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The night wrapped around their room, a velvet cloak of silence occasionally pierced by a distant siren, then, closer, a fragile wail. It was six weeks old Dara, Pond and Phuwin's newborn. Phuwin stirred in his bed, his eyes, dark as polished obsidian, blinked open, finding the faint glow of the digital clock on the bedside table. 2 AM. He sighed, a soft exhalation that barely disturbed the air, and pushed himself up. Their daughter's cries intensified, a tiny, insistent summons. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool sheets a brief shock against his skin.
He padded across the room, the floorboards creaking a gentle protest beneath his bare feet. The bassinet stood in the corner, a small island of white linen. He leaned over, his lean frame bending with practiced ease, and scooped the squalling bundle into his arms. Dara's tiny body, warm and squirming, nestled against his chest. He swayed, humming a low, wordless melody, the sound a soft rumble in his throat. Her cries softened, morphing into whines, then hungry whimpers.
Back on the nursing chair, he settled in slowly, the wooden frame creaking with a soft, familiar rhythm as the chair swayed. The cushions cradled his sore back, and the faint scent of milk and baby powder lingered in the air between them. Dara squirmed, her mouth opening and closing in frantic, rooting motions, tiny fists brushing against his chest. With deliberate care, he slipped open the buttons of his sleep shirt, the quiet click of each release punctuating the hush of the room. The fabric fell away, and the cool night air met the warmth of his skin. He drew her closer, his chest bare and waiting, the gentle rocking of the chair syncing with the steady beat of his heart.
Phuwin’s chest wasn’t the same as before. His pecs still held the lean definition of a man’s body, but now they were fuller, carrying a soft weight that had only appeared during the final weeks of pregnancy and intensified after Dara’s birth. His nipples, once small and pale, had darkened to a richer shade, the areolas slightly wider, as if his body itself had adapted to its new role. A faint sheen of milk already dotted their tips, a testament to the urgent demand. He guided Dara’s head toward his left nipple, the tiny mouth latching on with an immediate, powerful suckle.
A wave of sensation, sharp and sweet, coursed through him as the milk let down, a warm rush that eased the pressure in his chest. He watched, mesmerized, as Dara greedily gulped with contented sighs. He felt a profound connection, a primal satisfaction in this act of nourishment, his body working in tandem with the small, hungry life in his arms. He shifted, adjusting his hold, his free hand stroking Dara’s soft head, the fine hair like silk beneath his fingertips.
The door creaked open, a sliver of hallway light spilling into the dim room. Pond stepped inside, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, a gentle giant in the soft glow. He moved with quiet purpose, closing the door behind him, plunging the room back into a hushed intimacy. He had just finished working late in the living room, the fatigue still clinging to his frame, but the moment his eyes landed on Phuwin breastfeeding, the heaviness melted away. All the deadlines, the reports, the stress; gone in an instant, replaced by a quiet awe.
“Everything alright?” Pond’s voice was a low murmur, a deep vibration that seemed to settle the air around them. He walked towards the bed beside the nursing chair, his presence a comforting anchor in the quiet night. He sat on the edge, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.
Phuwin looked up, a faint smile gracing his lips. “Just hungry.” He gestured with a nod towards the suckling infant. Dara’s eyelids fluttered, her tiny fingers kneading at his chests, a picture of pure contentment.
Pond’s gaze drifted, drawn by the natural pull of the scene. He saw Phuwin, soft and vulnerable, yet radiating a quiet strength. His eyes lingered on Dara, then moved to Phuwin’s face, etched with a tender serenity. Then, his eyes dropped, drawn inexorably to Phuwin’s chest, fuller now than it had ever been, the skin stretched and sensitive. One darkened areola was caught between Dara’s hungry mouth, drawing steady nourishment, while the other side remained untouched, swollen and taut, a bead of milk clinging to the tip and glistening faintly in the dim light.
A curious awe settled over him. It wasn’t just the act; it was the raw, undeniable force of life unfolding before him, Phuwin’s body, his very being, transforming into a vessel of life. The muted glow of the city lights filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle luminescence on his skin, highlighting the delicate veins beneath the surface, the subtle pulse at his neck.
