Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun sits high on a golden throne as Big heads into the gym, water bottle in one hand and towel slung over his shoulder. Most of the blinds in the large, open space are tilted to keep the heat out, but a few have been left open to illuminate the room with a syrupy brightness.

Big spends some time stretching, remembering what Chan said about warming up, as the Bangkok skyline gleams silver and blue around him.

Chan, it turns out, is right about a lot of things.

Icing dull aches after training really does speed up the recovery process. Bringing a supply bag on away missions is helpful for unexpected stopovers. Checking out extra gun cartridges from the armoury does end up saving lives.

Years ago, when he’d first joined the family, Big thought that Chan just liked hearing the sound of his own voice and instilling his perceived wisdom into everyone. But he realised a long time ago that the things Chan drilled into them were designed to keep them out of danger. Or, at least, prepare them well if they did end up in danger. He was just too stubborn to see it at first.

He steps onto the treadmill and lets out a small huff of amusement. Chan would love to hear him say that he was right about everything. He’d fold his arms with a self-satisfied smile and say, “Of course. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

Big wonders what Chan would say if he knew about his feelings for him. Perhaps that would finally be the thing he wouldn’t have an answer to.

Setting his bottle down in the cup holder, he tries to disperse those thoughts until they’re little more than the scattered remnants of words drifting to the edges of his mind. It’s not like anything is going to happen; best to let the attraction melt quietly into the wind.

If only it would.

He’s working an evening shift tonight, with hours to go before he needs to be in his suit outside of Khun Kinn’s room, mind ready and as sharp as his attire. Khun Kinn is attending a gala this evening and Khun Vegas will surely be there, so he has to be at his best.

He’s about to slide the towel off his shoulder and press the start button when a thought occurs to him. He can’t remember what his best time is for his 10k. Without that, he doesn’t have a concrete goal to aim for.

Sighing, he grabs his water and takes another drink as he steps down off the equipment. The training records and fitness tests for all the bodyguards are kept in the gym office. His times will be listed in the files there or on the laptop Chan keeps in the desk. The key to the room should be in Chan’s office.

Big makes a beeline for the gym doors, berating himself for not thinking of this earlier. He could just go downstairs and ask Arm to pull up the information on his system, but he’s not in a particularly amiable mood and the less nerd-wrangling he has to do today, the better.

As he passes the office, a paper-thin beam of light cuts across his vision. He spins back to check he didn’t imagine it, but, no, there’s definitely a sash of hazy brightness peeking out from between the blinds, illuminating the dust motes floating through the air.

Someone probably left the light on last time they were in there—likely Pol, his forgetfulness is legendary among the bodyguards.

Last week, he left his gun in the toilet of an art gallery Khun Kinn was visiting and only realised it was missing when Arm asked him why his holster was empty. He’s never seen Pol run so fast back towards a building.

Big shakes his head at the memory. The man is a walking calamity. A tall one at that.

He strides over to the door and turns the handle, expecting it to be locked.

It’s not.

Instead the door opens easily, swinging inward with the wild abandon of a pendulum cut loose. Big steps inside and freezes in his tracks.

His water bottle comes perilously close to sliding out of his grip and he has to dig his fingers into the cool plastic rim to stop it from making a sudden, unwanted acquaintance with the floor.

He’d assumed the room would be empty, but he was wrong.

Sitting on the edge of the desk, one hand holding an ice pack to his shoulder blade, is Chan.

This wouldn’t be unusual—Big’s seen him icing injuries before—but Chan isn’t wearing a shirt. His eyes drift down to Chan’s chest and abs, drinking in the vast planes of hard muscle and tanned skin like a man parched of thirst.

Holy shit.

Big can’t remember the last time he saw Chan shirtless, but it must have been a while ago, judging by the way his body reacts. A pink glow rushes into his cheeks and settles there while heat clusters in his stomach, reigniting the dormant embers from the last time he was in close proximity with the other man.

His eyes land on the waistband of Chan’s trousers and his heart collides with his ribcage. The barest hint of Chan’s underwear is visible.

Big’s brain takes a momentary holiday.

When it returns, he realises Chan is staring at him. He looks uncharacteristically caught off guard and it hits Big that Chan must have noticed his wandering eyes.

Well, fuck.

“Sir,” Big says, voice strained without his consent. “Is everything okay?”

His eyes focus on the ice pack, noting the way Chan is holding it at an awkward angle.

“Are you injured?” He manages to keep his tone within the bounds of professional concern. Just about.

“No,” Chan says calmly, the surprise dropping out of his expression with the smooth efficiency of a felled tree. “Well, not any more.”

“I don’t follow…sir.”

Chan gestures for Big to close the door, so he does. The soft click seems to chime through the quiet room and Big is suddenly very aware that it’s just the two of them. Alone.

“It’s an old injury,” Chan says, once no-one else can overhear. “One from years ago. It flares up sometimes after intense training sessions.”

Big thinks back to yesterday when Chan had introduced new boxing drills during group training. By the end of the first hour, one of the new bodyguards had thrown up into a plant pot and even Pete had looked green.

“With respect, sir, you didn’t look like you were breaking a sweat yesterday.”

Chan gives him an amused look. It curves his lips and softens his brow, the years slipping off him like raindrops down a coat.

“That’s how you should look when you’re the trainer.”

“So it was hard, then,” Big says with a wry shake of his head. “I was beginning to think I was out of shape.”

Chan makes a vague huffing sound. “If you’re out of shape, there’s no hope for the rest of them. You’re the best we’ve got.”

Big feels a warm surge of pride float up through his chest. It tastes like sugar when he licks his lips.

“Um, thank you, sir.”

Chan looks at him for a long moment. His eyes tell the story of unspoken words. Big wants to hear them all. Every last syllable, in English or Thai.

He knows that Chan has lived a rich and varied existence, the heavy brushstrokes of history inking his harsh edges in gleaming dye. But all they ever hear from him is advice (solid though it is), strategies, and reprimands. Big has wanted more for a long time. Perhaps today will be the day he finally gets it.

“Sir, do you…need help with that?”

The pause that follows is a seismic shift. It’s the tingle in the air before the ground starts shaking; the glowing trail of a firework before it explodes.

Big waits for Chan to decline. He knows the other man too well at this point to expect anything else. Whenever Chan wants to handle things alone, he will. After all, why burden others when you can carry the weight yourself?

So, even as Chan begins to shake his head, Big is already walking tentatively towards him.

