Chapter 1: loved and wanted
Chapter Text
--
It’s the first crying scene Ping’s done with Meen where they’re both in tears. Ping knows that Meen’s been acting for years, and is such a professional at this that Ping sometimes feel like the best he can hope for is to improve to a point where he doesn’t embarrass himself acting across from Meen. He’s so impressed by his phi, constantly learning and growing by just watching him, and it takes almost everything in Ping to squeeze out his tears, while it seems so effortless for Meen.
It takes a few goes, before P’Golf is happy and calls cut, Ping and Frank standing outside the gym while P’Golf gets the closing shots of Meen sitting alone on the court, holding his knees, shoulders shaking with the force of his cries.
“He’s so good,” Frank breathes, somewhere behind Ping, and Ping is so proud.
As soon as P’Golf cuts the scene, Ping is swept up by staff, dabbing at his face with tissues and offering him drinks, separating him from Frank, and from Meen.
Ping feels a little raw inside, like he does whenever he cries, and he kind of just wants to go sit somewhere and calm down, process his shit and then come back for more, but he’s told it’s time for food and then they’re moving onto the next round of shots in the gym. Ping does as he’s told and follows them to the part of the school they’ve set aside for break areas, and is served up a huge lunch. He plonks on a table with a few of the other guys and starts wolfing down his food, suddenly starving, and by the time he’s done, the rest have come to get their own. He feels eyes on him from somewhere, and he looks up, spoon in his mouth, and glances around. Across the break area, on the end of a busy table, is Meen, staring right at him. His eyes are red and puffy still, and he looks wrecked. Ping frowns. Why didn’t the staff give him some time to calm down and get his head right?
Are you okay? Ping mouths, and Meen doesn’t even register, just keeps staring. Ping looks around and then looks back, and it’s only then that Meen breaks free of wherever he’s gone and ducks his head back down, spooning food into his mouth. Ping’s frown deepens.
He doesn’t get the chance to find Meen until the end of filming, undressing in the make up area, slipping back into his street clothes. He doesn’t like the basketball kit, and has to spend so much time in it-- he can’t complain too much, lucky he even gets to be on this production and learning from P’Golf.
He finds his backpack and slings it over his shoulder, heading out into the main yard and wandering to the carpark. He’d driven in today, and he just wants to go home and sleep. He still feels a little unstable, and it’s that that makes him stop in his tracks. Meen.
Rustling around in his pocket for his phone, he feels it vibrate.
Meennicha8
Have you left yet?
PINGPING
No, I’m still here. Where are you?
Meennicha8
Just getting changed
Can I get a ride? I got a Grab here and P’Charm is busy.
PINGPING
Sure. Meet you in the courtyard
Ping’s glad he gets to see Meen, because he’s still worried. Didn’t like how out of it he looked, something obviously not right.
Meen appears a few minutes later, walking towards Ping, and Ping squints to try and read his expression. He seems neutral, and okay, but as he gets closer, Ping’s mouth tugs down at the edges. His whole aura seems weird. If that wasn’t weird to say.
“Meen, what’s going on?” Ping asks, as Meen comes to stop in front of him. He wraps an arm around himself, his palm coming to rest on his left side, squeezing himself.
“I’m fine, let’s go--” Meen says, moving around Ping to walk towards the parking lot. Ping’s jaw drops, and he trails after Meen.
He unlocks his car and they get in, Meen silent in pulling his seatbelt on, and then his hand is back to his side, rubbing this time. Did he get hurt?
Ping says nothing until they’re on the road, and stuck behind traffic.
“Did you get hurt?” Ping asks, breaking the silence between them, thick and uncomfortable. Meen shakes his head and looks out the window.
“Meen, what’s going on? Something’s wrong, I know it--” Ping starts, and Meen shakes his head.
“It’s nothing, just forget it.”
“No, I won’t forget it. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“I know you’re lying.”
Meen says nothing, stubborn with it, and Ping grits his teeth and they start moving again.
They get to Meen’s condo and Ping pulls into the visitor park, killing the engine.
