Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue - Welcome (and a Warning 😉)
Hey you... yeah, Welcome my holly spirits!! Welcome back to my little (bring holy water) Stories....

This is Part Two. And if you came here looking for gentle romance or "just a stroll through feelings" – nope... this isn't that kind of story 😏.

This is a place for hot, adult, sexy BL adventures, where we don't shy away from steamy scenes, dirty talk, unabashed flirting, and relationships that are intense and wild. Some things carry over from Part One – yes, Phuwin and Pond already have their space and secrets, but here we go deeper, hotter, bolder.

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING: This story may include explicit sexual content, rape, abuse, power play, dark themes, and mpreg situations. If you are uncomfortable with any of these, please leave now.

If you're homophobic, uneasy, or think love between boys isn't okay – leave. This is not the place for you.

If you're here because you love ships, crazy tension, secrets, stolen glances, and everything that gets your blood racing, welcome. You're exactly where you belong 🖤🔥.

Expect:

steamy scenes that will make your heart pound

power games, tension, and mutual influence

intense character psychology (and yes, some dark, twisted moments)

all those moments when you want someone grabbed by the neck... or the hand 😏

So get your eyes ready, relax your hands, and let yourself get pulled in. Part Two is here, and it's hotter than ever before.

💌 Thank you to everyone who supported Part One and the Oneshots! Your encouragement means the world to me, and I hope you'll enjoy Part Two just as much—if not more.

"Your hole won't be dry tonight." 💦

"I make messes you can't wash off." 😈

"By the time I'm done, you won't walk straight." 🔥

"Lube it or lose it, baby." 😉

"Moans louder than your neighbors can handle."

Enjoy<3

Your Guwluse..

Chapter Text

William had barely walked into the music video set before he noticed Satang. The moment was fleeting, just a casual glance, but it made his chest tighten in a way he wasn't prepared for. They were there to collaborate on a song, maybe an OST or not, but the project itself was secondary to the electricity of their first real interaction.

Over the course of shooting the MV, they found themselves talking during breaks. Simple things at first—favorite shows, music, hobbies—but slowly, the conversation deepened. They discovered shared interests, laughed over silly things, and even debated passionately over trivial topics. There was a lightness, a joy in the exchange that neither of them expected.

By the time promotions started, they had exchanged contact info, promising to keep in touch despite busy schedules. Those messages became small moments of warmth in William's routine. A quick "good morning" text, a silly gif, a short conversation about the day—each one a thread weaving them closer together.

Months passed. Texts turned into long late-night conversations whenever they could. The occasional teasing, playful banter, and gentle questions about each other's day became a comfort neither wanted to admit out loud.

Then came the surprise: William was offered an OST project with a co-singer. Excited, he hadn't realized until checking the schedule that the other singer was... Satang. His heart practically leapt. Bandmates noticed immediately.

"Finally! You get to see him after all this time," one teased.
"Bet you missed him, huh?" another laughed.
William only shrugged, a faint blush on his cheeks, saying nothing. But inwardly, he admitted the truth: he had missed Satang more than he cared to say.

On the first day in the studio, William recorded his parts first. He tried to focus, immersing himself in the music, but every glance at Satang was like a magnet pulling his attention. Satang's presence made him smile, distracted him, and made each note harder to hit perfectly.

One of the producers noticed. "William... careful, looks like love's happening in here."

William flushed crimson, muttering an apology. He tried to focus on the sheet music, but his eyes kept finding Satang. They shared a brief smile, and William felt a warmth that made it impossible to stay strictly professional.

Recording continued, and eventually, the session ended. On the way home, Satang fell into step beside him, hesitating for a moment before speaking.

"Was the producer... joking?" Satang asked softly. "Or... do you actually... like me?"

William froze, shocked by the question. He opened his mouth, but words failed him for a few seconds. Satang took a breath and decided to speak first.

"I like you," he admitted, voice low but steady. "I wanted to tell you... so we can talk about it properly when we have time."

William's heart raced, but a soft smile spread across his face. "I... I like spending time with you too," he admitted softly. "And... I'm glad you told me."

They parted that evening with a quiet warmth, hearts fluttering, both unsure of where this would go but excited by the possibilities.

Two weeks later, with a rare off day, they decided to meet at William's apartment. Nervous energy lingered in the room as they sat together on the couch, drinks in hand, words hesitant at first.

"I didn't know what I felt back then," William began, fingers fidgeting, "but... I liked spending time with you. And I felt happy when you said you liked me."

Satang smiled softly, brushing a hand across William's arm. "And now?" he asked gently.

William took a deep breath, finally meeting Satang's gaze. "Now... I know. The producer was right... I'm in love with you."

Satang's grin widened, relief and joy flooding his features. Without hesitation, they leaned into each other, sharing a soft, tentative kiss that deepened naturally, full of promise and warmth.

When they finally pulled back, foreheads pressed together, Satang whispered, "So... officially... boyfriend and boyfriend?"

William chuckled, the tension melting away. "Yes. Only you. Always."

Satang nudged him lightly. "Good... because I've been waiting a long time to hear that properly."

William chuckled. "Well, now that we've cleared that up... how about celebrating? Coffee? My treat."

Satang tilted his head, eyes sparkling. "Coffee sounds perfect. And maybe... some time to talk? Just us, no schedules, no studio, no cameras."

"Exactly," William said, squeezing his hand gently. "I want to hear everything you've been thinking about. And maybe share a few of my thoughts too."

Satang smiled, a little shy but glowing. "I'd like that."

They left together, side by side, the city lights reflecting in their eyes. Every brush of fingers, every shared smile, felt electric yet comforting—a perfect beginning to everything they had been waiting for.

The coffee shop was warm and cozy, the soft hum of conversation and clinking cups creating the perfect background for a moment just for them. William and Satang slid into a corner booth, their shoulders brushing lightly, sending small sparks of warmth through them both.