“It’s okay, Big, I—”

“—let me help, s—”

They both speak at the same time and then break off.

Big feels oddly emboldened by the fact that Chan, in asking him to close the door, invited him inside. He could have told Big to leave, but he didn’t.

Does that mean something?

Big closes the distance between them. He places his water bottle and towel on the free chair and holds out his palm in a placating manner.

“I barged in on you, sir, it’s the least I can do. And it’s no trouble; I know how difficult it is to try and reach your back and shoulders.”

“You don’t have to,” Chan says, but there’s less protest in his voice than before. Big takes that as a good sign.

“I don’t mind,” he replies, injecting uncharacteristic earnestness into his words.

Chan’s brow furrows and disappointment coats the back of Big’s throat. He’s going to say no.

Then, the older man takes the compress from his skin and lets it drop into Big’s palm.

A spike of exhilaration turns Big’s body into a Richter scale of nervous energy. He manages to get hold of himself and moves to stand behind Chan. Anticipation creates a helix of sparks that spiral up his ribcage like butterflies bursting from a jar.

“Here?” He asks, trying to match the exact spot Chan was holding the ice pack.

“A touch to your right,” Chan replies, shifting so that he’s more comfortable in his half-seated position on the desk.

Big moves the ice pack accordingly.

“A little higher.”

He moves it again.

“There. That’s it,” Chan says, and then, when Big presses down more firmly, he groans.

The sound is a blade, cutting right through Big’s defences. He shivers, even though he’s not the one with a compress against his bare skin.

“What were you coming in here for?” Chan asks, conversationally, leaning back a little.

Big feels the movement against his palm, with only the silicone as a barrier between them, and has to take a steadying breath before he answers.

“I was coming to check my times before I got on the treadmill. I wanted to have a benchmark to aim for…”

He trails off, realising how silly it sounds, but Chan nods, still facing away from him.

“The most up-to-date records are in the drawers to your right.”

“Oh, it’s fine, sir. I can do it later.”

He’d much rather be doing this for Chan than hunting through papers. The unexpected proximity is a bright candle’s flame, drawing him closer. Usually, the only time they’re this close is when Chan is handing his ass to him on the training mats. This is different. Quieter. More intimate.

“Suit yourself,” Chan says, shrugging his uninjured shoulder.

The movement draws Big’s eyes down to Chan’s back and he allows himself to look properly for the first time.

The other man’s skin is a beautiful golden-brown; smooth and muscled in a way that makes Big’s throat go dry. Chan’s shoulders are broad—his whole back is broad—and Big’s pulse rises to the delicate skin of his wrists and neck, beating at a tempo that could summon gods. It’s fervent enough that he can feel it throughout his whole body.

He longs to reach out and touch Chan’s back, to skim his fingers across the treasure map of old scars there. To sweep his knuckles over muscles and run his thumb down Chan’s spine.

There’s one raised scar on Chan’s lower back that Big finds himself wanting to kiss. It looks like a knife wound from years gone by and Big wants to press his lips to it and whisper into Chan’s skin that he’ll protect him, always. Nobody will hurt him like that again.

His cheeks burn at the thought and he’s glad that Chan can’t see his face.

Chan makes a sound under his breath and Big freezes, worried he might have inadvertently pressed too hard.

“Sir? Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, you’re hitting the right spot, keep the pressure there,” Chan says and the rough texture of his voice, combined with his words, goes straight to Big’s groin.

To try and distract himself, he asks the question that’s been turning over in his mind since he walked through the door.

“How did you get injured, sir?”

There’s a moment of silence and it dawns on Big that he’s prying. He’s about to apologise and ask Chan to forget he said anything, when Chan speaks.

“I was shot in the back. The bullet lodged in my shoulder and fractured my shoulder blade.”

Big sucks in a breath.

“Fuck. That’s…that must have been agony.”

“It was,” Chan says simply.

“Was this before you joined the Theerapanyakul family?”

Big doesn’t remember Chan getting shot like that and he knows it’s not the kind of thing he’d ever forget.

“No, it was while I was working here. About twelve years ago, now.”

Ah. Before he joined, then. Big nods in understanding and asks cautiously, “What happened?”

Another long pause decorates the room and Big contemplates using the ice pack to knock some sense into himself. But, surprisingly, Chan continues.

“We were out in Chiang Mai at the time. Khun Korn was there to secure a business deal, but we ended up pinned down by mercenaries. I was covering him as we tried to reach the safehouse and one of the men managed to shoot me in my blindspot. Another bodyguard had to drag me inside the building. It wasn’t until the next evening that we could escape, and by the time we got back to Bangkok and to a hospital, the bullet had been in my shoulder for the best part of two days.”

“Shit,” Big breathes. That’s far too long to go without medical attention.

“Yes,” Chan says, sounding almost amused. “Khun Korn had the best surgeon in the city carry out the operation to remove the bullet. It was successful; I made a full recovery. But, sometimes, after heavy training sessions, it aches.”

There’s no blame or judgement in Chan’s voice, just a statement of fact. Big asks quietly, “Was there not a closer hospital you could have gone to?

“If we’d gone to a local medical centre, there was a chance that the men hunting us would have followed. It was safer to wait until we were back in Bangkok.”

“But—”

What if you’d died? Big thinks, heart seizing.

“—wasn’t that…dangerous? What if you’d bled out on the journey back?” He finishes instead, words lined with tension.

Chan turns to look at Big in profile. The movement sends a ripple through the muscles of his back and Big flushes again before his eyes flit up and he finds himself lost in Chan’s obsidian gaze.

“That was Khun Korn’s decision to make.”

There’s a sternness in Chan’s tone that wasn’t there before and Big instinctively wilts under it. But he forces himself to keep looking at Chan as he says, “His safety shouldn’t come before your life.”

“Careful,” Chan says, a low warning note in his voice, “that’s tantamount to treason around here. I could reprimand you for such a statement.”

“Will you?” Big asks, words soft and curious.

Chan watches him a moment more, his adamantine stare as deep and composed as an endless night. Intrigue gives way to understanding and the harsh line of his brow relaxes.

“No.” He turns away. “Despite what you said, I don’t think you’re criticising Khun Korn.”

“Then, what am I doing?” Big asks, bolder. He’s oddly restless for Chan’s eyes to be on him again now that he’s no longer held in their tide.

“Worrying about my wellbeing.”

Big freezes, laid bare. He does care about Chan. More than he should. He’d just never imagined Chan would notice.