“You either tell me what’s going on here, or we go up to your condo and you tell me there. But I’m not leaving until you tell me.”
Meen glowers at him, but Ping can see his bottom lip wobble, just a tiny bit, before he huffs and opens the door, hauling out the car. Ping hurries to undo his seatbelt and grab his bag, tearing after Meen as he charges inside. He jabs the elevator button, still hugging himself, and is silent as they go up, and he unlocks his door and storms inside.
Ping is so bewildered, he’s never seen Meen like this, and feels terribly out of his depth. He toes off his shoes and watches as Meen goes into his bedroom, following him in slowly.
Meen has thrown himself face first on his bed, and Ping sighs. He grabs some water bottles from the fridge and goes back into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Meen. Please talk to me. I’m worried.”
Meen gives a great, shuddering sigh and turns on his side, eyes coming to meet Ping’s.
“I feel stupid, which is why I didn’t want to have to explain to you what’s going on. It’s stupid. I did this to myself. And it’s stupid.”
“Okay, so it’s stupid. Talk to me.” Ping reaches out a hand and puts it on Meen’s leg, squeezing gently. “Don’t shut me out.”
“We don’t… we don’t talk about our problems to each other,” Meen mumbles. Ping sighs.
“That’s a rule you came up with and that I never agreed to. I’m constantly complaining to you about my problems. It’s about time you let me share the load.”
“I just… I just got upset about what I thought about to make myself cry today. That’s all. It’s stupid.” Meen curls up a little, and Ping sighs again.
“It’s not stupid. We had a very intense scene and you put a lot of your heart out there with me today. What did you think about? Your parents?” Ping asks.
Meen shakes his head.
“I thought about you.”
Ping blinks. Me?
“Mm. I thought about you leaving me, to move away. Not work with me anymore. Us not being together anymore.” Meen’s voice cracks and his lip wobbles, fresh tears filling his eyes.
Ping was not expecting this at all.
“I know it’s stupid, and you don’t have any obligation to stay with me, I just… the thought of you not being with me tears me up inside. I didn’t realise how strongly I felt until now. I understand why I got our fandom tattooed on me. I need you with me always.”
The tears spill down his beautiful face and Ping looks around frantically for tissues, spotting a box on the floor, plucking a few and moving closer, dabbing at Meen’s face. Meen’s hands come to wrap around Ping, and Ping moves him so his head is in Ping’s lap.
“I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” Ping says.
“Don’t-- don’t do that, don’t promise me. It’s not fair on you. You deserve to explore and learn and grow, not be shackled to me because I feel too much for you. I just miss you when you’re not with me and I’m sad we don’t get to film together anymore until the next series. I like seeing you, I like doing fun things with you. The idea of you being apart from me is… so painful,” Meen coughs a little, sniffling, as Ping dabs at the tears.
He feels so terribly endeared to his phi, so upset over something he’s given no indications towards.
“You’re working yourself up over something that’s not going to happen. I’m sorry you’re so upset over this. But I will be with you until we both decide we don’t want that anymore, okay?” Ping pats Meen’s cheek gently, dabbing at the drying tears, and Meen stares up at him. It’s criminal that he looks so beautiful when he cries, Ping sighs to himself. “My soft little phi.”
“Stop it,” Meen swats at him, embarrassed, and Ping rubs at his cheeks again.
“My little baby. My sweet bunny.”
“Stop,” Meen whines, but Ping gathers him up, moving around to lay next to him, rubbing his nose against Meen’s cheek.
“It’s okay, we’re okay, everything is okay-- okay?” Ping continues. Meen stares at him, and nods, bringing his arms up to wrap around Ping as well.
“Okay,” Meen rasps. Ping kisses his cheek and cuddles him, rubbing a hand up and down Meen’s back, happy with a crisis averted.
Chapter 2: asking deeper questions
Chapter Text
--
It’s been a week since the final episode fan meeting and Ping is lazing on his lounge room floor, watching highlights from the football. Mae is in the kitchen making lunch, Por’s at work and Emmy is cramming with her friends, and Ping is enjoying the quiet of the house and the smell of the food wafting out to him.