Phuwin knew what Pond saw, and for once he didn’t flinch. The blush on his cheeks wasn’t only embarrassment but the quiet, tentative thought that maybe, after six weeks of healing, his body was ready again. There was no attempt to break the moment, instead, he let Pond’s gaze linger, the air between them charged with something more than exhaustion.
“I’m breastfeeding, not putting on a show, you know,” Phuwin said, a light chuckle escaping his lips, though his voice was still hushed. The words were a tease, a gentle acknowledgment of the intensity in Pond’s gaze.
Pond’s expression remained serious, his eyes unwavering. He shook his head slowly, a faint smile finally touching his lips. “You look the most beautiful right now,” he corrected, his voice a low, reverent whisper. His hand lifted to Phuwin’s head. He stroked gently, his fingers threading through the soft strands of hair, a tender, grounding touch. The domesticity of the scene, the raw, unvarnished intimacy, stirred something deep within him, a profound sense of connection and adoration. As his hand continued its soothing motion, he noticed the slight tremble in Phuwin’s other hand as he held Dara; a subtle sign of the effort, the exhaustion, and yet, the joy.
Dara’s suckling slowed, becoming more sporadic, then stopped altogether. Her tiny head lolled against Phuwin’s chest, a soft, sleepy sigh escaping her lips. Phuwin carefully unlatched it, a small pop of release echoing in the quiet room. He gently patted Dara’s back, eliciting a tiny burp, then carefully lifted it, carrying it to the crib. He laid the sleeping infant down, watching for a moment to ensure it was settled.
When he returned to the bed, the atmosphere had shifted. Dara’s cries were gone, replaced by a profound silence. The dim light from the hallway, now reduced to a mere sliver beneath the closed door, seemed to deepen the sense of intimacy. Phuwin sat back against the pillows, his shirt still hung loosely from his shoulders, the front unbuttoned after nursing, fabric pooling open to expose the tender swell of his chest. He felt a different kind of fullness now, a lingering tenderness in his chests, a heightened awareness of his own body.
Pond reached out, his hand hesitant at first, then firm, resting gently on Phuwin’s chest, just above his left chest. The warmth of Pond’s palm seeped into his skin, a slow, spreading heat. A shiver, involuntary and electric, coursed through Phuwin. The sensation was different, profoundly so. His skin felt alive, every nerve ending buzzing with an unfamiliar intensity. It wasn’t just touch; it was an echo of the recent act of creation, a sensitivity born from new purpose.
“You feel… different,” Phuwin murmured, his voice barely a whisper, a candid admission. He looked at Pond, his eyes wide and vulnerable in the dim light. “My body feels new. Even a little… foreign.” He paused, then, with a surge of courage, added, “But maybe you can help me figure it out.” The words hung in the air, a quiet invitation, a plea for understanding and connection. Pond carefully slid the shirt down Phuwin’s arms, easing it off. He was bare to the waist now, his skin pale in the moonlight.
Pond’s fingers, large and warm, began to trace slow, deliberate circles on Phuwin’s bare chest, sending shivers rippling across his skin. His touch was feather light, yet intensely present. “It’s beautiful, Phuwin,” Pond whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Every change. Every part of you.” He leaned closer, his dark eyes locking with Phuwin’s. “You’re incredible. More incredible than I ever imagined.” He moved his hand, his fingers brushing the outer curve of Phuwin’s left chest, feeling the soft, yielding flesh, the warmth emanating from it.
Phuwin’s breath hitched, a small gasp escaping his lips as Pond’s fingers grazed his nipple, a jolt of pleasure shooting through him. His body was a symphony of new sensations, each touch amplified, intensified. Pond’s touch was a balm, a reassurance, an affirmation of his desire.
They both glanced toward the crib, where Dara slept on undisturbed, her tiny breaths soft and even. Assured she wouldn’t wake, they turned back to each other, the silence between them charged with a different kind of need.
Pond leaned in further, his lips brushing against Phuwin’s ear. “Can I?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through Phuwin’s entire body, a request that was also a promise.
Phuwin’s eyes fluttered shut, a silent nod. “Yes. Please.”
Pond’s lips descended, soft and tentative at first, pressing a kiss to the curve of Phuwin’s collarbone, then trailing lower, along the line of his sternum. His tongue, warm and wet, flicked out, tasting the faint saltiness of Phuwin’s skin. He moved slowly, deliberately, his breath warm against Phuwin’s chest, raising goosebumps on his skin. He reached Phuwin’s left chest, his lips parting, enclosing the swollen nipple. A soft groan escaped Phuwin’s throat as Pond began to suckle, a gentle, rhythmic tug that sent an electric current through his entire being.