He has no idea how to respond to Chan’s disarming statement, so he does the only thing he can do and changes the subject.

“Is the compress helping?”

“Yes. The pain is easing.”

An idea strikes Big and his entire body warms at the thought. Whenever he has an injury from training, a sports massage usually helps. It’s another of Chan’s suggestions that has proven useful over the years.

Big isn’t a professional, like the physiotherapist Khun Korn employs, but he knows the basics well enough.

“Sir…do you want me to, um– I could manipulate the, uh, muscles where the pain is?” It feels like he has to fight to get every word out.

Chan seems to go very still. “As in, a massage?” He asks slowly.

“Only if you want me to,” Big says, quickly. “You always tell us we should see the physio when we’re injured, so…uh, maybe this would help?”

Chan is silent for several heartbeats and Big isn’t sure whether he’s crossed an invisible line that he can’t come back from.

He wants to help his boss in a way that he rarely wants to help anyone else.

Growing up in a volatile home and spending his teenage years on the streets made him independent. But it also ingrained an innate sense of selfishness in him that he hasn’t quite been able to shake. Look after yourself before anyone else. That’s what he learned the hard way.

Joining the Theerapanyakuls changed that. Protecting Khun Kinn gave him a new purpose and taught him how to be selfless, but he still finds it difficult to show concern for his fellow bodyguards. Especially when they’re being fucking clowns.

With Chan, though, it’s different. Big thinks he’d happily step in front of a bullet for the other man. He wouldn’t even hesitate. Perhaps that’s what lo– what liking someone does to a person. It rewrites things you thought you knew about yourself and brings out a hidden goodness you weren’t even sure you possessed.

Right now, he just wants to make Chan’s pain go away. And if doing that also means getting to touch Chan, well, that’s an added bonus. Or an added burden, depending on how his body reacts.

Just as the silence starts to stretch out into a never-ending ouroboros, Chan replies. “It couldn’t hurt. I haven’t managed to see the physiotherapist this week.”

There’s something purposefully neutral about his voice, as though he’s holding his emotions at bay. Normally, if Chan’s annoyed, he conveys it through tone. If he’s exasperated, it comes across in his cadence. If he’s pleased, you can hear the smile in his voice, even when there isn’t one on his face. So, for him to be purposefully speaking without inflection…is odd.

But Big doesn’t have time to dwell on it because Chan said yes. His heartbeat quickens.

He said yes.

He lifts the compress from Chan’s back and rifles in the desk drawer, hoping for hand sanitiser. He’s in luck.

Chan turns to look over his shoulder—to see what Big is doing—and their eyes meet.

Big feels like a distant sun just swallowed him whole. His body heats again, his breath catches, and his pulse takes off like a rocket, turning his bloodstream into an engine contrail. Standing in a field full of electric power lines wouldn’t feel as charged as this.

“I’m just going to…” Big trails off, plucking out the bottle and pumping some gel into his hands. Chan’s eyes drift down to follow the movement and he swallows. The sound is audible in the quiet.

“Take your time,” he says, turning away from Big again. His voice is gruffer than usual.

Big rubs the sanitiser into his hands slowly, the realisation that he’s about to massage Chan’s back hitting him fully.

Why did he think this was a good idea? Surely, one touch and Chan will know. He’ll be able to tell how Big feels in the caress of his fingers. The secrets coded into his DNA will spill themselves into Chan’s skin.

Stalling, he keeps rubbing his hands together slowly, thinking the gel will act as a substitute oil if he doesn’t let it fully absorb into his palms. But his hands are so hot that it dries out completely within seconds. Panicking diligently, he applies more, but the same thing happens again.

Shit.

Realising he can’t delay any longer, he moves to stand behind Chan again and says faintly, “Just tell me if it’s painful, sir, and I’ll stop straight away.”

Chan hums an affirmative, and then there’s nothing left to do but lift his hand and press gently into the other man’s back.

Despite the tension painting itself into his body, a thrill goes through him. Chan’s skin is softer than expected and hot like his own, as though his core is a glowing furnace, sending bright warmth singing into Big’s fingers. He moves cautiously at first, still not quite believing that this is real.

Not ten minutes ago, he’d been wishing he could trace the pattern of scars across Chan’s back, and here he is, doing exactly that.

He runs his thumbs over the area previously covered by the ice pack, feeling dense, corded muscle beneath supple skin. Thinking incredibly sterile thoughts (mainly about dumbbells and the overpriced fish food Tankhun makes Pete buy for his koi) is the only way to stop his body from reacting to the feeling of Chan under his hands.

Chan is completely still and quiet; if it weren’t for the slow expansion and contraction of his diaphragm, Big would have been concerned that he wasn’t breathing at all.

He’s just starting to wonder if this is doing anything for Chan—if he’s even enjoying it—when the other man lets out a low, stifled groan.

Big freezes, worried he’s hurt his superior, but Chan murmurs, “There. Right there,” and Big relaxes, massaging the spot with more pressure.

Chan groans again and his voice is so deep that it’s like concert bass vibrating through Big’s chest.

He runs his hands across the rest of Chan’s shoulder blade before focusing on that spot again. Chan makes another satisfied sound and leans back heavily into Big’s touch. Big blushes furiously, but he relishes the feeling of being in Chan’s orbit like this.

“Is this okay?” He asks quietly, conscious that if he speaks any louder, his boss will hear the quiver in his words.

“Yes, it’s good. Really good,” Chan says, voice looser and breathier than Big has ever heard it. Chan is always the epitome of control and decorum. Big has never seen him like this—completely lost to the sensation of someone else’s touch.

He sounds…fucked out.

The thought is enough to make Big’s cock harden in his workout shorts. He wills himself to calm down, suddenly glad he didn’t wear his tracksuit, but he can feel his mind freefalling into the weightless atmosphere of the moment.

He keeps massaging, alternating between lighter and harder pressure, and leans subconsciously closer to Chan, sliding onto the edge of the desk without really thinking about it. The faint hint of Chan’s familiar cologne draws him in, a songbird enticed towards a sunrise.

“Yes, ah, Big that’s– ah–” Chan cuts himself off with a long moan, tilting his head back.

“Harder?” Big asks, voice little more than a whisper.

“Yes,” Chan confirms, the word hissing out on a ragged exhale.

Big runs his thumb over the muscle again, pressing more firmly and feeling Chan shudder beneath him. With his other hand, he gently kneads Chan’s uninjured shoulder and then grazes his fingers across the thin scar on his lower back.