His phone buzzes and he looks at it, and frowns.
“Meen?” he mutters, flipping it open. Sure enough, there’s a message from his phi.
Meennicha8
Are you at home?
PINGPING
Yeah, what’s up?
Meennicha8
Do you have plans today?
PINGPING
Besides eating lunch, no
What’s wrong?
Meennicha8
Nothing’s wrong
I’m going to get a tattoo and I was wondering if you want to come with me
Ping stares at the message, bewildered. Meen has several tattoos, all of which Ping enjoys seeing-- the ANGEL on his shoulder, the ever present crescent moon on his other shoulder, the ones under his armpits-- and he’s expressed interest in the process. But he never thought he’d be asked to join Meen in what seems like quite a personal endeavour.
Meen is quite private, and the fact he’s reaching out to Ping to accompany him means he’s determined that Ping should be with him for this.
“Mae… I’m going to spend some time with P’Meen, if that’s okay?” he calls out to his mother. She pokes her head out of the kitchen, a smile on her face.
“That’s nice. Do you need a ride or is he coming to get you?”
Ping shrugs, says he’ll ask, and stares back at the message.
PINGPING
If you want me there, I will come :)
Meennicha8
I’ll come get you, be ready in 10
Meen’s message comes fast enough Ping knows he’s been sitting in their chat waiting for it, or at least staring at his phone until Ping responds, and he can’t help but smile.
**
They park at the tattoo parlour, and Meen fiddles with his fingers, long and bony.
“Why am I here, Meen?” Ping asks, and Meen looks at him, a small smile on his face.
“The more I think about it, the weirder this seems. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea…”
“What… Meen, just tell me, what’s going on?”
“I’m going to get AREA86 on me. On my side. Here,” Meen says, pointing at his left side, above his hip. Where Ping’s hand usually ends up whenever they take pictures together.
“A… AREA86? As in our fandom?”
Meen nods, his face serious.
“Um-- wow. Not For Moon?”
Meen shakes his head. “Nope. AREA86.”
“Okay. Why?”
Meen’s gaze goes somewhere, somewhere Ping can’t follow, and Meen opens his mouth. “Because regardless of what happens with us, I will always owe my major success to you, Ping, and to us. You came along and elevated my career, my life, you give me confidence and support… I don’t see how I would’ve made it here without you.”
Ping’s speechless, and his heart is thumping in his chest in a way that makes him nervous, the way Meen’s looking at him makes him nervous, and all he can do is nod.
“Okay.”
He follows Meen into the parlour, watches him greet his artist, smiling and giving him a wai as Meen introduces him. His artist brings up the design-- it’s simple and minimalist, the AREA trailing vertically, with the 86 sitting neatly underneath.
“Can Ping place the stencil?” Meen asks, and the artist nods, directing Ping to wash his hands at the sink and pull on some gloves.
Ping’s hands shake as Meen lies on his side, his shirt off, eyes following Ping as he places the stencil, smoothing it out.
“Good job nong,” the artist says with a smile, and Ping withdraws, taking off his gloves as Meen looks at it in the mirror and gives it the thumbs up.
Ping sits by Meen and finds himself holding Meen’s hand as the tattoo begins, and he watches, transfixed, as the words embed themselves in Meen’s skin, all over and done with in fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes and Ping is now part of Meen forever, indelible, in his skin and soaking into Meen’s blood and bones. It feels too big, too real.
Meen gets the tattoo covered and pays, and they head outside, the balmy night air hitting them from the coolness of the shop.
“Let’s go get some food,” Meen says. Ping nods and they find a place nearby and sit, ordering a bunch of things to share, Ping taking a few sips of his drink and watching Meen.
“Do you think I made a mistake?” Meen asks him after a few moments.
Ping blinks. “With what?”
“With the tattoo. Is it weird? Are you uncomfortable?”
Ping shakes his head. “Not at all. I think you made a good, meaningful choice.”
