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It became a bit of a running joke in the company. Kong started it, dramatically complaining that anyone who eats with Namping has to put a bib on him or order two servings of a dish because he’ll drop it all over himself. Namping blushed and laughed it off every time, unable to defend himself.
Keng noticed it too, the first few months they were getting to know each other. If Namping wore a white shirt to dinner, he was practically giving it a death sentence. Flecks of sauce would litter the front of the shirt by the end of a meal. Coffee stains were a regular occurrence, somehow every cup slipping out of his hands and spilling on his linen pants.
As time passed, Keng grew to anticipate this, along with their stylists who always carried a laundry detergent pen on them. Unlike Kong’s good humored teasing, Keng never said a word to Namping. Instead, he’d quietly smooth a napkin over Namping’s lap. Pat away the crumbs sticking to his lips. Pass over a napkin before he even asked for one.
Habits stuck, and he knew Namping wouldn’t grow out of this one, even if he tried. So he’d happily clean up after the mess Namping left.
But recently, it seemed like his clumsiness reached new heights.
Keng began to take notice at a dinner after a long day of dance and vocal practice. They were getting mookrata, Namping’s favorite. Keng took his assigned seat next to him while their staff sat across from them. Charcoal smoke and chatter permeated the air as the night cooled. Keng filled the grooves of conversation with his own laughter, dropping grilled pieces of meat onto Namping’s plate like it was muscle memory.
Of course, Namping was wearing a white button down. Like an ending to a movie Keng’s seen a million times, Namping managed to splash sauce onto his shirt as if it were an abstract painting.
Their staff shook their heads, passing over a detergent pen. “There he goes again,” they said, tiredly and endearingly all at once.
Keng smoothly took the pen and turned to Namping, who was already holding onto the hem, stretching his shirt out.
“I really tried,” Namping pouted as Keng dutifully blotted out the red stains.
“I know you did,” Keng replied calmly.
When he was done, the red spots faded to a tinged orange. The shirt would need to be thrown into the wash immediately when they got home. Keng made a note in his head to hand wash it beforehand so that the stubborn stains would come out.
“Give me your jacket.”
Keng turned to Namping, feeling a tug on his zip-up jacket. Namping hung onto the sleeve, like a kid lost in the mall. He gave another tug, batting his eyelashes as if Keng needed to be convinced.
Ignoring the staff’s snickers, Keng shrugged off his jacket, holding it out so that Namping could slip his arms into it, before zipping it up all the way. The jacket that was usually filled out with his broad shoulders, hung loosely on Namping’s frame, sleeves billowing around his wrists. He watched as Namping happily went back to his food, flicking chili sauce all over the front of Keng’s jacket.
He made another note in his head to add this to the wash too.
The next time he noticed something in Namping’s behavior was during a livestream event.
During one of the segments, they prepared desserts — sweet jellies in coconut milk — and gingerly sipped on them while they read the comments.
“Can you do a cheek kiss?” Namping read out loud. He gave Keng a glance and a tentative smile.
Keng immediately moved closer, but approached slowly, giving Namping time to back out of it if he wanted. Namping puffed out his cheek, bringing his face closer, until the gap closed. Keng felt him shake his head, rubbing his cheek against Keng. Like a nuzzling cat, Keng thought to himself.
The moment lasted too short as Namping quickly removed himself and settled in his seat. He was the more fickle one out of the two of them in sparing affection in the open. Keng on the other hand, found himself exercising restraint more and more these days.
That’s why he was surprised when he felt a spoon nudge at his bottom lip. He looked down to see Namping holding it, his face expectant. Keng obediently opened his mouth and slurped up the spoonful. Namping’s eyes turned up into crescents. Sweet, Keng thought.
Keng chewed as he scrolled through the comments. He was about to read one out loud when he heard a hmph on his side. His head snapped to the sound to see Namping with his arms crossed and lips curved in a pout. Keng’s heart faltered at the sight.
“You aren’t going to feed me?”
Keng blinked. Namping’s lip jutted out further.
Somewhat mindlessly, Keng slunk away from the screen, moving to gather a spoonful of dessert, and bringing it to Namping’s awaiting lips. Keng cupped a hand under Namping’s chin, trying not to stare too hard at the thick layer of gloss their makeup artist had brushed on.
“Namping, I heard you’re known to be a clumsy eater,” the MC said.
Namping nodded, “I am…” His eyes darted to Keng before he flashed the camera a grin. “But I can just have Keng feed me.”
Keng raised a brow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Is that so? What if my arm gets tired?”
“No can do!” Namping laughed. “What if I spill all over our branded clothes? It's your responsibility.”
“Alright, I’ll quit my job and become your full time servant,” Keng joked. He looked at the camera. “You guys hear that? Now everyone knows what I’ll be doing when I retire.”
“Chop, chop,” Namping teased.
Keng pressed another spoonful to Namping’s mouth. He watched as Namping gulped, a bit of coconut milk trickling from the seam of his lips. Keng’s eyes flashed.
The two of them froze when the MC clapped their hands together. “Should we move onto our next segment? Let’s clean up and put the food away.”
Keng swallowed before putting the bowl down, letting the staff clear the table. Namping seemed bashful for someone who was goading him earlier, staring down at his feet, ears tipped red.
Something was going on with Namping and by now, Keng was alert. The next instance happened in the dressing room before an event.
The venue had the usual snacks and beverages laid out for them. Their stylist had already scolded Namping for getting crumbs on his clothes, but that didn’t stop him from munching away.