The sensation was overwhelming, a dizzying blend of pleasure and tenderness. His body arched instinctively, his fingers clenching the sheets beneath him. Pond’s tongue swirled around the nipple, soft and teasing, then his suction increased, drawing on the sensitive flesh. Phuwin gasped, his back arching further, a wave of liquid heat pooling between his legs. The stimulation was intense, almost painful in its exquisite pleasure. He felt a sudden, familiar pressure in his chest, a rush of warmth, and then, a thin stream of milk, warm and sweet, spurted into Pond’s mouth.
Pond paused, eyes widening in awe as a few drops touched his tongue. He looked at Phuwin, almost disbelieving, before suckling again, gentle this time, reverent, like he was afraid to take too much, but couldn’t resist the closeness. The milk, warm and creamy, filled his mouth, a profound connection to the life Phuwin had created, to the man who now lay beneath him, so vulnerable and open. He shifted, moving to the right chest, his lips finding the engorged nipple, drawing on it with the same tender intensity. Milk immediately responded, a stronger, more abundant flow than from the left, filling his mouth, warm and rich.
“Oh, God,” Phuwin moaned, his voice thick with arousal. His hips began to writhe, a slow, unconscious movement against the mattress. His body was a furnace, burning with a desire that was both primal and new. The sensation of Pond’s mouth on his chest, drawing out the milk, was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was deeply intimate, profoundly arousing. His nipples were exquisitely sensitive, each tug sending shivers of pleasure through him, making his pelvis throb.
Pond lifted his head, a thin line of milk tracing a path from his lip to his chin. His eyes, dark and heavy lidded, met Phuwin’s, filled with a raw, unadulterated desire. “You’re incredible…” he breathed, his voice husky, his gaze dropping to the visible evidence of Phuwin’s arousal, the visible bulge in his pajama bottoms. “So beautiful like this.” He leaned down again, his tongue tracing the path of the milk on Phuwin’s chest, licking it clean, then returning to tease the engorged nipple. He suckled again, harder this time, drawing a sharp gasp from Phuwin.
“Pond… more,” Phuwin pleaded, his voice a ragged whisper, his hands reaching out, tangling in Pond’s hair, pulling him closer, pressing his face harder against his chest. The intensity was almost unbearable, a delicious agony that made his vision swim. He felt his core clench, a deep ache building within him.
Pond shifted, moving lower, his hands reaching down to fumble with the drawstring of Phuwin’s pajama bottoms. He pushed them down, revealing Phuwin’s hard erection, already slick with precum. Phuwin was fully naked and exposed on the bed. He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of Phuwin’s inner thigh, drawing a sharp gasp. Then he sat back just enough to reach for the small bottle of lube on the nightstand. The quiet click of the cap echoed in the room. He poured some onto his fingers, rubbing them together until they glistened, before his hand returned.
His slick fingers traced the length of Phuwin’s cock, hot and pulsing under his touch, circling the wet crown until Phuwin whimpered. Then, moving lower, he slid those lubed fingers down over the tight skin of his perineum, pressing gently against his entrance. The glide was easy, deliberate, making Phuwin’s breath hitch as his body yielded under the careful, slick touch.
Phuwin’s breath hitched, his body arching off the bed. “Ah… Pond…” he whimpered, the unexpected sensation sending a fresh wave of heat through him.
Pond’s finger pressed deeper, slowly, gently, until the first knuckle slid inside. Phuwin gasped, a sharp intake of breath, his body tensing, then relaxing into the unfamiliar sensation. Pond’s finger moved, slowly circling, exploring, stretching the tight sphincter. He added another finger, then a third, slowly, carefully, preparing Phuwin, his gaze never leaving Phuwin’s flushed face.
“Ready for me?” Pond asked, his voice a low growl, eyes burning with desire. He pulled his fingers out with a soft shlick, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
It had been six long weeks of restraint. Six weeks of whispered kisses that stopped too soon, of wandering hands that pulled back with frustrating discipline. The doctor’s warning had hung over them like a wall, and Pond had respected it, no matter how badly they both ached. Now, with Dara finally sleeping and Phuwin healed enough, the wall crumbled. Every brush of Pond’s fingers felt sharper, hungrier, made all the more desperate by the wait.