Meen smiles, and Ping’s heart jumps a little again. It feels good, and right, knowing that he will always be a part of his phi, no matter how far they are from each other, or what works they undertake separately.
He teases Meen with some beans once they arrive with the rest of the dishes, laughing at the wrinkled face his phi pulls before opening his mouth and taking one against his tongue, making noises the entire time as he chews and swallows.
Part of him forever sounds pretty good, he hums happily to himself.
Chapter 3: feels like a lifetime
Chapter Text
--
“Ah-- Meen--- fuck, harder--”
Ping’s sweaty face is pressed down on Meen’s bed, fingers clenched in bedsheets, holding on for dear life as he’s pounded into from behind.
His body is hot all over, the cool breeze of the air conditioner doing nothing to quench the inferno. He’s sweating, feeling like he’s flying apart from the seams, as Meen’s cock drills him just right, hammering into his prostate with every single perfect thrust.
“Meen,” Ping begs, not even sure what he’s begging for.
“Ping, I want to see your face,” Meen demands, tugging at Ping’s hips, but this angle is too perfect and he doesn’t want to lose the rhythm, so he fights against Meen a little, whining, just a bit longer--
Meen huffs, swearing, but his hands dig back into Ping’s hips and he does as he’s told, back to hitting that spot as Ping’s mind drifts, trying frantically to figure out how they got here...
***
Meen was playing a game this evening and Ping had snuck in, not wanting to be noticed and having a billion cameras focussed on him. He wants to stare at Meen and watch him play, without having to hide the naked want. It’s probably a kink, but Ping is only so strong when faced with Meen Nichakoon in his element on the court.
His partner is a 6’3 dreamboat, hitting the gym almost every day while he’s playing so much to keep up his strength, resulting in his thighs and arms getting bigger and bigger. His cockiness and skill lights Ping up every single time. He’d get lost in edit after edit, to the point where he created a second tiktok account because he didn’t want to get busted liking and reposting anything. He just can’t stop watching.
The, ah, physical nature of their relationship is a very new development, one born out of a drunken fuck when they were away for work most recently, that Ping keeps replaying over and over in his head. Even wasted on soju, Meen was a force to be reckoned with -- unstoppable in his desire for Ping, his beautiful mouth so talented, and any of his shy awkwardness blasted away by the alcohol. It was the hottest thing to ever happen to Ping, after months of pining, for Meen to fold so epically as he did, on his knees hugging Ping’s waist, almost in tears with how worked up he was over Ping.
“I need you, Ping Ping, please--” Meen had begged, the hem of Ping’s shirt riding up as Meen’s face dragged across his stomach, leaving a trail of spit and tears. Ping’s knees had buckled, his cock had ended up in Meen’s mouth while Meen got three fingers inside him, and they had consummated on the hotel floor, Meen’s breathy, choked off moans in Ping’s ear burying their way inside his heart, breaking something and making something more.
By the time they came home, Ping had been thrown into class and Meen into promoting for another lakorn (he definitely doesn’t want to throw his phone at the wall seeing him do tiktok trends with a beautiful girl, fitting so nicely against his side and presenting such an image that it takes everything in him to remember the way Meen felt inside him to calm him down), and they haven’t had a chance to connect again… in that way, anyway.
So going to a game when he finally has some time feels like a logical progression, but sneaking in and acting like a mistress… not so much.
But he sits in the bleachers, hat down low on his head and a mask on, hoodie despite it feeling like the inside of a shabu pot inside, and his eyes stay on Meen the entire time.
He’s a vision, he’s so fucking talented, and it feels like such a shame seeing his skill wasting away on a court here instead of in front of the entire world in the NBA. He wonders if Meen is truly happy acting, or if he has regrets, wishes he’d tried harder to push to get to America. He wonders a lot about his phi these days.
He feels like he gets away without being noticed the entire game, and Hi Tech win, thanks to some excellent shooting from Meen, and one particularly tense moment he’d been fouled and went sprawling across the court, rolling over himself. Ping has driven in, and texts him that he can give Meen a ride home if he wants it.
