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All of Pran’s nerves are practically on fire. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he’d have Pat lying beneath him like this; shirtless, no less. He tries to retrace his steps, to think about how he got here, but everything comes up blank. There’s only Pat, in his room, faking sickness for attention. Then Pran, giving in, so easily, because he would be a fool not to.
Then Pat, beneath him, condensation on his chest, and Pran has to tickle him before Pat notices he’s getting hard. That would be weird, wouldn’t it? They’ve kissed once, and it was hot, but this is something else. Even though Pat is suggestive and cheeky, Pran doesn’t know if Pat actually wants him like that. Kissing is one thing, but sex—the reality of a cock that’s not your own, a hard chest and firm arms; that’s different. Pran knows how much it’s different. Even though he’s known most of his life that he doesn’t like girls, he knows what his friends are like. As long as he’s spent pining after a boy he thought he couldn’t have, his friends have been waiting for him to find a girl, teasing him now that he never has.
How could Pran tell them the truth? The truth that he likes this—that he doesn’t want a girl to lay in bed with, that he just wants Pat, so desperately it hurts?
“You go first,” Pran finds himself saying, terrified of making the first move. He hadn’t realised how close their faces have gotten, now that the tickling is over and the room is filled with their heavy breaths. Pat needs to go first, because Pran needs to know that this is real. He knows it isn’t fair to place that kind of responsibility on Pat’s shoulders alone. Pat doesn’t know how long Pran has longed for him. He’s probably just as uncertain, even though he doesn’t show it.
“You go first,” Pat repeats, teasing with a flirty smile, but Pran can see the seriousness behind his eyes. It’s always a game between them. Always a test to see who will break first.
Pran hates to lose, but for once, he almost hopes he does.
“You first.” They repeat it back to each other like a challenge. Pat has both hands on the sides of Pran’s head, holding him close, forcing his hand. Pran pulls and pulls, resisting the urge, just in case Pat doesn’t mean it. Just in case that, despite their kiss on the rooftop, Pat still sees him as something to win.
It happens by accident and it’s messy and painful and nothing like Pran expects. While struggling against Pat’s grip, his own palms slip, and his teeth knock right into Pat’s upper lip. They both groan at the contact, not in a good way, because Pran is pretty sure he can taste blood, but Pat turns it into an opportunity, as he so often does. Pat secures his fingers around the hair at the base of Pran’s neck and keeps him there. Pran opens his mouth to protest, then Pat sucks on his lip and Pran realises they’ve started kissing.
Giving in is easy once he’s done it.
Pran keeps his body at an acceptable distance from Pat’s, embarrassed by his own excitement, pushing his lips hard against him instead, still eager to share his enthusiasm, at least in part. This kiss is better than the rooftop, because neither of them are crying and Pat’s mouth is hot and Pran can’t pull away.
They kiss open-mouthed, sinking deeper and deeper into each other, until their lips are red and wet. Pran isn’t sure who introduces tongue first, but Pran feels Pat’s in his mouth; realises his own is licking across Pat’s teeth. They moan at the same time, because tongue is dirty, because tongue tastes like the next step forward into arousal. Not that Pran isn’t aroused already. He is, which is why he drags his hands down Pat’s naked chest, exploring where he felt he couldn’t before. His thumbs linger on Pat’s nipples, smiling into his mouth when Pat arches into him and Pran needs to pull his hips back just in case they make contact.
“Why are you so far away?” Pat murmurs, pouting against Pran’s mouth.
“What do you mean?” Pran asks, feigning ignorance, trying and failing to recapture Pat’s lips. “I’m right here.”
“I mean this,” Pat clarifies, running a hand down Pran’s back, and before Pran can protest, Pat pushes their bodies flush together, thighs twisted, crotches aligned with hip bones.
Well. At least Pran isn’t the only one who’s hard.
“That’s why,” Pran whispers, flushing red from head to toe. “I’m—shut up!” Pat is laughing, so Pran pulls away to glare. “What was I supposed to do, rub off against you?”
“It’s not like I’m opposed.”
“Come on, have some dignity.” Pran’s trying to joke, but his erection is painfully obvious, and now that he’s right against Pat’s body, he’s finding it hard to pull away. A large part of him just wants to start thrusting, because he’s so pent up he thinks he might die, but that would be more embarrassing than being hard in the first place. “Maybe we should stop.”
Pat gives him a look that’s so heated Pran feels it in his gut. “I don’t know about you, but I really don’t want to stop.” At Pran’s wide eyes, Pat is quick to add, “Only if you want to, I mean. Like, we can stop. That’s cool. I might need to disappear to the bathroom for a sec though. For no reason at all.”