William stirred his coffee, stealing a glance at Satang, who was watching him with a soft, curious smile. "So... how have you really been?" William asked, voice low, as if afraid the café's world would intrude on this little bubble.

Satang shrugged, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "Busy, tired... but happier than I expected. Talking to you. Spending time with you... it's been nice."

William felt his chest tighten. "You mean... with me?" he asked softly.

Satang nodded, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Yeah... I like it. I like being with you."

William smiled, letting out a small, relieved laugh. "Good... because I like being with you too. More than I thought I would." He leaned a little closer, their knees brushing under the table, a simple touch sending warmth straight to his stomach.

For a few moments, they just sat there, sipping coffee, smiling at each other, the world outside the window fading away. Then Satang's eyes sparkled with mischief. "So... about that producer joke in the studio..."

William's eyebrows shot up. "Don't even start."

Satang chuckled. "I mean... did you really... like me back then?"

William exhaled, letting the tension slide. "Yes. I just... I didn't know what it all meant at first. But I like you. I like you a lot."

Satang's grin widened, and without thinking, he reached across the table, brushing his hand over William's. The warmth of the simple touch made William's chest flutter.

"You have no idea how happy that makes me," Satang murmured.

William's eyes softened, and he leaned in just slightly, their foreheads nearly touching. "I'm happy too. Being with you... it feels right. I've thought about you more than I probably should."

Satang laughed softly, a sound that made William's heart skip. "Good... because I've been thinking about you too."

They spent the rest of the afternoon like that—talking, laughing, stealing small glances, brushing hands occasionally, each moment a slow, perfect build of intimacy. By the time they left, the sun had dipped low, casting golden light across the city streets.

William walked beside Satang, fingers brushing, smiles shy but content. "Same time next week... maybe at my place?" he asked, voice tentative but hopeful.

Satang's eyes widened slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "At your place?" he repeated, teasing. "That sounds... cozy. Are you trying to tempt me, William?"

William laughed softly, scratching the back of his neck. "Maybe a little," he admitted. "But... I thought it would be nice. Just us, no distractions. We can talk, listen to music, maybe even cook something... or just hang out."

Satang's grin softened into something warmer, more sincere. "I'd like that," he said quietly. "It sounds... perfect."

Their fingers intertwined naturally as they walked, the simple touch sending small sparks of warmth between them. William felt his heart racing, but in the best way possible—calm, yet full of anticipation.

"I'll make sure it's nice," William murmured, squeezing Satang's hand gently. "You won't regret it."

Satang leaned slightly closer, their shoulders brushing. "I already know I won't," he whispered. "Being with you... feels right. I've been wanting this for a while."

William's chest tightened with emotion. He stopped walking for a moment, turning to face Satang fully. "Me too," he admitted softly. "I like being with you... more than I realized. And I want more—more time, more moments like this, more... us."

Satang smiled, eyes shining, and reached up to brush a strand of hair behind William's ear. "Then it's a date," he said, leaning in closer. "Next week. At your place. Just us."

William leaned down slightly, brushing their foreheads together, savoring the warmth and closeness. "I can't wait," he whispered.

Satang chuckled softly, resting his hand over William's. "Neither can I. You have no idea how happy you make me."

They continued walking side by side, fingers entwined, hearts light and full, knowing that the next week—and every week after—would be theirs to explore together. The city lights reflected in their eyes, but all they could see was each other, and it was more than enough.

The following week, Satang stepped into William's apartment, the scent of home and the faint aroma of dinner filling the air. William opened the door, his heart pounding. Satang stepped inside, a warm smile tugging at his lips, eyes scanning the cozy apartment. "Wow... smells good in here," he murmured, glancing at the kitchen.

"Thanks... I thought we could start with dinner," William replied, voice soft, a nervous flush rising. "Pasta, wine, nothing fancy."

Satang stepped closer, letting their fingers brush briefly. "It's perfect... and the company is better," he teased, letting a slow smirk play on his lips. William's chest tightened at the touch, heat flickering through him.

Dinner was playful, full of small touches and teasing comments. Satang reached for the salt, his fingers grazing William's hand just long enough to make him shiver. "Careful," William whispered, trying to focus on his plate. "You're making it hard to concentrate."

Satang leaned forward, lips near William's ear. "Maybe I want that," he murmured, his breath warm against William's neck. His hand slid subtly over William's thigh, brushing the sensitive skin under the table. William gasped softly, trying to suppress it, but the warmth spreading through him betrayed his arousal.

"You're terrible," William breathed, cheeks flushed.

Satang's smirk widened. "I like seeing how you react... all tense and heated." He let his fingers linger, making William shiver again, hips subtly pressing toward him under the table.

After dinner, they moved to the couch, drinks in hand. Satang's hand brushed against William's as he passed, holding it just a moment longer. William leaned in instinctively, heart racing.

Satang tilted his head, voice low and teasing. "Been thinking about last time... how soft you feel, how you tremble under my touch..."

William shivered, lips parting. "Satang... I can't stop thinking about it either."

Satang chuckled darkly, trailing kisses down William's jawline, neck, and chest. His hand slid lower to William's hip, brushing teasingly, making him arch and whimper. "You get so tense... like you want more."

William gasped, fingers tangling in Satang's hair. "I do... I need... please..."

Satang smirked, brushing his lips over William's ear. "Good... I love hearing you admit it. That sound... it drives me insane." His fingers slid over William's hips, teasing the sensitive skin just beneath the waistband, making him arch instinctively.

"Satang... please... I need you," William whimpered, heat pooling in his stomach.

Satang chuckled darkly, nudging him down gently on the couch. "Need what, baby? Say it. Let me hear how desperate you are."

"I... I need you inside me..." William moaned, hips lifting slightly, trembling.

Satang grinned, sliding him pants down, exposing his skin fully. "Such a greedy little thing... letting me touch you, making all these sounds for me..." His hands teased, kneading, tracing, sending shivers through William's body.

Slowly, deliberately, Satang positioned himself, lips brushing William's shoulder, murmuring, "You feel so tight... so warm... every inch of you... fucking perfect..."