He heads outside, ducking and weaving around the fans, and his phone dings a few moments later with a message.
Meennicha8
You came to watch me play?
PINGPING
Yeah
You played really well, it was a great game
Meennicha8
I’ll come home with you
Gimme 15 to shower and change
Ping smiles and wanders over to the street vendors, buying a bag of skewers and some fruit juice, knowing Meen will be hungry. Ping chomps on a few while he waits, sipping on his drink, and by the time Meen appears, he’s had his fill.
“Ping,” Meen says, coming to a stop in front of him. Ping holds out the bag of skewers and the second juice, and Meen’s face does something that makes Ping’s tummy twist up happily. “For me?”
Ping nods, and Meen sighs and moves into his space, wrapping his arms around Ping and hugging him. He presses his face into Ping’s neck and breathes in, and Ping can’t do anything but let it happen, because when can he ever say no to his phi?
“Let’s go to mine,” Meen says, pulling back and shoving a skewer in his mouth. Ping nods and they get into the car, and Meen demolishes the food and sucks on the juice, asking Ping what he thought of the game.
It feels domestic, and soft, and Ping’s chest thumps along with the aimless beat Meen’s fingers tap out on his thigh, and Ping wonders if this is the beginning of something more, or the continuation of something that’s always been there.
They get inside and Meen shoves off his bag and shoes, Ping barely getting his own off before Meen has him up against the wall. “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” Meen says, voice low, and kisses Ping, his tongue coming to lick into his mouth, arms wrapping around Ping.
Ping just clutches on for dear life, letting Meen have his way, and Ping’s hands travel up to rest on his biceps, squeezing down, moaning at the flex every time Meen moves.
Meen pulls back, breathing hard, his eyes dark. “You like my arms, huh?” he asks, taking off his shirt and making quick work of Ping’s.
“I like your arms… I like you in your jersey too,” Ping whispers, and Meen gets a filthy grin.
“Kinky,” he rumbles, and reaches down to rustle through his sports bag, emerging with his jersey. “They gave me a new one for the next game. It’s all fresh,” he says.
Ping takes it and helps Meen pull it on, his eyes darting across his chest, smoothing his hands along it, feeling the ridges and dips of Meen’s muscles beneath it.
“You look so good,” Ping sighs happily, and giggles as Meen flexes an arm.
“And what do you want to see now?” Meen asks. Ping licks his lips and his eyes drop to Meen’s mouth. Meen snorts and moves back in to kiss him, shoving his hands down the back of Ping’s shorts to squeeze.
Ping moans, his hips stuttering forward to grind against Meen’s, their hardness sliding together deliciously. Ping wants to get fucked, and he wants to watch Meen.
He pushes them off against the wall and they stumble their way into Meen’s bedroom, pants disappearing on the way. Meen falls back against the bed and Ping stands there, chest heaving, taking Meen in-- only in his jersey, cock hard, thighs spread. Delicious.
“God…” Ping breathes, and Meen smirks up at him.
“Come on then, come have me,” he says, and uses one long arm to reach into his bedside table and bring out a bottle of lube. Ping nods and moves in closer, Meen tugging him to straddle his lap, kissing him again. Ping hears the clip of the bottle as he pops it open, and then a finger is pressing at his hole, rubbing around it, smearing lube around to prepare him. Ping gasps into Meen’s mouth as he presses inside, the feeling never getting old.
“Meen,” Ping groans and Meen hums, licking into his mouth, his other hand encircling them both, lazily jerking them off. Ping wraps his arms around Meen’s shoulders, the silky slide of the fabric underneath his heated skin feeling heavenly, surrounded by his phi.
Meen gets a second and then a third finger in, crooking them and hitting Ping just right, making him buck hard against Meen, almost knocking their heads together. “Ah!”
Meen chuckles and it goes straight to Ping’s cock, making Ping keen, burying his face in Meen’s hair, breathing in the smell of soap and shampoo and sweat and him.