Phuwin’s trembling hands worked clumsily at Pond’s buttons, tugging until the shirt slid from his broad frame, revealing skin slick with sweat. Pond stripped his sweatpants.
At last, nothing separated them. The air was thick with heat, their bare skin brushing in sharp, electric sparks as Pond pressed forward. Pond’s lips dragged over his jaw, his voice rough with pent up need. “Six weeks, Phuwin. I’ve been counting every damn day.” His hand slid over the curve of Phuwin’s chest, trembling with restraint finally broken. “I thought I’d go crazy.”
Phuwin’s lips curved into a shaky smile, though his eyes glistened in the dim light. “You’re not the only one who was counting,” he whispered, breath warm against Pond’s cheek. “Six weeks of you beside me, touching me, and I couldn’t let you have me the way we both wanted… I thought I’d go mad first.” His voice softened, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through. “I was scared too, Pond. Scared my scar would tear, scared my body wasn’t mine anymore. But you waited. You stayed. And now…” He shifted deliberately against Pond’s hips, a teasing spark in his eyes despite the blush on his cheeks. “…now I want you to remind me I’m still yours.”
Pond’s breath caught at the words, his chest tightening with a rush of fierce tenderness. He cupped Phuwin’s face. “You were never anything but mine,” he murmured, voice rough with equal parts desire and devotion. “Scar or no scar, tired or strong, you’re everything. And I’ll prove it to you.”
Pond's hard cock, heavy and throbbing, nudged against Phuwin’s slick entrance. Phuwin shivered, chest rising in a shaky breath, as Pond leaned down to kiss him deeply, one final moment of tenderness before the inevitable claim.
He slid in, inch by agonizing inch, until the head of his cock was buried deep inside Phuwin. Phuwin groaned, a deep, guttural sound, his body arching up to meet him. Pond paused, allowing Phuwin’s body to adjust, to stretch around him. His cock, thick and full, pressed against Phuwin’s prostate, sending shivers through Phuwin’s core.
“You’re so tight,” Pond rasped, his voice strained with pleasure. He began to move, a slow, deliberate thrust, then another, pulling almost all the way out, then burying himself deep again. “It’s because it’s been so long, huh? Six weeks without me, no wonder you’re gripping me like this.” With every sharp roll of his hips came the unmistakable slap of skin meeting skin, wet and rhythmic, echoing in the hushed room. The sound was obscene, slick and primal, a reminder of just how close their bodies were pressed together. Each collision sent a shiver through Phuwin, the mix of sharp smacks and wet squelches blending into a raw soundtrack of their joining. “God, I could lose my mind in you.”
“Then don’t stop,” Phuwin gasped, his back arching as he clung to Pond’s shoulders. “If I’m this tight… then fuck me until I can’t breathe.”
As Pond thrust into him, a new sensation rippled through Phuwin. Each deep thrust sent a jolt through his chest, making his swollen nipples ache and leak steadily, warm droplets of milk rolling down his skin. His chest grew slick, the dampness spreading across his torso with every movement. The sensation, the release, was wildly erotic, his body, once only a vessel of nurture, was now responding as much to raw pleasure as to need.
Pond’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise, then pure, unrestrained lust. He leaned down, sealing his mouth around Phuwin’s left nipple, sucking hungrily, drinking in the steady flow even as his hips continued their relentless rhythm. The dual stimulation made Phuwin cry out, his voice ragged. His right chest, neglected by Pond’s mouth, continued to bead and drip, streaks of milk sliding over his ribs and stomach, mingling with sweat and the evidence of their arousal.
“Oh, God, Pond…” Phuwin gasped, his hips jerking up to meet each thrust. Every nerve was alive, burning, his chest painfully sensitive, each pull of Pond’s mouth making his entire body throb. He could feel himself unraveling, teetering at the edge, the climax building into something devastating.
Pond groaned against him, the taste of warm milk on his tongue, the clenching heat around his cock pulling him deeper. He felt the tremors building in Phuwin’s body, the shudders that signaled his surrender.