Pran hides his face in Pat’s neck, both endeared and turned on. “I don’t want to get my underwear dirty,” he mumbles, rocking his hips experimentally, which feels so good they both moan into each other’s throats. Pran isn’t sure about Pat, but he’s never done this before, not with anyone. Pat seems like someone with sexual experience. While Pran wants this, he’s also terrified of Pat being disappointed in his performance. What if he doesn’t like it? What if he actually sees Pran’s dick and runs screaming?
“Then maybe we should take our clothes off,” Pat suggests breathlessly, “and stop overthinking. It’s good. It’s gonna be good.”
They’ve known each other so long; sometimes Pran forgets that Pat can almost read his mind. Not all the time. Not for everything. This, though. It’s like they’re trapped in amber. The two of them solidified in this moment, where nothing else matters but feeling good.
“Okay,” Pran whispers, vulnerable but sure. He reaches for his pants at the same time Pat reaches for Pran’s shirt. The shirt comes off, but the pants stay on, unzipped and pulled down just enough for his cock to spring free. Nakedness in its entirety feels like too much, somehow. Pat seems to get it, because he does the same, and for a moment the pair of them simply stare.
Pat’s cock is bigger than his, which Pran tries not to feel insecure about because he knows it doesn’t matter. He likes it—of course he does. It’s hard and long and bulging at the tip, slightly red from the pressure, sticking out towards him. Pran wonders what Pat thinks of his dick, but before he can get shy, Pat is licking his lips and dragging their cocks together in a single fist.
“Oh,” Pran whispers, wrapping his own hand around Pat’s, then their mouths collide again.
Pran feels hot all over his body, pressed against Pat everywhere, all the way from head to toe. They’re both thrusting mindlessly, pressing into their shared grip, and it’s a bit too dry but Pran doesn’t care. Pat is kissing him like he wants him and that’s all Pran can think about. That, and his own pleasure, mounting in his lower half, tickling up his spine. This is so different from doing it on his own. Pat’s hands are calloused from his drum sticks, and even though Pran’s are, too, Pat’s are harder, rougher. It’s been a while since Pran has played the guitar and parts of him have softened over time. The room could be on fire and Pran wouldn’t pull away. It feels like it—so hot his lungs are burning. Breathing in the smoke of Pat’s tongue, his teeth, engulfing Pran entirely.
He thinks maybe it should feel more monumental. It does, in its own way, but Pran finds he isn’t as scared as he thought he would be. He always believed it would be a moment of confirmation, of Oh, so I really do like men, so deep and guttural he’d have to pause just to process it. Except that isn’t the case at all. It’s just, Of course. It’s just, Why did I ever doubt this about myself?
“Faster,” Pat begs and Pran wants to drown in him.
Pran pushes Pat’s hand away, taking over for the both of them. To Pran’s surprise, Pat goes without complaint, fisting his spare fingers into the sheet next to his head, the other hand tangled in Pran’s hair. Pran mouths at his neck, soaking in his sounds, and he’s unexpectedly whiny while getting off. Pran considers teasing him for it, but he doesn’t want Pat to quieten himself, so he stays silent, rubbing their cocks together like his life depends on it. Pre-come dribbles from the tip of his own dick, slickening the way just enough that they don’t chafe. It would be better if it was more wet, Pran thinks idly, wishing something was in arm’s reach—anything would do. He’s considering getting up and grabbing some lotion when Pat groans, “I think ‘m gonna come,” and Pran’s mind goes blank once again.
All that matters at this moment is giving Pat release. Pran doubles his efforts, squeezing the tips of their cocks together, biting down softly on Pat’s clavicle, touching his mouth wherever he can reach. He’s about to lean down and take a nipple between his teeth when Pat tenses beneath him, pulling on Pran’s hair as he comes with a crash, and the sensation is so sudden and good that Pran follows immediately afterwards, moaning against Pat’s chest.
When Pran looks down, he sees Pat covered in his cum. It does something primal to him that he doesn’t want to act on, rolling off of Pat out of politeness to stare at the ceiling, panting wildly. “Wow,” he whispers, for a lack of anything else to say.
Pat scoots back so that he’s properly lying on his bed, ignoring the cum on his chest. “We should do that again,” he says, a smile plastered on his face, eyes glazed over in delight.
“Right now?” Pran squeaks, still recovering.
Pat shrugs. “Why not?”
“There’s no way I can go again.”
“Weak.”
“Excuse you?” Pran knows he’s being baited but he doesn’t care. He slides over next to Pat, leaning up on one elbow, pointedly glancing at his softened cock. When Pat simply raises an eyebrow, Pran shoves Pat’s pants all the way to his ankles and drags a finger through the cum on his abdomen.
Pat apparently didn’t expect that, because he curls in on himself with a breathy laugh, ticklish. Pran pins him down with his opposite hand, which feels powerful and good—something to file away for later. “Thought you were ready,” Pran teases, gathering cum on his fingers and watching it drip back down onto Pat’s dick. He bites his lip as he grips Pat’s cock in his fist again, this time wet and sticky, causing a lewd squelching noise to fill the room as he drags his hand up and down.