He knows he shouldn’t, knows this is dangerous territory. But his restraint evaporates a little more with every new sound Chan makes. The part of his brain that tells him never to give himself away—to never to show the depth of his attraction—has gone as quiet as a clock after the last chime of midnight.

Everything feels heady and electrified. Time doesn’t exist, their differing statuses don’t matter. There’s only the close air of the room, the warm skin of Chan’s back, and Big.

Chan makes another rasping moan, and Big’s cock hardens fully in response, pressing against the soft cotton of his underpants. Chan tilts his head, exposing the column of his throat and Big doesn’t even think, he just leans in and kisses Chan’s neck.

Chan goes rigid immediately and Big pulls back razor fast, reality crashing through the glazy, soft-hued moment.

He just kissed Chan. He just fucking kissed Chan.

Chan turns to stare at him and Big jolts away from the desk, hands leaving the other man’s back, palms going cold.

“Big, you–”

“Sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t think– it was– I shouldn’t have– ”

Panic and embarrassment crawl up his throat, choking off the half-formed sentences before they can become fully-fledged apologies.

Chan interrupts him, stopping him from rambling himself into an even deeper hole.

“Big. You just– did you mean to kiss me?”

“I…” The answer is both yes and no.

“It just happened. I wasn’t thinking, sir,” Big responds in a small voice, not meeting Chan’s gaze.

He studies the space between them instead; moments ago it was nothing more than breath and heartbeats, and now it’s as impassible as a solar system.

“Big,” Chan says again, standing and moving towards him. “Did you want to kiss me?”

Big knows, with a soul-deep certainty, that if he meets Chan’s eyes, he won’t be able to lie to him. For that reason, he stares firmly at the floor as he opens his mouth to reply.

Before he can say no, gentle fingers tilt his chin up and he locks eyes with Chan.

It’s like being hit by a comet. Chan’s gaze is dark and intense and searching, searing into him with the force of a monsoon making landfall. He’s not angry like Big expected. He wants the truth.

And Big can do nothing but give it to him.

“Yes,” he says, helplessly. “I wanted to.”

For a moment, the room becomes a vacuum, not a single breath passing between them.

Then, Chan whispers, “thank fuck,” and kisses him.

Big makes a sound of surprise, shock sending his synapses into meltdown as Chan cups the back of his neck. A cyclone erupts in his body and every internal organ seems to get swept into disarray. His heart goes wild, his lungs stop working, and his stomach leaps up to high-five his ribs.

But then Chan is pulling him closer as he walks them back so he can lean against the desk, and everything calms. Big melts against him, kissing him back with the fervour of an unrequited love returned.

His arms go around Chan’s back, feeling the muscles and scars without any pretence this time, and one of Chan’s hands slides down Big’s spine, caressing him before finding the hem of his running t-shirt and lifting upward.

They part so Big can tug his top off and he asks breathlessly, “Sir, is this– are you…”

He trails off, not knowing how to ask what he really wants to know.

Do you have feelings for me? Have you wanted this for as long as I have?

“Big,” Chan says, amused, “don’t call me sir when I’m kissing you.”

Big’s eyes widen and he turns pink.

“Oh, sorry sir— I mean, uh, Phi? P’Chan?”

The other man nods, eyes glittering. “Better.”

Their lips collide again, Big’s fingers tangling in Chan’s hair and Chan’s hands exploring Big’s skin.

“Is this real?” He asks in a hushed voice when they next pause for breath.

Chan leaves several slow, savoured kisses along Big’s collarbone, before biting down gently into the juncture of his neck. Big gasps, head thrown back.

“Real enough for you?” Chan sounds playful and when Big looks down, he finds the older man looking up at him from under dark lashes.

“But you– you never once gave me any sign that you…might…feel this way.”

“Neither did you,” Chan replies, no hint of accusation in his tone.

“But when I kissed you, you stiffened.”

“Big,” Chan says, surveying him seriously, “you took me completely by surprise.” He runs his hands over Big’s shoulders in a move so tender, it makes Big’s throat ache.

It’s been so long since anyone touched him this way. Like he’s the person they’d search for first in a crowded room. Like he’s worth something, worth holding close and spending affection on.

“I knew you liked men,” Chan says, “but I long ago shut down the hope that you might look at me in anything other than a professional capacity. And it wouldn’t have been fair of me to approach you about it—it would have put the weight of deciding what to do on you.”

“Then, what changed?” Big asks.

“You made the first move,” Chan says simply.

Big stares at him, staggered. “Are you saying that if I’d kissed you before now, we could have been doing this sooner?”

Chan’s brow dips into a furrow. “Actually, no, probably not. I’ve spent a long time denying myself the things I want.”

“What do you want?” Big asks carefully, even though he thinks he might know. A glowing orb of hope is coming alive in his chest like a sky lantern rising through darkness.

Chan gives him a wry look. “I think it should be obvious by now. You. I want you.”

He leans forward and kisses Big with a new intensity, his body an ocean drawn in by the moon-caught tide. Big meets him eagerly, matching Chan’s hunger with his own. He bites Chan’s lower lip and then grazes his teeth over the soft skin there.

The move seems to unlock something in Chan, who groans and guides Big off the desk hurriedly. He pins him against the wall, holding him there, coming just shy of thrusting their hips together as they kiss feverishly.

Big wishes he would. He’s hard again and would love to lose his mind a little at the feeling of Chan’s clothed erection pressing into his own. At least, he thinks Chan is hard. He didn’t actually stop to check. But there’s one way to find out.

Big runs his hands down Chan’s back, trailing his fingertips tantalisingly along the waistband when he reaches his trousers—a hint and a plea.

Chan moves to kiss his neck, making an affirming noise into the skin under his jaw. Big doesn’t need to be told twice. He grips the older man’s hips and pulls them flush to his own.

Chan’s length immediately presses against his, heavy, solid, and definitely hard. Big swears at how good it feels. He grinds forward, chasing the heat and friction, and realises that Chan is…very well endowed.

His cheeks warm as he rotates his hips, dragging their cocks over one another in a way that makes them both groan.

Chan resumes his exploration of Big’s neck, kissing a spot above his collarbone before licking a line along it that has Big sucking in a ragged breath.

“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined doing this?” Chan asks, planting a kiss in the hollow between Big’s clavicles. “Do you know how hard it was to not say or do anything when you suggested a massage?” His voice is as velvety as a warm drink on a cold night and Big struggles to hold in a pleasurable shiver as it caresses him, making the fine hairs on his arms rise.