William moaned loudly, hips tilting. "Ah... harder... please..."

Satang thrust in, inch by inch, savoring the feeling. "There it is... so wet, so perfect... I can feel how much you've wanted this..." He pulled back just slightly, teasing, then slid in deeper, dragging a low growl as William arched and gasped.

"Ah... Satang... yes... don't stop..." William's voice shook, hands gripping Satang's arms.

Satang smirked, teasing in a low, rough voice. "So loud... love how desperate you sound... making all these little noises..." He pressed a hand to William's hip, steadying him, while the other stroked along his chest, fingers tracing teasing circles over sensitive spots.

William gasped, tilting his hips, moaning freely. "Ah... can't... can't hold it..."

"Then don't," Satang murmured, thrusting slowly at first, then rolling his hips with deliberate, teasing rhythm. "I want to feel every shiver, every moan, every little tremble."

William shuddered, moaning louder, arching into Satang. "Ah... yes... Satang... I'm gonna..."

"Let it happen... right here... all for me," Satang whispered, voice thick with desire, fingers digging slightly into William's hips, guiding him, controlling the rhythm with teasing precision.

William cried out, body shaking, clinging to Satang as waves of pleasure rolled over him. Satang followed soon after, thrusting deep and slow one final time, holding him close as both trembled, gasping and spent.

Satang kissed William's shoulder and neck softly afterward, murmuring, "You feel incredible... every little sound, every shiver... can't get enough of you..."

William rested against him, chest heaving, flushed. "I love you..."

Satang smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. "I love you too... always."

They stayed wrapped around each other, skin slick and warm, the room filled with the quiet aftermath of lust and tenderness, fingers tracing, soft whispers blending with steady breaths, completely absorbed in each other.

Satang slowly pulled out, letting William catch his breath for a moment, hips still trembling from the intensity. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of William's neck, murmuring, "Shh... easy... just breathe."

William leaned into him, chest heaving, a shaky moan escaping. Satang's hands slid over his back, tracing soothing circles, grounding him. "You did so well... so tight, so responsive..." he whispered, voice low and warm.

Satang reached for a damp towel, softly running it over William's lower body. He took his time, scrubbing carefully and deliberately, making sure every spot was clean. William shivered at the touch, the combination of relief and lingering heat sending waves of warmth through him.

"Feels... good..." William breathed, pressing closer, letting Satang's hands guide him.

Satang pulled him into his lap, cock still warm from their shared pleasure. He wrapped a hand around it gently, stroking slowly as he continued to clean William's bottom, teasing and soothing with equal attention. "Relax... I've got you," he murmured, brushing his lips along William's shoulder.

William's fingers tangled in Satang's hair, leaning forward, moaning softly, hips arching into the touch despite being cleaned. "Satang... don't stop... feels... nice..."

Satang chuckled softly, voice husky. "I'm not going anywhere... just taking care of you." He worked patiently, lingering over every sensitive spot, wiping and massaging gently, letting William feel completely cared for, loved, and grounded after the intensity.

Finally, Satang set the towel aside, pressing a soft kiss to William's temple. "All clean... all good now. Just you, me, and the warmth of this moment." He wrapped William in his arms, letting him rest, hands brushing soothingly over his back and sides.

William sighed, melting into the embrace. "I love you..."

"I love you too," Satang murmured, pressing another tender kiss to his hair. "Every part of you."

They stayed wrapped together, breathing softly, bodies warm and connected, letting the quiet intimacy stretch long into the night.

Chapter Text

I hope you remembered part 1. If now go check it out!!

Khaotung lays on the bed, clutching his bear tight against his chest. His thighs were trembling already, not from anything done yet—but from what First had placed on the nightstand.

The toy gleamed in the morning light, smooth, longer, wider than anything he'd dared before. His lips parted, his breath catching. "D-Daddy... it's... big."

First sat on the edge of the bed, calm and steady, stroking his boy's hair. "It is, sweetheart. Bigger than you've taken. But I'll show you how. We'll do it slow. I won't let you get hurt."

Khaotung bit his lip, cheeks hot with embarrassment. "What if... I can't? What if I'm not good enough?"

First's hand slid under his chin, lifting his face. "Then you will stop. You will take a few deep breathe. And Daddy reminds you—you're already good enough just for trying. Do you trust me?"

His voice cracked but he nodded. "...Yes, Daddy."

The lube was cold at first, then slick and warm under First's careful fingers. He worked him open gently, one finger... then two... stretching, coaxing soft moans out of his boy's throat. Only when Khaotung's body loosened, his toes curling against the sheets, did First bring the toy closer.

"Hold your bear. Breathe for me." His tone was commanding, but his touch was tender. The toy pressed against him, and Khaotung whimpered, nails digging into the plush fur.

It burned at first, the stretch too much, tears pricking his eyes. But First whispered low into his ear, "That's it... you're safe. Open for Daddy." His hand stroked Khaotung's stomach, grounding him.

And slowly—inch by inch—the toy slid deeper. His cry broke into a shaky moan, half pain, half pleasure. His body fought it, then yielded.

"Look at you," First praised, eyes dark with pride. "Taking it. Taking more than you thought you could."

Khaotung's whole body trembled, but his lips curled in the smallest, shyest smile. "F-For you, Daddy... only for you."

"You won't break." First's grip on his cock tightened, stroking faster. "You'll soak around it. That's how I'll know you're ready for more."

The humiliation, the pride, the stretch it all crashed together inside him. His moans turned desperate, needy, the bear muffling some but not all. His legs shook violently as the pleasure mounted, each pulse of First's hand making the toy shift inside him.

"Cum for me, baby. Show me you can take it."

Khaotung's head fell back, mouth open in a silent scream before the sound tore out of him. His whole body convulsed, cum spilling hot over First's hand as his hole clenched around the toy still lodged deep.