Ping is pushed face first into the bed, Meen’s fingers digging into his hips, and he winces at the first press, pushing past muscle, forcing himself to breathe and adjust to Meen inside him.
“Fuck, you’re so tight--” Meen chokes off, and Ping bites down on his lip as Meen begins to move, slowly at first, the slide easing as Ping loosens, and then Meen hits his prostate, glances off it really, and Ping gasps.
“There we go,” Meen mutters and thus begins the punishing pace, bringing Ping full circle, clutching at the sheets as Meen fucking drills him, the bed hitting the wall, no illusions as to what’s happening in Condo 88, uncontrollable noises punching their way out of Ping.
He desperately wants to get a hand on his cock but he knows if that happens he’ll be done for soon-- and he really wants to enjoy Meen inside of him. Who knows how many more of these he’ll get before Meen realises sleeping with his couple partner is a terrible idea and he shuts Ping off, that unbreachable wall going back up between them.
Meen blankets him, sucking at his ear, nosing behind it, mouthing at the skin. “You feel like heaven, Ping Ping…” he huffs, and Ping smiles, fumbling to grab Meen’s hand and lace their fingers together. “You’re the best thing in my life.”
“Meen,” Ping whines, and Meen hums, always weak to any of Ping’s protestations, so easy for his nong. “Meen, let me see you.”
Meen pulls back and out, Ping gasping at the sudden emptiness, but he’s on his back in a second and staring up at Meen. His face is red and sweaty, his jersey so handsome, highlighting his arms and the swoop of his neck, and Ping watches as Meen shuffles up higher to move back between his knees, guiding his cock back inside, filling Ping back up.
Ping’s back arches and Meen holds his ankles, pushing down as he starts to thrust again. Ping’s hands come up to fist in his jersey, so fucking hot, his basketball playing boyf-- partner, partner-- so fucking hot.
“You’re so hot on the court, Meen. I get so hard watching you play. The way you shove people around and dunk. Your legs. Your arms,” Ping says, and Meen looks almost beside himself, leaning down to kiss Ping, all tongue and spit, no finesse. “I watch your games on Youtube and have to jerk off whenever they focus on you for too long. You’re so fucking hot.”
“Ping, I’m not gonna last if you keep that up,” Meen chokes out, and Ping smirks.
“Your thighs are so big now, and your muscles. Do you go to the gym so much to be good on the court, or so you can fuck me this good?” Ping asks slyly.
“Ping--” Meen snaps and Ping giggles, so unbearably light and happy, and Meen shuffles ever closer, kissing Ping’s ankle, letting them go so Ping can wrap around Meen, tugging him down to get his arms around Meen’s shoulders.
“Come inside me, Lucifer. Fill me up, show me you’re just as good in my bed as on the court,” Ping whispers, and Meen groans, his thrusts getting erratic. Ping gets a hand on himself and starts to jerk, Meen whining, burying his face in Ping’s neck, biting down as he comes, Ping’s name falling from his lips over and over, like a prayer.
Ping’s not too far behind, squeezing down hard on Meen as he comes, spurts coating his hand and Meen’s jersey, pressed together.
“Fucking hell,” Meen huffs as he gets enough strength to sit up, pulling outside of Ping slowly, and looking down at the wreckage of his jersey. “This’ll need a wash before the next game.”
Ping giggles, completely spent, watching as Meen takes the shirt off, his muscles rippling as he tosses it on the floor and flops next to Ping.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do next time I play. All I’m going to think about is you getting hard watching me,” he says. Ping pats his thigh.
“You’ll just have to come find me and service me,” Ping says, and they both giggle, sweaty and ruined, tangled up together.
cherryjuice on Chapter 1 Thu 12 Jun 2025 05:07PM UTC
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cathedralhearts on Chapter 1 Tue 24 Jun 2025 11:01AM UTC
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BLWitchcraft on Chapter 3 Sat 04 Jan 2025 10:36PM UTC
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cathedralhearts on Chapter 3 Wed 26 Feb 2025 01:46AM UTC
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