“Is that why–” Big breaks off to let out a panting gasp when Chan moves down to his chest and takes one of his nipples into his mouth, licking the areola, before teasing his teeth over the bud. “Is that why you were so quiet?”

Chan hums, lapping at the soft peak until it hardens, making Big thrash in his grip. His hands fly up to tangle themselves in Chan’s hair and he turns his favourite curse into a plea before he can stop himself.

“You’re sensitive,” Chan says, intrigue and delight blending in his tone, a coin spinning end over end. “And yes. I needed a moment. You can probably imagine why.”

“I was surprised you said yes,” Big hisses out as Chan kisses lower, his lips finding new homes in the ridges and valleys of Big’s abdomen.

“Aren’t you glad I did?” Chan asks, looking up.

There’s a sinful curve to his mouth that Big wants to taste.

“Really fucking glad,” he replies.

Chan’s eyes sharpen at that, two gleaming black sapphires in the amber-lit room. He lowers himself the rest of the way to the carpet and Big’s stomach jolts. Chan is on his knees. He inhales a frayed breath, trying to fill his stunned lungs.

Chan is on his knees for him.

His palms grow clammy, where they’re still resting in Chan’s hair, so he lets go quickly, placing them flat against the wall at his back.

Chan must mistake the move for hesitancy because he gives Big a reassuring smile. It looks almost foreign on his face because Chan never looks this tender. But, somehow, it’s perfectly at home, softening his stern brows and erasing the bodyguard-induced creases between them.

“Can I?” The older man asks quietly, lifting his hands until his fingers are ghosting along the tie of Big’s running shorts.

Big’s heartbeat hammers like a war drum, readying him for battle. But there’s no war and no resistance. There’s only the desperate desires of his body and the inexorable pull of Chan.

“Yes,” Big says through an exhale, nodding rapidly. “Yes.”

Chan’s eyes don’t leave Big’s as he pulls the drawstring loose in one long, unhurried movement. He continues to watch him, tracking the way Big’s his eyes widen, as he grips the material at Big’s hips and slowly pulls his shorts down. Slipping his fingers into the waistband of his underwear, he does the same with his underpants.

It’s only then that he allows his eyes to drop.

Big’s cock is hard and straining, its rosy tip curving up towards his stomach. A small, pleased quirk of Chan’s mouth and a sound of appreciation are all the warning Big gets before the other man leans forward and takes him into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Big half-shouts, one palm slamming against the wall. It’s intense. It’s so intense. Made even more so by the fact that it’s Chan. The one person Big has longed for, but never dreamed he could have.

When Chan circles his tongue around Big’s cockhead, he feels his thighs quiver. A loud groan of pleasure leaves his throat before he even registers it and he slaps his free hand over his mouth in self-imposed restraint.

If anyone realises what they’re doing in here, they could end up in serious trouble. He needs to be quiet.

But Chan’s mouth is so hot and wet as he takes in more and more of Big’s length that it’s increasingly hard to suppress a whimper. Especially when the other man hollows out his cheeks and sucks, pressing his tongue flat against the underside of Big’s cock.

“Mmph,” Big gasps into the skin of his wrist.

Chan starts to increase his pace, setting a steady rhythm that has Big panting, chest heaving in tumbling waves. At some point—he doesn’t know when—his hand falls back to his side and he closes his eyes, letting the wall hold him up while Chan takes him apart.

When the tip of his cock hits the back of Chan’s throat and, instead of gagging, Chan swallows around it Big swears, fingers digging into his thighs, just for something to hold onto.

Somehow, in all his wildest fantasies and late-night dreams, he’d only ever imagined himself going down on Chan. Not the other way around.

But he’s entirely unsurprised by how good Chan is. Chan has only ever been a paragon of competency; he’s proficient in every training exercise they do and on every mission. Big doesn’t think there’s anything the other man can’t do.

And this, he’s fucking incredible at. How can one person be that good with their tongue?

Then again, Big has heard Chan take down arrogant recruits in less than three words. He knows the skill of that tongue. In every sense of the word.

Just as the coiling heat of an orgasm starts to coalesce, Chan pulls off with a quiet pop. Big opens his eyes, looking down to see the older man gazing up at him. His eyes gleam ebony, their warmth belying a ravenous desire rising to the surface, untethering Chan from the restraints he’s imposed on himself for years.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, still watching Big. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so undone.”

Big feels a telltale warmth skim across his cheeks. “Yeah? You try being on the receiving end of…well, you.”

Chan chuckles and rises to his feet with swift grace.

“I have been. It’s not the same.”

Big has no time to unpack that nugget of information because Chan is kissing him with the desperate hope of a man granted his heart’s desire. His hand starts to work Big’s cock in slow, sure strokes and Big moans into his mouth.

“Still can’t believe this is real,” he breathes in between kisses. Chan pauses his ministrations and both his hands go to Big’s hips.

“Big.” He says Big’s name like it’s a meteor shower, gravity, weight, and wonder crashing down around them in one syllable. “Believe me when I say I’ve liked you for a long time. I just didn’t think you wanted the same thing. But you mean a lot to me and you should know that.”

Big stares at him, momentarily speechless, eyebrows tilted up. Then he surges forward to kiss Chan again, hands fumbling for the buttons of the other man’s trousers.

He gets them undone quickly and pushes them down. Chan steps out of them without stumbling or breaking the kiss.

Another thing he’s unfairly proficient at.

Before he can second-guess himself, Big walks Chan backwards until the backs of the other man’s knees hit the desk chair. Chan looks mildly surprised when Big pushes him down into the seat, but the surprise transforms into hunger when Big climbs into his lap, straddling his hips.

As a prelude, he kisses and licks his way along Chan’s shoulder and grazes his teeth up his neck. When he hears Chan’s breathing change, he grinds down, pressing their cocks together.

“Fuck,” Chan grunts, bucking up against Big, chasing the cataclysm of pleasure that’s arcing between them.

Big gives him what he wants, thrusting forward and circling his hips so their erections rub against one another, only a tantalising strip of cotton separating them.

“Big,” Chan says suddenly, voice raspy, “what do you– what do you want from this?”

Big pauses, worry stealing into his muscles and making him stiffen. Does Chan want this to be a quick fuck and nothing more? Does he want the occasional hookup with no strings attached?

Big could accept both of those things if it means he’ll get to be with Chan, even just for a few short days. If that’s all Chan’s offering, he’ll take it.