He collapsed against the sheets, shivering, whimpering through aftershocks. The toy was still inside him, stretching him open, but instead of panic, a strange calm washed over him. He'd done it.

First kissed his temple, stroking his hair. "That's my boy. You held it. You came around it. Next time... we'll go bigger."

Khaotung buried his face in the bear, flushed and trembling, but a faint smile curved his lips. "Anything for you, Daddy."

Khaotung thought it was over. His body was still trembling, slick with sweat, hole quivering around the toy that had milked his orgasm out of him. He thought First would finally pull it free and let him rest.

But instead, First slipped off the bed and crossed to a black chest at the corner of the room. The sound of the latch clicking open sent chills racing down Khaotung's spine.

"Daddy...?" he whispered, hugging his bear tighter.

First turned, and in his hands was something Khaotung had never seen before—longer than the toy inside him, curved, with ridges along its length, almost inhuman. The faint shimmer of dark purple glowed along its edges as though it pulsed with its own heartbeat.

Khaotung's eyes widened. "T-That's not... you can't—"

"Oh, but I can." First's lips curved in a cruel smile as he climbed back onto the bed. He held the strange object against Khaotung's cheek, letting him feel the cool, slick surface. "This isn't just a toy. It's a test. A fantasy. You want to be mine fully? Then you take what I give you."

The ridges teased down his throat, over his chest, until First pressed it against the toy already buried deep inside him.

"Open."

Khaotung's body tensed. Tears welled again, but he parted his thighs obediently. First pulled the bigger toy out slowly—stretch dragging along every nerve until Khaotung gasped. The moment it slipped free, First replaced it with the monstrous, ridged length, pushing just the tip against his twitching hole.

It was bigger. Unnatural. Wrong. Yet his body, still slick and loosened, yielded just enough for it to press inside.

Khaotung screamed into his bear, half terror, half raw, trembling pleasure. "Daddy, it's—oh God, it's splitting me—"

First stroked his hair, voice calm, almost tender. "No, baby. It's stretching you. It's making you ready. Don't you see? You're not just my boy anymore. You're becoming my BIG BOY that can handle more and more."

The object slid deeper, the ridges scraping every hidden nerve. Khaotung thrashed, hips lifting, cock hard again despite the tears spilling down his cheeks.

The glowing toy pulsed inside him like it was alive, and he sobbed, broken. "I can't—ahhh—Daddy, it's too much—it's filling me—"

First bent low, lips brushing his ear. "Good. Let it. You'll never be the same after this."

And with one hard thrust, the toy buried to the hilt inside him, locking him wide open.

Khaotung's scream shattered into sobs as his entire body shook, cum spilling untouched across his stomach—his body cumming violently from the brutal stretch alone.

Khaotung's body shook as the monstrous toy, dragging every ridge against his raw, stretched him. He gasped, sobbing into his bear, his thighs trembling so violently he thought they might snap.

"It hurts so much..." he whimpered, tears streaking his cheeks.

First's expression softened. He cupped Khaotung's jaw, forcing him to look up. For the first time tonight, there was a shadow of regret in his eyes. He kissed Khaotung's wet lashes tenderly.

"I know, baby. I'm so sorry," First whispered against his skin. He stroked his hair, kissing his temple as he set the glowing toy aside. "If you're not ready for that, it's okay. You don't have to take it."

Khaotung blinked at him, trembling, chest rising and falling. "R-Really?"

"Yes." First's fingers slid slowly down his chest, over his stomach, until they reached his swollen, twitching entrance. He circled it gently, dipping just the tip of one finger inside, feeling how loose yet sore he was. "We can stop. Or..." He smirked faintly, brushing their lips together. "...you can show me how you play with yourself when you think of me. Let me see how my baby makes himself ready."

Khaotung's face flushed hot, shame and arousal tangled together. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, clutching the bear tighter.

"D-Daddy..." he whispered, glancing at First's eyes, dark and steady on him. "...you want me to...?"

First nodded, slipping his hand away but keeping his body close, his voice velvet. "Yes, baby. Show me. Show me the way you prepare yourself for me when you're all alone. Then I'll take over with my fingers. I'll be gentle. I promise."

Khaotung bit his lip, torn between humiliation and the aching need still burning in him. Slowly, hesitantly, he slid one hand down between his thighs...

Khaotung's fingers trembled as they brushed over his own sore rim, the skin still glistening from tears, spit, and lube. His thighs shook as he spread them wider, lifting the bear against his chest like a shield.

He peeked up at First, face scarlet. "D-don't... stare too much..."

First smirked, leaning back just enough to take in the full view. "Baby, I'm not missing a second. You're beautiful like this."

Khaotung whimpered, pressing the tip of one finger inside himself. His walls clenched, still tender, but he forced it deeper, biting down on the bear's ear to muffle a cry. His stomach tightened, thighs trembling as he worked another finger in.

"F-First..." he gasped, hips jerking at the intrusion. "It's... ahh... embarrassing..."

"Keep going." First's voice dropped, firm but coaxing. His eyes never left the obscene way Khaotung's own hand moved between his legs. "Show me how my baby opens up for me when I'm not here. Let me see how greedy you really are."

Khaotung moaned, pushing his fingers deeper, curling them the way he always did alone. His toes curled against the sheets, his body writhing, every sound spilling out without filter.

First's cock twitched painfully hard at the sight, veins standing out as he stroked himself lazily. He leaned closer, lips brushing Khaotung's ear.

"Good boy," he whispered darkly. "You're so wet, so stretched... but that's enough."

Before Khaotung could protest, First caught his wrist, pulling his trembling hand away from his hole. He brought those slick fingers to Khaotung's lips, smearing them across his mouth before pushing them in.

"Clean yourself, baby. Taste what I'll be inside later."

Khaotung's eyes went wide, but he obeyed, sucking his own fingers while First slid two of his much thicker fingers inside his hole in one smooth push. The younger boy's back arched, muffled cries spilling around his knuckles as First fingered him deep, stretching him deliberately slow.