“I’m… I’m going to…” Phuwin sobbed, his back arching high, a guttural cry tearing from his throat. His body locked around Pond, convulsing as he came hard, pulsing and squeezing, his chest leaking freely under Pond’s mouth. The orgasm ripped through him, a full body quake that left him trembling, utterly wrecked.
The rhythmic contractions, the sight and taste of Phuwin undone beneath him, broke Pond’s control. With a hoarse moan, he thrust deep one final time, spilling hotly inside him. His body shook with the force of release, his lips still latched to Phuwin’s chest, swallowed gently, his eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe the miracle happening in his mouth.
They lay tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat, milk, and their release, their breathing ragged, heavy. The silence in the room was profound, broken only by the sound of their labored breaths. Pond slowly lifted his head, his dark eyes still heavy lidded with pleasure. Reluctantly, he pulled out, then reached for the small towel he had left by the nightstand. He rose just long enough to dampen it with warm water in the bathroom, returning with quiet care. With steady, tender strokes, he cleaned the milk and the mess from Phuwin’s chest and stomach, wiping away the stickiness with a reverence that made Phuwin’s throat tighten.
When the towel drifted lower, his movements became even gentler. He brushed carefully around the faint, silvery scar just above Phuwin’s pelvis, the mark left behind by Dara’s birth. Pond’s hand lingered there, protective, almost reverent, as if afraid his touch alone could reopen it. His thumb traced the edge of the healed line with the lightest caress, a wordless promise in the tenderness of his care.
Phuwin’s breath caught. He watched Pond’s face: how cautious he was, how much love lived in every careful motion. Reaching down, Phuwin laid his hand over Pond’s, pressing it softly against the scar. His voice dropped to a whisper, intimate and certain.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he murmured. “I’m okay, Pond.”
Pond’s eyes lifted, dark and shining, and the tension in his shoulders eased. He bent to press a kiss just above the scar, reverent and lingering. “Still,” he whispered back, “I’ll always be careful with you, my beautiful, beautiful Phuwin.” He pressed a kiss to Phuwin’s temple, then his forehead, his cheek. His hand, large and warm, stroked Phuwin’s back, then moved to cup the curve of his chest, still full and soft. “I’m so proud of you. So incredibly proud.” His voice was thick with emotion, a mixture of awe and profound love. “You are amazing. As a parent… as a lover. You are everything.”
Phuwin’s soft sigh turned into a low chuckle, mischief glinting in his tired eyes. He shifted into Pond’s arms, his fingers trailing lazily down the hard plane of Pond’s stomach until they hovered dangerously low. His lips curved into a wicked little grin. “You know… I bet you’d get hard again if I asked nicely. Maybe you’ll be ready before me. Should we test it?”
Pond hissed, his whole body tensing. “Phuwin…” he warned, his voice already hoarse, betraying how close he was to giving in.
Phuwin only chuckled, low and throaty, deliberately brushing his thigh against Pond’s groin. Sure enough, he felt the twitch. His grin widened. “See? I’m right.” Phuwin’s grin turned boyish, the same mischievous smile Pond had seen a hundred times. Only now, it was sharper, armed with the knowledge of just how much power he held over Pond.
Pond groaned, burying his face against Phuwin’s neck, torn between laughter and desperation. “You’re cruel. Absolutely cruel.” His teeth grazed Phuwin’s skin, a playful bite, as if to punish him for the tease.
Phuwin tilted his head back with a smug hum, thoroughly pleased with himself. “Mm, maybe. But admit it, you love that I can still get you this worked up.”
For a moment, Pond almost gave in. But then he caught the exhaustion in Phuwin’s eyes and forced himself to breathe, to hold back. With a deep breath, he pressed a kiss to his temple instead, voice rough with restraint. “Sleep now. I’ll collect on that promise when you’re not already wrecked.”
Phuwin chuckled again, utterly smug, before nestling back into Pond’s chest. He felt safe, utterly cherished. The intense sensations of the sex still hummed through his body, a potent reminder of the new depths they had explored. He wasn’t just a parent now; he was still desired, still whole, still a lover, still Phuwin. The realization brought a fresh wave of contentment, a profound sense of peace. He closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. With Pond’s arms around him, he knew that would never change. The quiet room, the lingering scent of milk and sex, the warmth of Pond’s arms around him, all spoke of a connection that transcended the physical, a testament to their enduring love, now deepened by the miracle they had created together.