He’s always wondered if he was never meant to be the relationship, only the one night stand. It hasn’t bothered him before. But this is Chan, and Big suspects that being just a hookup for Chan might break him, eventually. His heart will always want more.

Chan looks like he can read the thoughts flashing through Big’s mind because he says, “I’m not talking about the future. I don’t expect us to make any decisions right at this moment—though I don’t…want this to be a one-time deal.”

Big feels his stuttering heartbeat calm and his shoulders—which were making their way up to his ears—relax.

He doesn’t want it to be a single hookup. And he said us.

“I want you,” Chan continues, “in every way. I just meant, how do you want this to go right now?”

A unexpected confidence suffuses Big. Chan is letting him decide what they do next. He sits up straighter and looks the other man in the eye.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Chan’s eyes eyebrows rise.

“You–”

Big is already nodding before Chan can finish his sentence.

Chan looks at him in wonder. Then he swears and pulls Big in for a frantic kiss. His hands rove over Big’s shoulders and down his spine, as though he wants to commit every inch of him to memory through his palms.

Big sinks bonelessly into Chan’s embrace, cupping the back of his neck and canting his hips again until they’re both gasping wordlessly into each other’s mouths.

“We should– we should go upstairs,” Chan murmurs against Big’s skin.

Big shakes his head quickly. “No. I need you now. Here.” He’s never demanded anything from Chan before, and never so unequivocally.

He’s also never seen Chan bend to a command so willingly. The older man sears several more kisses into Big’s skin, then, he rises swiftly, pulling Big out of the chair with him.

He leaves Big leaning against the desk while he strides over to the other side of the room and reaches up to a top shelf.

When he pulls down a nondescript metal box and starts rummaging through it, Big asks, “What are you doing?”

Chan spares him a quick, amused glance. “Big, you’ve worked for the Theerapanyakuls for, what, eight years now?”

“Eight and a half.”

“Then you should know by this point,” Chan says, plucking two items out of the box, “that there are condoms on every floor of this building. In places you’d never have thought to look.” He flips the lid closed with a satisfying click and slides the box back onto the shelf, out of sight.

He crosses the room back to Big and Big gets a glimpse of an opaque foil packet and a small bottle of lube before Chan leans in to taste his lips.

“You’re joking,” he says, half-amused, half in question, when Chan pulls back.

“Lucky for you, I’m not,” the other man says, opening the bottle and coating his fingers in lube. He gives Big’s cock a single, quick stroke, thumb swiping over the tip in one confident motion that makes Big tremble.

“Turn around,” Chan murmurs, voice low with intent. The words make Big shiver in anticipation and when he meets Chan’s eyes, the resonance between them strikes a chord in his sternum.

He turns quickly, bending over the desk and baring himself for Chan, leaning his forearms along the smooth surface. The catch in Chan’s breath has Big looking back over his shoulder.

Chan is gazing at his body with something akin to reverence. He reaches out—almost unconsciously—and strokes a hand down Big’s spine.

A rising, expanding feeling surges up through Big as he realises that this lust is all for him. He feels wanted, in a way he hasn’t in years. Desired. Needed.

“You’re stunning,” Chan says, meeting his stare, and it takes all of Big’s willpower not to look away, overwhelmed.

For a moment, their eyes carve a single thread of fire in the stillness of the room. If it were a starless night, their shared gaze would be a map to each other in the dark.

Then, Chan moves in behind Big and trails his lips up Big’s back until they’re kissing once more. Deft fingers slip between his cheeks, stroking and circling the seam of him until Big’s body is hotter than a bed of coals. He so keyed up that his skin feels electrified.

He’s about to hurry Chan along, when one thick finger presses inside him, teasing him open and stealing the words from his lips.

He keens into Chan’s mouth and the sound seems to stoke Chan’s hunger more. The other man picks up the pace, adding more lube before easing a second finger into him.

Big is suddenly glad that he had some alone time last night and he’s clean and relaxed from that. His own fingers, though, have nothing on Chan’s as he curls them, questing, towards Big’s prostate.

Big has slim, pianist’s fingers. Chan’s hands are larger, and Big has never been more aware of that than now, when a third finger is breaching him, coaxing his muscles to stretch.

“Fuck, fuck,,” he swears through his teeth, arousal pulsing through him in simmering bursts.

“Too much?” Chan asks, pausing.

“Not enough,” Big pants, pressing himself backwards until Chan’s knuckles brush against his centre.

It’s Chan’s turn to swear this time. “How are you so–”

He doesn’t finish, but groans when Big clenches around his fingers, lips skimming the back of Big’s neck before his forehead comes to rest there. “You’re going to be my undoing before we’ve even started.”

“Then hurry up,” Big demands, too fuelled by adrenaline to worry about being rude to his superior.

Chan makes an amused sound and carefully withdraws his fingers. Big’s body feels the loss, but starts to burn hotter with anticipation when he thinks about what’s coming next.

He hears Chan slide his underwear down and nothing in the city could stop him from twisting round to catch a glimpse of him. His eyes rove over the V-cut of Chan’s pelvis and muscled thighs he wants to leave teeth marks in, before landing on Chan’s cock.

He was right before.

Chan is big. Long and thick, his length curving upwards in a way that has Big swallowing reflexively. The thought of Chan inside him, hot and heavy, is almost too much, a tremor rippling through him.

As Chan rolls on a condom and applies a liberal amount of lube, he catches Big watching and their eyes lock. Chan studies him right back, stroking his cock unashamedly, and it might be the most intense eight seconds of Big’s life. He’s not even sure he’s breathing until Chan steps up behind him and he pulls in a sweet huff of air as he turns back around. It tastes like years’ worth of secretly harboured desires coming true.

One of Chan’s hands finds Big’s hip and the head of his cock grazes against Big’s entrance. It’s hard to relax his muscles when a frisson of sparks is making his entire body stand to attention, but he tries his best. Chan lines up and the pressure builds, then he’s pressing inside, slow and steady and huge.

Big gasps at the sensation, hands flexing against the desk. It’s been a long time since he was last with anyone and he’d almost forgotten how heady this part is—the feeling of two bodies joining together in one of the most intimate ways possible.

“Okay?” Chan asks, and Big is gratified by how rough his voice sounds.

He nods quickly. “Keep going.”

Lube and foreplay ease the way as Chan sinks in another few inches, but then Big really starts to feel the stretch, a dull ache building in his core as Chan’s width spreads him further and further open.