"See?" First murmured against his temple, thrusting his fingers harder until the wet sounds filled the room. "Daddy's touch feels better than your own, doesn't it?"

Khaotung's moan broke into a sob, legs clenching around First's arm as his body gave in to the overwhelming sensation.

"Can daddy take you now, baby?" First asked as he stroked himself slowly, Pressing his thumb over each poke out veins, as he moved forwards towards Khaotung and gently pressed his precum tip over Khaotung's twitching hole. "Daddy's going to take you now. Slowly. Carefully. You trust me, don't you?"

Khaotung nodded frantically, clutching the bear to his chest. "...Yes... Daddy... please..."

First pressed the head of his cock against Khaotung's entrance, teasing, dragging just the tip along the sensitive, overstimulated rim. Khaotung gasped, hips jerking. "It... it's so big—ahh—"

"Shh... I know, baby," First soothed, stroking his hair. "I'll go slow. Just relax... breathe for me."

With a gentle push, First slid inside him, inch by inch. Khaotung cried out, thighs shaking, back arching off the bed. The stretch was exquisite and overwhelming, but he trusted First to guide him.

"You're doing so well," First whispered, hips tilting just slightly to adjust. "So tight... so perfect... mine."

Khaotung moaned, wrapping tiny arms around First's neck, burying his face against him as the older man held him steady. Each thrust was measured, slow, letting Khaotung adjust while filling him completely. His walls clenched instinctively around First, trembling in need.

"Feel it, baby? That's Daddy, inside you," First murmured. "Every inch... every pulse... all yours. You like it, don't you?"

"Y-Yes... Daddy... please... more..." Khaotung gasped, hips lifting into the slow thrusts, body quivering from the intense pleasure and overstretching.

First's hand moved to stroke his cock in rhythm with his hips, watching him arch, whimper, and shake. "Good boy... taking it so well... you're so greedy for me... so mine."

Every measured thrust pushed Khaotung closer to the edge. His breath came in ragged gasps, back arching violently, cock hard and leaking, walls pulsing around First as he whispered, "Cum for me, baby... cum around Daddy..."

Khaotung's cry shattered into sobs, body trembling violently as orgasm tore through him, stretching and pulsing around First fully. The older man held him through it, hips still moving slowly, until every tremor settled.

Finally, First leaned down, pressing his lips to Khaotung's temple. "That's it... my perfect baby. All of you... mine. You did so well."

Khaotung collapsed against him, shivering, flushed, utterly spent but safe in First's arms. "...Daddy..." he whispered, voice tiny.

The storm of pleasure had passed. Khaotung lay curled in First's arms, cheeks still flushed, tiny breaths shuddering against the soft blanket. The pacifier had been replaced with his favorite plush, Mr. Boba tucked snugly beside him.

First gently stroked his hair, eyes scanning the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Then, with a mischievous smirk, he let his hand drift down under the blanket, teasing the edge of Khaotung's thighs. The boy whimpered softly, nuzzling closer, but didn't pull away.

"Shh... we're just watching cartoons now," First murmured, voice low and velvet-dark, fingers playing lightly beneath the blanket. "You can relax, baby. Just enjoy it with me."

Khaotung's eyes stayed wide on the colorful screen, small squeaks and laughter spilling out as the animated characters tumbled around. First leaned back slightly, one hand still wandering under the blanket, the other draped possessively over Khaotung's tiny frame.

The warmth of the touch, the lingering ache from before, made Khaotung squirm softly, hips twitching under the covers. Every so often, First would nudge him gently, brushing fingertips teasingly, reminding him that the connection wasn't over yet.

"See?" First whispered, voice low and teasing. "Even during cartoons... I still get to hold you... still get to touch my baby. You like that, don't you?"

Khaotung's small gasp and tiny nod were all the answer First needed. He let the hand wander slowly, barely-there strokes, enough to make Khaotung flush and giggle quietly, all while keeping his gaze on the bright, animated chaos on the screen.

They stayed like that for a while—Khaotung half-distracted by the cartoon, half-melting under First's teasing fingers—soft aftercare blending into subtle, lingering erotic tension, the golden glow of the screen reflecting off flushed cheeks and quiet sighs.

Chapter Text

"Okay! This one was requested! But seriously—why did no one tell me Joss is this hot?! Like, mannnn! 😭🔥 And Gawin?! Those two are absolutely destroying my sanity right now. I swear, they make me want to write the naughtiest stories ever..."

Gawin never imagined desperation would drag him here—standing at the gates of the Phuchayont family mansion, wearing a suit that felt too tight in all the wrong places, hand in hand with a man who wasn't his lover. His chest thumped nervously. Every step closer made him question his sanity, his dignity, and how badly he needed the money.

"Relax," Joss murmured, squeezing his hand. His thumb brushed over Gawin's knuckles with a casual intimacy that made the younger man's stomach twist. "You just have to smile, answer their questions, and make them believe we're hopelessly in love."

"And you'll pay me after?" Gawin asked, voice clipped and tight. Rent was overdue, the fridge nearly empty, and this was the only reason he'd agreed to such madness.

Joss smirked, his teeth flashing. "Of course. But if you impress them, maybe I'll even give you a bonus."

Gawin rolled his eyes. "I'm not here for tips."

The mansion doors opened, and suddenly all eyes fell on them. Joss's extended family sat around a long, lavish dining table, jewelry glinting under the chandelier, glasses clinking softly. Whispers rose as the "boyfriend" finally made his entrance. Gawin forced a polite smile, trying to quell the nervous flutter in his chest.

Dinner

"So this is him," Joss's aunt said, sharp eyes sweeping over Gawin. "The mysterious boyfriend we've heard so much about."

"Yes," Joss said smoothly, pulling out a chair for Gawin. "This is Gawin. My other half."

Gawin's stomach twisted at the words. Other half. He forced a soft smile, bowing politely before sitting. The room seemed to shrink as the questions came—rapid, probing, endless.

"How did you two meet?"
"What does he cook for you?"
"Does he know your bad habits?"