Keng heard it before he saw it. A thud, a yelp, a splash, and then a gasp swept through the room. His makeup artist stopped his hand and Keng opened his eyes.
There, standing at the crime scene, was Namping with an empty cup and green juice seeping into blouse.
“Namping!” their stylist whined. “I told you to be careful!”
“Sorry,” Namping said sheepishly, cheeks glowing a pretty pink.
“You’ll have to change out of that,” their stylist sighed, already ready with a change of clothes. “Here, take that off before it becomes sticky.”
Namping peeled off his blouse from the bottom, bare torso stretching, milky skin exposed. His lithe stomach rippled as their stylist dapped at his damp skin. His arms are crossed over his chest, shoulders drawn up as he shivered a bit under the gust of air conditioning.
“Keng, I know you’re easily distracted by Namping’s beauty, but could you let me finish my job?”
Keng turned his head back to the mirror to catch his makeup artist’s deadpan stare.
“Sorry,” Keng muttered, closing his eyes to feel the sweep of a brush over his eyelids.
He doesn’t see Namping’s smirk from across the room.
It all clicked in Keng’s head when the two of them were at his condo on one of their days off.
Keng was lounging on his couch, casually scrolling through his phone. He’s already set out the wine glasses on the table and lit a candle. Their schedules have been swamped lately and it was rare to have a night all to themselves — and to have Namping all to himself.
Soon enough, the front door whirred and Namping stepped into the living room, arms full of boxes of food. Keng stood up, helping him lay out the food onto the table — som tum, stir fried noodles, crispy pork belly, and a small strawberry cake.
“What’s the occasion?” Keng asked, racking his brain for an anniversary he could’ve missed.
Namping plopped down next to Keng. “Who says we need one? I just passed by a shop and it looked so good in the window.”
Keng chuckled to himself, endeared. “We can celebrate our day off.”
“Pop open that bottle then!” Namping cheered.
Keng did just that, pouring them each a substantial glass. They clinked the rims and dove into the spread of food before them. They settled into the night, wine flowing, glasses emptying, stomachs fuller, shoulders looser, and faces brighter.
When they polished off the food, Keng took to cutting the cake, unable to miss how Namping had been eyeing it the entire time.
“Thank you,” Namping beamed as Keng passed him a plate with a generous slice of cake.
Keng cut himself a humble slice, humming in delight as he took a bite, the sweet, airy frosting spreading across his tastebuds before he looked over to Namping.
Namping plucked the strawberry with his fingers, biting into the plump fruit. Saccharine juice dribbled down his chin. He licked his lips, leaving behind an even glossier sheen.
He turned to Keng, wide eyed. “The cake is good, isn’t it?”
Keng stared at the smear of frosting on the corner of Namping’s lips, wet from the juice of the strawberry. If you cracked open Keng’s head, you would find his brain clouded in smoke.
Namping tilted his head at the lack of response. He shrugged to himself, going back to his cake.
He picked another strawberry, eating just as gracefully as he did before. White frosting stuck to his fingers. He turned his attention to them, tongue darting out to swipe at the frosting.
Keng’s eyes narrowed.
Namping glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He swiped at a dollop of frosting, sucking his index finger clean as his cheeks hollowed.
The sound of a fork clattering echoed. Then, a gasp fell from Namping’s lips as Keng grabbed his chin.
Keng’s stare roamed over his face, which heated by the second.
“You’ve been doing this on purpose, haven’t you?”
Namping’s cheeks reddened beyond his wine-drunk blush, but he still lifted his chin, eyes unwavering.
“What have I been doing?”
Keng breathed out an exasperated sigh, but an edge of mirth bled into it, his lips twitching. He gripped Namping’s chin tighter, bringing his face closer, breath warm.
“You think I haven’t noticed?” he said, voice low. “I knew you were clumsy, but this is too precise to be clumsy. Besides, you look at me every time, as if you want me to find out.”
“Maybe I do,” Namping whispered, fingers digging into the couch cushion, body leaning closer like a siren calling.
“Yeah? And what were you expecting when I did?” Keng said, eyes smoldering.
“Well, I was hoping you’d show me that part,” Namping answered, practically whispering against Keng’s lips.
So Keng showed him exactly what he’d been thinking of doing these past few weeks.
He descended like a man starved, licking at the seam of Namping’s lips, lapping up the sugary frosting before pushing his tongue into his lover’s hot mouth. Namping yielded easily, neck craning so Keng’s tongue could glide smoothly against his. His balled fists rested against Keng’s firm chest as Keng licked into his mouth, all the indecent slurping noises coming from their intertwined lips making both of their stomachs swoop.
Namping tasted sweet and decadent. Tart strawberry, cloying frosting, and bitter wine flooded Keng’s tastebuds as he deepened their kiss, sucking on the tip of Namping’s tongue. Namping let out a mewl at the sensation, fists opening to claw at Keng’s shoulders.
Keng broke their lips apart, chest heaving. He grabbed Namping’s hand and brought it up to his mouth. Then, he took Namping’s index and middle fingers into his mouth, tongue laving at the digits, licking away any sticky residue. A shuddery breath escaped from Namping as he watched Keng suck his fingers without an ounce of shame, dark eyes boring into him.
His fingers retracted from Keng’s mouth with a pop, glistening. Their breathing sounded loud in the quiet of the condo.
A satisfied grin spread across Keng’s lips.
“All clean now, right?”
Namping let out a choked laugh. Before Keng could pull away, he reached out to gather some frosting and smeared it all over Keng’s lips.
“Not quite,” he smiled cheekily, before diving in again.