“Ah,” he gasps, arching his back, his hands curling into fists.

Behind him, Chan makes a similar sound, fingers gripping Big’s hips in a way that has Big feeling deliciously claimed.

When Chan bottoms out, hips coming to rest against Big’s ass, Big groans low in his throat, head dropping to his forearms. Chan feels huge inside of him and he can only imagine what his rim must look like, stretched taut and pink, with Chan’s cock keeping him open.

“Still okay?” Chan asks, palm skating softly down Big’s side.

“Yeah,” Big pants. “More than. Just give me a minute.”

“You’re doing so well,” Chan murmurs, wrapping an arm around Big’s chest and leaning forward to kiss his back. The movement presses him deeper and Big whimpers, the ache inside him starting to transform into pleasure.

He’s so full he can barely clench around Chan but he tries anyway and relishes the immediate effect it has on the other man—he clutches Big tighter and swears in the most gravelly, turbulent tone Big has ever heard from him.

“Big.” His name sounds like an oath on Chan’s lips. “You’re unbelievable,” Chan breathes, kissing the side of Big’s neck. “Can I move?”

Big nods rapidly. He’s pretty sure Chan is pressing against his prostate and it’s beginning to churn molten heat through his hips and pelvis.

“Yes. Fuck, yes,” he says, not caring if he sounds desperate. He twists around and Chan captures his lips once, all-consuming, then his hands are back on Big’s hips and he’s pulling out until just the tip remains inside.

Big holds in the forlorn sound he wants to make, missing Chan’s warmth, but he doesn’t need to hold it for long. Chan pushes forward, steady and insistent, and the long slide of him filling Big back up might be the best thing he’s ever felt.

He’s known pleasure before, of course, but it’s a different kind of euphoria to share it with the person you care most about. Knowing that that person is finding just as much gratification in your body as you are in theirs has an exquisite balance to it, like a dancer en pointe.

Big moans his enjoyment, feeling every inch of Chan as he makes a home inside him. He keeps the tempo unhurried, rocking in and out, giving Big extra time to adjust, until Big clamours for more.

Then, Chan pulls out and starts thrusting in earnest. And Big, like a lovesick fool, cries out his name.

He doesn’t mean to; it spills from his lips like water from a falling glass, tumbling free and unbidden into the space around them. Nothing else exists but Chan. He’s the sun and the sky, all the lights in the city. So, of course, every ounce of Big’s adoration for him comes rushing out in that one word.

But Chan must like it because he fucks into Big harder, one hand reaching round to stroke his cock in time with the rhythmic movement of their bodies. Big moans at the dual sensation, voice breaking a little when Chan tells him how well he’s taking him.

He knows he’s being too loud, but everything is hazy, the light of the room drifting over itself in bleeding fractals of gold as his arousal spikes higher. It’s hard to think clearly when the man you’ve spent years longing for is seven inches deep inside of you, joining you both together in a clash of heat and musk.

But Big comes back to himself when a hand covers his mouth, gentle but firm.

“Don’t give us away,” Chan rumbles into his ear, covering Big’s back with his chest, and Big makes a quiet, pining noise against his palm. There’s something about Chan holding him down, controlling the sounds he can make, that has Big’s stomach swooping in excitement.

But he doesn’t have time to consider what that means because Chan has switched to slowly grinding into him, and the roll of his hips starts hitting Big’s prostate repeatedly.

Big gasps, thrusting backwards to meet him halfway and chase each spark that coalesces inside him. He makes soft, muted sounds against Chan’s palm, more subtle than before, and, a few moments later, Chan removes his hand, taking hold of Big’s cock again, grip firm and confident.

“Good boy,” he rumbles into the shell of Big’s ear, and begins jerking him off with renewed energy.

“P’Chan, ah—” He sounds wrecked but he’s beyond the point of caring, orgasm tunnelling up through him, incendiary and white-hot.

“So good for me,” Chan groans, and it’s that that does it. Big’s pleasure surges and he comes with a cry, one hand gripping the desk as he shakes apart.

He feels drunk, high, and filled with light. His body is transcending its own edges, a solar flare of rapture out-glowing even a dying star. He feels Chan’s hips stutter and has just enough presence of mind to rasp, “inside me”, and then Chan is coming too, both arms wrapping around Big to hold him close. He feels Chan’s cock pulse and somehow that renews the fading glow of his own orgasm, prolonging his climax until he’s thoroughly spent.

He collapses onto his chest, pressing his feverish temple to the cool wood, and he feels Chan’s weight come to rest against his back.

Big doesn’t know how long they lie there for, bodies connected as their breathing returns to normal. He feels like he’s floating in a nebula of endorphins, everything pastel-hued and idyllic.

But gradually, things start to come back into focus. The warm lighting when he slowly opens his eyes. The smooth grain of the desk as he shifts his arms. And Chan. He’s a solid weight against Big’s back, connecting them without crushing him. His arms are still wrapped underneath Big’s torso, keeping him close. It feels nice.

“Big,” Chan murmurs, voice bordering on drowsy in a way that punches straight through Big’s heart. “Are you okay?”

“You keep asking me that but the answer hasn’t changed. It’s still yes,” Big says, amused.

“Mmm,” Chan says, sounding pleased. “Just wanted to check I didn’t hurt you.”

Big has to swallow back a wave of emotion before he answers. He’s not used to people caring about him so openly.

“You didn’t. That was…” He searches for a word that can accurately encompass what they just did and finds them all lacking.

“Incredible?” Chan offers, pressing his lips against Big’s shoulder.

“Yeah, fucking incredible,” Big responds with a smile. That works.

Chan squeezes him gently and he turns to kiss the other man, a bone-deep feeling of satisfaction pervading his body.

He can’t believe walking in on Chan shirtless turned into a confession, then the best sex of his life. A weightless feeling of happiness steals over him, and, for the first time in years, he’s glad he fucked up.

If what Chan said is true, then the other man wouldn’t have let himself have this before now. Big doesn’t believe in fate or destiny—that would imply that he doesn’t have a hand in what happens with his life—but he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he was meant to walk into the office today and find Chan. Perhaps some things do happen for a reason.

Afterwards, Chan cleans them both up. Big sacrifices his gym towel for the task without any regrets and they dress slowly, still basking in the afterglow.

Chan can’t seem to stop touching him; kissing the back of Big’s neck while he’s tying the drawstring of his gym shorts, and stopping him from putting on his t-shirt so that he can turn him around, step between his legs, and press his lips reverently to the centre of Big’s chest.