Joss expected hesitation, but Gawin answered with surprising warmth, leaning into Joss's shoulder, teasing him lightly about snoring and leaving dishes in the sink. Laughter rippled through the table. Joss blinked, slightly disarmed by how natural it sounded.

But not everyone was convinced. One uncle leaned back, smirking. "People pretend all the time. How do we know this isn't just another show?"

The room quieted. Gawin's chest tightened.

Then came the fatal line from Joss's aunt: "If it's real, prove it. A kiss should be easy enough for lovers."

A chorus of chuckles followed. Joss froze for a split second, then grabbed Gawin's wrist, yanking him up.

Behind the curtains

The velvet drapes fell heavy around them, swallowing the light but not the sound. Laughter still echoed outside; the family waited.

Joss pressed close behind him, lips brushing Gawin's ear. "They'll only see our shadows," he whispered, dark and dangerous. "Make sure they hear you instead."

"Y-you're insane—" Gawin began, but his protest dissolved into a gasp as Joss shoved him against the wall, claiming his mouth. The kiss was scorching, devouring, tongue forcing its way into every corner of his lips, swallowing every whimper.

Joss's hand slid down, gripping Gawin's ass, before dipping lower. Two thick fingers plunged inside him, stretching him raw.

"Joss—ahhh!"

The sharp cry tore from Gawin. Outside, muffled chatter stilled, replaced by an uneasy silence.

"Good boy," Joss murmured, teeth grazing his throat. "Louder. Let them know you want this."

His fingers pumped mercilessly, dragging every wet, desperate noise from Gawin. The younger man clung to Joss's jacket, nails digging in, trying to stay quiet, but the sounds spilled out anyway.

Joss's low growl vibrated against him. "No biting your lip. I want them to hear you break."

"P-please..." Gawin whispered, trembling.

"Please what?" Joss taunted, curling his fingers until Gawin gasped. "Please stop? Or please more?"

Another desperate cry tore free. On the other side of the curtain, the family was deathly still. Only the faint clatter of cutlery betrayed their rapt attention.

Joss smirked against his neck. "Perfect. They're watching our shadows. They can see the way I'm bending you open."

He yanked Gawin's trousers just low enough, turned him, pressing close, grinding against his bare ass. His other hand completely covered Gawin's cock, keeping it hidden from the light.

"No one sees this but me," Joss whispered. "Your cock stays hidden, but your body shows everything else."

Gawin whimpered.

Joss pushed inside him in one harsh thrust. Gawin's cry tore through the silence.

"Fuck—so tight," Joss hissed, driving deeper. "Stay loud. Let them hear how good you take me."

The shadows on the curtain moved—the unmistakable outline of Joss pinning Gawin to the wall, their bodies fused together.

"Joss—ahhh! I-I can't—"

"Yes, you can," Joss growled. "Cry for me. Let my whole family hear how well you take me."

Each thrust slammed Gawin harder into the wall. His cries grew sharper, spilling uncontrollably. The sound was obscene—wet, choked moans, skin slapping skin, Joss's low curses whispering along his ear.

Outside, the family shifted, coughed, but no one interrupted.

"Say it. Say it loud," Joss demanded.

"I-I'm yours—ahhh, Joss! I'm yours!"

The table fell silent.

Deep inside

Joss held him tight, cock buried deep, hand squeezing over Gawin to keep the outline hidden. "Shh... moan louder. Let them hear every sound."

Gawin's body trembled, legs shaking. "F-feels so—ahh—good—"

"Yes... just like that," Joss groaned, hips snapping harder. "Don't hold back. Cry for me. Let them hear how much you love me inside you."

Gawin's moans spilled freely, raw and desperate. Outside, the family shifted, some covering mouths, others frozen with disbelief, but the sounds of his surrender were undeniable.

"You feel so perfect," Joss whispered, voice low and rough. "So tight... so wet. Take it all. Let them hear."

Gawin's orgasm ripped through him. Joss groaned, holding him close, whispering in his ear, fingers curling mercilessly inside him.

Aftermath

The curtains swayed faintly. Joss pulled out, sticky and slick, letting a few drops trail down before pressing Gawin forward enough so the evidence was visible.

Outside, the family leaned slightly. Joss gestured subtly; the proof was undeniable. The parents nodded and quietly left. The door clicked shut. Silence enveloped the room.

Gawin sank to the floor, shivering, face buried in his hands. The act had been public in sound and now in evidence. Humiliation flooded every nerve.

Joss crouched beside him. "I'm... sorry," he murmured. "I didn't want it to go this far."

Gawin sniffed. "It's... okay. You don't need to pay me."

Joss frowned, then walked to get his wallet. "I still want to," he said softly.

"No... really. It's fine. You've already—ahh—done enough," Gawin whispered.

Joss knelt again, hand on Gawin's shoulder. "I'm sorry. For everything. I'll make sure nothing like this ever hurts you again."

Gawin leaned back slightly, letting himself be held, shivering. His sobs slowed, but humiliation remained, raw and unrelenting.

When Joss left the mansion, he didn't look back. Gawin never saw him again.

The memory of that night stayed with him—the cries, the exposure, the evidence—but it was theirs alone. A dark, private scar. And though the act had been done for money, and the humiliation had been intense, it was over.

They had parted forever, each left with the echo of what had been, and the bitter sting of a night that would never be repeated.

5 years later....

Gawin sat at the edge of his small apartment bed, hands wrapped around a mug of lukewarm coffee, staring at the city skyline through the window. Five years had passed since that night at the Phuchayont mansion, yet every memory of it still clung to him like a shadow. He had moved cities, changed jobs, tried to rebuild the scraps of his pride, but the humiliation—the way he had been stripped bare, exposed for money and for someone else's amusement—still echoed in his mind.

He shivered involuntarily, recalling the muffled gasps, the feel of Joss pressing him into the wall, the velvet curtains hiding only light but never sound. Even now, he could feel the pressure of Joss's hands, the sharp thrusts, the possessive grip that had marked him completely.

