forced his eyes open, his vision swimming. He saw the sweat dripping off Dean's forehead, the vein pulsing in his neck, and the raw, territorial hunger in his gaze. Every time Dean slammed home, Moth’s body jolted upward, his toes curling in the air as he felt the friction burn white-hot. He was completely at Dean’s mercy, pinned between the cold glass and the furnace of Dean’s body, his muscles clenching desperately around the intrusion that was tearing through his composure.
"Don't stop…yeah just like that" Moth choked out, his fingers tightening on Dean's arm until he drew blood.
Dean pulled out with a wet, suctioning sound that left Moth’s entrance gasping and empty, but before Moth could even hiss out a protest, Dean hauled him by the waist and threw him onto the bed. The mattress dipped under their combined weight as Dean crashed his mouth back onto Moth’s. It was a searing, desperate kiss, their tongues tangling with a frantic heat that tasted of salt and the adrenaline of the moment.
Breaking away for air, Dean flipped Moth onto his side in one fluid motion. He got on his knees, looming over Moth’s hip, and hiked Moth’s top leg high over his shoulder. The new angle left Moth completely open, his entrance flushed and twitching. Dean didn’t hesitate; he lined himself up and hammered home, burying his entire length in one brutal, deep stroke.
Moth’s eyes rolled back, and he saw stars. The change in position allowed Dean to hit his prostate with terrifying accuracy. "Fuck—!" Moth shrieked, his voice cracking.
Dean moved like a madman, his rhythm becoming a relentless, punishing cadence. With every forward thrust that buried him to the hilt, he brought his palm down hard against the curve of Moth’s ass. The crack of the spank echoed in the room, the sting of it blooming into a secondary heat that Moth felt in his very marrow. Dean’s fingers dug into the pale flesh of Moth’s hip, leaving white-turned-red prints as he anchored himself for the assault.
"You like that, don't you?" Dean growled, his voice a gravelly, animalistic sound. "Tell me how it feels to have me this deep."
"It’s... too much... ah! Damn you. Harder, Dean. Don’t you dare stop.” Moth sobbed out, his composure completely shredded. His mouth fell open, his eyebrows knitted together in a mask of agonizing pleasure as his eyes locked onto Dean’s. His body was a blurring motion of friction and sweat, driven into the mattress by Dean’s weight.
Dean grabbed Moth’s leg from his shoulder and held it straight up in the air, opening him up even further. His movements grew even faster, his hips a piston-like blur. Moth’s groans turned into high, jagged curses, his hands scrambling for purchase until they locked onto a pillow, burying his face into the fabric.
"I'm—I'm gonna cum!" Moth screamed into the pillow.
Hearing that, Dean reached down between them. His hand, slick with their combined fluids, closed around Moth’s pulsing cock and began to jerk him off in perfect sync with his thrusts. The two-way pleasure was overwhelming; Moth’s world dissolved into white light. His head snapped back, his spine arching off the bed as a thick, hot string of cum erupted from him, painting his own stomach and Dean’s hand.
Dean didn’t stop. He kept fucking him through the peak of the orgasm, his cock grinding against Moth’s hypersensitive walls, forcing the pleasure to last until Moth was trembling and delirious.
Dean was right on the edge now, his muscles corded like steel, his face a mask of primal focus. He leaned down, his breath scorching Moth’s ear. "I'm going to cum inside you, Theerak," he hissed, his voice thick with possessive intent. "I'm going to fill you so deep you never forget you're mine. No one—no one—can fuck you like I do."
With a final, shattering thrust that felt like it reached Moth's soul, Dean let out a deep, guttural groan that shook his entire frame. He bottomed out, his hips locking against Moth’s as he came. Moth felt the hot, pulsing surges of Dean’s seed filling him up, the internal heat making him twitch in a fresh wave of aftershocks. Dean’s thrusts slowed, becoming heavy and deliberate, pushing every last drop deep into Moth’s core.
They stayed like that, fused together, the only sound in the room being their ragged, echoing breaths and the distant hum of the city outside.
The friction of their bodies was replaced by a heavy, humid stillness as Dean finally pulled out. He collapsed forward, his sweat-slicked chest thumping against Moth’s back as he wrapped his arms around him in a tight, possessive hug.
Moth, still trembling from the aftershocks, didn’t miss a beat. "What the fuck? Get off, you’re heavy," he grunted, using the last of his strength to shove Dean to the side.
They lay side by side on the tangled sheets, staring up at the ceiling as their breathing slowly leveled out. The room was silent except for the frantic hum of the air conditioner struggling against the afternoon heat. Dean turned his head, a smug, self-satisfied grin playing on his lips as he watched the way Moth’s chest still heaved.
"You’re all talk, Theerak," Dean teased, his voice still low and gravelly. "See how you always end up under me? For someone who acts like he hates me, you sure do scream my name well."
Moth frowned, his eyes fixed on a small crack in the ceiling. He wasn't about to give Dean the satisfaction of a blush. "You’re too full of yourself. You aren't any more special than the guys I’ve had one-night stands with," he lied smoothly, his voice returning to that sharp, biting edge. "The only difference is that you’re like a leech—you won't let go of my neck. I’m so tired of this whole 'boyfriend' play."
Dean shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at Moth. The playfulness in his eyes shifted into something a bit more solid, a bit more dangerous. "Then what about becoming my boyfriend for real? No play."
Moth finally turned his head, giving Dean a long, slow, judging look that would have withered a lesser man. "Boy, you can play with my hole all you want, but don't play with my emotions. And you? As my actual boyfriend?"
Moth paused, letting the silence stretch out as he looked Dean up and down with exaggerated skepticism. He let out a sharp tch sound, rolled his eyes, and gave Dean a hard shove. Dean, caught off guard, fell flat onto his back on the mattress, chuckling softly. He didn't mind the rejection; he knew the game, and he knew Moth was still wearing his necklace.
Moth sat up, his body feeling heavy and well-used, and swung his legs off the bed. He stood, not bothering to cover himself, and started heading toward the shower. He didn't have to look back to know that Dean’s eyes were glued to the curve of his spine and the swaying of his hips.
"Stop being a creep," Moth called out over his shoulder, his hand already on the bathroom door handle.
"Can't help it," Dean’s voice drifted back, unrepentant.
Moth didn't reply. He just stepped inside and clicked the door shut, leaving Dean alone with the cooling sweat and the satisfied grin still etched onto his face.