“I’ve never seen this side of you,” Big says in a curious voice.

“Of course you haven’t. Kissing bodyguards isn’t going to make them work harder during drills and it won’t build respect either.”

Big huffs out a bark of laughter and Chan looks pleased, then sobers.

“This is only for people I’m attracted to. People I want to be with.”

Big's eyebrows lift. “You want to be with me?”

“I do,” Chan says seriously. “I've wanted that for a long time. But…” he hesitates, and Big's heart—which had been rising with the hope and grace of a phoenix—plummets. It leaves a phantom ache as it crashes down towards his stomach, tearing through everything else in its path.

“It depends on what you want.”

The pain in Big’s chest eases slightly.

“What I want?”

Chan nods. “Do you want to be together or would you rather this just be casual? If you do want to be together, do you want to be monogamous?”

Big feels emotion climbing into the back of his throat and he has to look away from Chan before it comes to fruition in his eyes. He’s dreamt about this conversation, but he never thought they would actually have it. Chan is offering him the chance of a relationship. They could actually be together. And Chan is checking to make sure it’s what Big wants.

In all his time working for the Theerapanyakuls, Big doesn’t think anyone has ever asked him what he wants. He’s told where to go and what to do. He’s given orders. He’s never asked.

“Big?” Chan asks, and Big looks up, realising he’s been silent for too long.

And fuck. Chan is trying to hide it but he looks dejected. He thinks Big is going to say that he doesn’t want to be with him.

Big surges forward and pulls Chan into a kiss. They’re both still shirtless, so he runs his hands up and down the other man’s back in a soothing manner, lingering over the scar that started all this.

“Yes. I want to be with you,” he clarifies as soon as they part. “Fuck, of course I do. That’s all I’ve wanted for years. I was just surprised, I didn’t– I’m not used to having choices in this line of work.”

Chan’s expression softens into one of understanding and he moves forward—leaning up since they’re both the same height—to place a kiss on Big’s forehead. Big freezes, startled, then closes his eyes, and lets himself have this moment of feeling cherished. When he opens them again, the tears that were threatening have abated.

“With me, you’ll always have a choice,” Chan says quietly.

Big nods, letting that sink in.

“About the other things you asked,” he adds, remembering that he hasn’t answered Chan’s other questions. “I only want to be with you, and I don’t– I don’t think I can be casual. I…like you too much for that,” he finishes in a rush, looking down.

“I feel the same,” Chan says, and Big’s head snaps back up, relieved. “I was hoping you’d want it to be just us and that you’d want to be together romantically, as well as—” he breaks off, gesturing around them to indicate what they just did, and Big feels his body heat up. “But I needed to check. Relationships should be determined by everyone involved, after all.”

“It’s been a long time since I was in one,” Big admits, rubbing the back of his neck. He normally hates opening up about things like this, but with Chan, it’s not painful or awkward, it’s just honest.

“Me too. But we’ll figure it out together.”

Chan leans in and Big meets him as effortlessly as if they’ve been doing this for years. Everything about this feels right, like coming home at the end of a long day.

Chan begins kissing down his neck and Big groans. “This is all I’m going to be thinking about during training from now on.”

“If you score poorly in any tests, you won’t get special treatment. I’ll punish you just like everyone else,” Chan says before nipping at Big’s shoulder.

“In what way?” Big asks, interest clear in his tone.

Chan straightens back up. “Not the one you want.”

Big huffs out a breath. “Should have known.”

Chan makes an amused sound and kisses Big’s jaw as an apology, gradually making his way down the column of Big’s throat. Big makes a satisfied sound and lets himself get lost in the feeling of Chan’s lips for a few minutes.

When he can think clearly again, he asks, “So, what do we do now?”

Chan looks thoughtful. “We need to consider whether we want this to be a secret, or if we approach Khun Kinn about it.”

The thought of telling Kinn and having him potentially forbid their relationship before it’s even begun fills Big with dread.

Chan must read as much in his expression because he says, “It would be prudent to keep things quiet for now. At least until we’ve been together a while and things aren’t so new.” It’s a statement, but Big can see the question in his eyes, once again offering him a choice.

“I think that’s a good idea, sir,” Big says immediately, tension draining out of his frame.

“So we’re back to sir?” Chan says with a wry smirk.

“Sorry, si– Phi. It’ll take some getting used to.”

“It’s alright. You should keep calling me sir during training and when we’re on shifts. Otherwise it’ll arouse suspicion.”

“I’d also get the shit ripped out of me if I call you phi in front of everyone,” Big adds, rolling his eyes. “They’re vicious bastards.”

Chan gives him a look and Big sighs. “Fine, fine, I’m also a vicious bastard and I’d do exactly the same if the positions were reversed.”

“Self-awareness is good for personal growth,” Chan says, looking like he’s enjoying this far too much.

Big scowls and Chan takes pity on him, offering him a fond kiss. “Do you have a shift today?” He asks, brushing a lock of Big’s hair out of his face.

“Yes, but not until this evening. Do you?”

“In a few hours. If you have some time, we could spar? My shoulder feels better after what you did. Unless you’d rather return to your run of course?” There’s a glint in Chan’s eye that tells Big he already knows the answer to that question.

The thought of grappling with Chan and getting pinned to the mat by him always thrills Big, but this time it makes his blood sing in his veins. Now that they’re together, he can look at Chan and touch him as much as he likes, all under the guise of sparring.

“Actually, I, uh, think I could use some more hand-to-hand combat practice. After the drills we did yesterday, I don’t want to fall behind.”

Chan gives him a knowing look. “We wouldn’t want that.”

He kisses Big one more time, slow and satisfied, before they part to put their tops back on. They check the gym is empty and head out into the airy space one at a time.

Chan goes first and Big pauses to takes stock of his body. He feels sore but content and there’s a lightness brewing inside him that he knows is all because of the other man.

He watches Chan as he walks ahead to collect their supplies. It’s too soon to tell him he loves him, even if he can finally admit it to himself. But maybe one day, when they’ve been together a bit longer, he’ll find the courage to say it.

In the meantime, he’ll make good on the words he wanted to whisper into Chan’s skin. He’ll listen to his stories and ice his shoulder whenever he needs it. He’ll make sure no new bullets find a home in his body, even if it means stepping in front of him to deflect them. He’ll take care of him and protect him. In every way he can.

With those vows impressed into his mind, he steps out into the sunny room and follows his heart.