He had never heard from Joss again. No payment, no apology beyond that night, no contact. And part of him was relieved—another part still longed for some sort of acknowledgment, some human recognition that the humiliation hadn't gone unnoticed by the man who had orchestrated it.

Gawin's phone buzzed on the table, breaking his reverie. A message from a client—a mundane, work-related text—yet his chest tightened. Every vibration brought a flash of memory: whispers, thrusts, the sound of his own desperate moans. He clenched his jaw, trying to breathe past the embarrassment that never truly left him.

He had learned to hide it. On the outside, he was composed, successful even. People never guessed that beneath his polished smile, his nervous ticks, was a scar left by one night of complete exposure. He often wondered how Joss had fared—whether he remembered at all, whether he even thought of Gawin, or if it had all been just business, just another thrill.

And then one day, completely by accident, he heard the name—Joss.

It was in a casual conversation at a café. Someone mentioned the Phuchayont family, their wealth, their infamous charm—and Gawin froze mid-sip. His heart slammed against his ribs, mind spiraling back to the apartment-sized mansion, the velvet curtains, the shadows on the wall, and the cries that had left him trembling and exposed.

He clenched his fists, feeling that old shame, that old panic, rise unbidden. Five years, and yet it was as vivid as the day it happened. His body reacted before his mind could calm it—sweat prickling his skin, muscles tensing, the ghost of Joss's touch pressing him against some invisible wall.

Gawin shook his head violently, trying to push the memory away, but the echo of that night—the humiliation, the forced cries, the proof shown to the family—refused to leave. He realized something bitterly: part of him would always be tethered to that night. To Joss. To the act itself.

And yet, the thought of ever seeing him again filled him with a cold, quiet dread. He had spent years building a life where that vulnerability would never surface, where no one would ever hold power over him like that again. If Joss appeared, even in passing, even just a shadow in the street, Gawin knew he would crumble.

He took a shaky breath, setting his coffee aside. The past was his to carry. The night had left him scarred, yes, but it had also left him alive, aware of his own resilience. He would never forget, never forgive fully, and certainly never meet Joss again. That chapter was closed, sealed with humiliation, silence, and the irrevocable echo of his desperate moans hidden behind velvet curtains.

Gawin leaned back, closing his eyes, letting the memory wash over him one last time, a bitter ache he would carry forever. And when he opened them again, the skyline gleamed in indifferent light. Life continued. He survived. He had survived.

The cool morning air hit Gawin as he jogged down the familiar park path, the rhythm of his feet against the pavement grounding him. The running club had become his escape—five years of careful rebuilding, of a life where he controlled the pace, the scenery, and most importantly, his own boundaries.

He rounded a bend, breath even, heart steady from the exercise—not that it mattered. Not until he saw him.

Joss.

Leaning casually against a tree, stretching his long limbs, with that infuriating smirk that had haunted Gawin for years. Time had sharpened him, made him taller, broader, but that same dangerous, magnetic presence remained.

Gawin's chest tightened. Every memory, every humiliation, every moan from that cursed night came rushing back. The velvet curtains, the shadows, the exposure—it was all alive again, pounding against him as he skidded to a stop.

"Gawin," Joss said, voice low but smooth, eyes locking on him. "It's been... a long time."

Gawin clenched his fists, forcing his breathing to steady. "Five years," he managed, voice taut, trembling slightly despite his effort to mask it. "Five long years."

Joss's grin widened, predatory but calm. "And yet, here you are. Running like you've got everything under control." He stepped closer, slow, measured, dangerous. "Do you?"

Gawin's jaw tightened. "I do. I... I've built a life where you can't touch me anymore. Where nothing like... that night... can happen again."

Joss's eyes darkened, but he didn't push. Not yet. "I never forgot you," he murmured. "I wondered if you ever thought about me."

Gawin exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I think about the consequences, not you."

The words landed heavier than he expected. Joss tilted his head, curiosity and something darker gleaming in his gaze. "Consequences?"

Gawin's throat tightened. He had carried a secret for years. A secret that had marked him even deeper than that night ever had. "I... I went on an abortion," he said quietly, almost to himself. His eyes locked on Joss's, finally letting the weight of the confession out. "I was carrying your child... and I didn't want it."

The words struck the air between them like lightning. Joss's expression flickered—first surprise, then something unreadable, something cold and almost... calculating.

"You... what?" Joss's voice was quiet, but sharp, cutting through the morning air like a knife.

Gawin's chest heaved. "I couldn't. I wouldn't. That... that night was already enough. I wasn't going to let that... happen again, permanently. I made my choice."

Joss stepped closer, close enough that Gawin could feel the heat radiating from him. "You... you aborted it?" His voice was a low growl, a mix of disbelief and something that Gawin couldn't quite name.

"Yes," Gawin said firmly, voice shaking slightly, heart hammering. "I didn't want it. I'm done with you, with that night, with everything you dragged me into. I'm done."

Joss studied him, eyes dark, unreadable, before finally giving a slow, deliberate nod. "I see," he said softly, almost too calmly. "You made your choice."

Gawin exhaled, a mix of relief and lingering tension flooding him. "And now... let me run. Let me finish this morning without... without everything falling apart."

Joss smirked faintly, stepping back, watching him carefully. "Five years, and you've changed," he murmured. "But some things... they never leave."

Gawin didn't respond. He started running again, legs pumping, lungs burning, and for the first time in years, he let himself focus only on the rhythm of his feet against the path. The shadow of Joss lingered, yes—but the decision, the choice, the autonomy—that was his. He ran harder, faster, leaving the ghost of that night—and the life he refused to share—behind him.

"Stop!" Gawin finally snapped, voice cracking with pent-up rage and heartbreak. "Why... why did you—why did you make me do it? Why did you... why did you let me... abort our baby?"

Joss's eyes flickered, a mix of surprise and something darker, unreadable. "Gawin..." he started, voice low.