Pran figures Pat must be oversensitive, if the way his cock twitches in protest is any indication, but he doesn’t ask Pran to stop. It’s almost as if he likes it, even though it clearly hurts, Pat’s face screwed up in concentration, head thrown back against the mattress. “You like that?” Pran whispers, and feels so erotic about it that he can’t believe the words are coming from his own mouth. “You’re getting hard in my hand.”
“Take it as a compliment,” Pat gasps, squirming on the bed, “to how much I’m attracted to you.”
Pran preens, but pretends to be unaffected. “Maybe you’re just easy.”
“Says the one jerking me off.” Pran squeezes tightly, meaning for it to be a warning, but Pat just moans as if he likes the pain. Pran is finding out a lot more than he bargained for today. Part of him is excited that he can use this against Pat later and the other part is just insanely turned on. He’s not hard, because his refractory period is half an hour at least, but the arousal simmers within him regardless. He can’t help but think of all the things he wants to do to Pat—what he wants Pat to do to him. What he wants them to discover about each other, piece by piece.
This time, Pran pays more attention to what Pat likes. He swipes up more of the cum into his fist, using it like a lube, lewdly spreading it up and down Pat’s cock like it’s made for it. Pat’s still only half hard, but he’s enjoying himself, moaning nonstop and gripping onto Pran’s bicep like his life depends on it. Pran briefly thinks Pat looks adorable like this, fucked out and out of his mind with lust, so he can’t help but kiss him, missing the taste of his tongue. Making out is just as sloppy, if not more so. Pran is quickly becoming addicted to this feeling. He hopes Pat is, too.
He seems to be, if the way he writhes is any indication. It’s as if he’s both pushing into Pran’s fist while also pulling away, drowning in overstimulation, needing it to breathe. His face shows just how much he’s lost in it, like nothing else matters except Pran’s hands and his mouth, and a part of Pran feels worshiped. When Pat sucks on his tongue, Pran imagines it’s his cock, and is surprised when his own jerks slightly in interest, despite being mostly soft and spent against his thigh. Instinctually he wants to pull his underwear up, to hide his nudity from Pat’s eyes, but when Pat is almost entirely naked beside him and covered in cum Pran figures his embarrassment is rather unwarranted.
“Holy fuck, I think I’m gonna come again,” Pat whines, pulling away from Pran’s mouth to tuck his face into his neck instead. “God, Pran, you’re gonna make me come.”
“Good boy,” Pran whispers, awed, smiling when Pat shivers. “That’s it, let go for me. Let me take care of you.” Pran doesn’t know where the words are coming from, but it seems to do the trick, because Pat’s entire body goes taut as a dry orgasm sweeps through him. Pran continues to whisper to him as he works him through it, overwhelmed by affection, in disbelief that this is even happening to him. He just made the love of his life come. Twice.
“Okay, okay, stop, ow,” Pat groans, too sensitive to continue, finally relaxing against the sheets. Pran takes his hand away from his cock and finds himself swirling it through the hot mess remaining on his chest instead, mixing their release together, fascinated by it. “You’re really into that,” Pat observes, but he doesn’t sound judgemental. Surprised, maybe, if a little excited. Like he sees this as an opportunity for them to have more fun together.
Pran blushes. “I dunno. I just like it.”
“Like claiming me?”
His flush deepens. “No, I—”
“Because you can,” Pat says seriously. “Claim me, I mean.”
Pran looks into his eyes and doesn’t know what to say. What does one say, after doing something like this? When you have sex with the guy you love but also aren’t really friends with, when you don’t know what your relationship means, when you’re not even supposed to like one another? “Do you still want us to be friends?” Pran asks, deflecting the statement, feeling stupid as soon as the words are out of his mouth.
Pat rolls his eyes, though, so Pran thinks maybe things are going to be alright. “Let’s not do this anymore.” Maybe not. Pran’s stomach sinks.
“Oh, okay,” he says, and the disappointment must show on his face, because Pat kisses him, soft and swift.
“Not this, idiot. I mean—I get we don’t know how to not compete with each other. But I don’t want to compete with you over this anymore. I just want to be your boyfriend.”
A flower blooms hopeful in Pran’s stomach.
“Okay,” he says, and he doesn’t know what it means for them, but he finds he wants it anyway. “We should clean up, though. Before your sister gets back.”
Pat wiggles his eyebrows. “Wanna shower together?”
“Don’t push your luck,” Pran warns, but when Pat follows him under the spray, wrapping his arms around his body and kissing the back of his neck with a tenderness Pran has never known, he lets him. While everything else in the world may be uncertain, their feelings are not.
For now, that will have to be enough.