"No!" Gawin barked, cutting him off. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles whitened. "No, you don't get to say anything. You don't get to soften this. Because of your family!" His voice broke, the weight of years of fear and humiliation spilling out all at once.

"My life—everything before I met you—everything I built—your family, your expectations—they scared me," Gawin continued, stepping closer despite the fear coiling in his stomach. "They looked at me like I wasn't enough, like I had to be perfect to fit in your world. I couldn't—couldn't risk... my future, my life, for something I didn't want. For someone like you."

Joss's mouth opened, but no words came. His gaze was sharp, almost assessing, but Gawin didn't care. The pent-up emotion that had been building since that cursed night—since the velvet curtains, the shadows, the humiliation, the undeniable proof laid bare before the family—boiled over.

"I gave you my body," Gawin spat, voice trembling. "I gave you everything that night, and you didn't even care what it did to me afterward. And then you left. You just... left!"

Joss stepped closer, dangerously calm. "I didn't leave because I didn't care," he said, low and measured. "I left because I knew you'd hate me if I stayed. You were... scared. And you were right. That night... it was wrong. But I—"

"Wrong?!" Gawin shouted, voice cracking. Tears blurred his vision. "You call leaving me like that wrong? You call watching me humiliate myself, cry, give myself to you for your family... wrong?!"

Joss flinched slightly under the intensity, but he didn't break. "It was... necessary then," he said softly, almost pleading. "For your safety. For both of us. I never wanted to hurt you like that, Gawin."

"Necessary?" Gawin echoed bitterly, shaking his head. "You call a night where I was exposed, used, and forced into... that... necessary?!" His voice dropped, almost a whisper. "I carried your child. And I made the choice because I couldn't... I wouldn't let it happen. Not with you, not with your family, not with anyone."

Joss's expression softened, but his eyes still held that dangerous intensity. "You didn't want it," he murmured. "I see that now. And... I wish I could've stopped it. I wish I—"

"No," Gawin interrupted, voice harsh, trembling. "You can't. You left me. You made me face it alone. My life, my future, my choices—you think they were yours to decide?!"

The wind rustled around them, carrying away the echoes of their shouted truths. Both of them stood frozen, breaths ragged, eyes locked. Joss's hand twitched, as if to reach for him, to apologize, to touch—but he didn't.

Gawin shook his head, tears streaming freely now. "I survived that night. I survived you. I survived your family. And I will survive the thought of you forever, but... I don't want you in my life ever again. Do you understand me?"

Joss's jaw tightened. He gave a slow, deliberate nod, the smirk gone, replaced by something unreadable—regret, maybe, or acceptance. "I... understand," he said finally. "Five years... and nothing has changed. You're still... you."

Gawin turned away, forcing his legs to move, forcing his heart to slow. "Then stay gone," he said quietly, voice firm despite the trembling of his body. "Forever."

"Come with me," Joss said quietly, voice low but insistent. Without waiting for Gawin to respond, he took Gawin's hand, guiding him toward a sleek, black car parked nearby. The city morning reflected off its polished surface. This wasn't the mansion. This was new—modern, minimal, carefully curated. It had nothing to do with velvet curtains, shadows, or humiliation.

Gawin hesitated, chest tight, mind spinning with memories. "J-Joss... I..."

"Please," Joss interrupted, his hand gentle at the small of Gawin's back as he opened the car door for him. "Just come inside. I want to talk. No one else. No family. Just us."

The warmth of Joss's presence was intoxicating, dangerous, familiar. Gawin felt a rush of conflicting emotions—desire, fear, guilt—but something in the calm authority of Joss's voice made him nod, weakly but decisively.

Inside, the house was bright, modern, and quiet. The living room smelled faintly of coffee and clean wood. Joss led him to a low couch, gesturing for him to sit. Gawin sank into it, hands twisting nervously in his lap.

"I've changed," Joss said, settling beside him, his eyes never leaving Gawin's face. "I don't... I don't talk with my family anymore. None of them. They don't matter to me now. You, Gawin... that's what matters."

Gawin's throat tightened. Memories of the Phuchayont mansion—the velvet curtains, the shadows, the exposure—flashed vividly in his mind. "I... I liked you," he whispered, voice barely audible, raw with honesty. "I liked you so much. But your family... I couldn't stand them. I couldn't stand the pressure, the expectations... everything they demanded of me. I wanted to be with you, but I couldn't survive them."

Joss's hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from Gawin's face, thumb lingering. "I know," he murmured. "I was an idiot. I let them have power over you... over us. But that's gone now. None of them touch me, and they certainly won't touch you."

Gawin's eyes brimmed with tears he didn't bother to hide. "It's not just the night," he said, voice quivering. "It's everything... your family, the humiliation, being forced... I thought I'd never be able to face you again without... without..." His words faltered.

"Without feeling all of it?" Joss finished gently. "I know. I can't erase it. I can't take back what happened. But I can promise you this—I don't want anyone controlling you, hurting you, or pressuring you. Especially not me. You're free of that now."

Gawin swallowed hard, trying to steady his racing heart. The old desire, the old shame, the longing—all tangled together, but something had shifted. Here, in this quiet modern living room, there was no velvet curtain, no witnesses, no proof. Just Joss. Just them.

"I wanted you... then, and I still do," Joss said softly, his hand sliding over Gawin's trembling fingers, holding them gently. "And this time, it's only us. No family, no rules, no obligations. Just us, if you want."

Gawin's chest heaved. "I... I want you," he whispered, voice trembling. "But I... I need it to be... only us. I can't... I can't handle anyone else knowing. Ever again."

Joss smiled faintly, leaning closer. "Then it will just be us. I promise. No one will ever see us like that again. You're safe with me."

For the first time in years, Gawin felt the tension in his body ease just slightly. The shadows of that night still lingered, but for the first time, he could breathe, knowing that the past couldn't reach him here. And as Joss's hand stayed warm over his, Gawin realized—maybe, just maybe—they could start over.

The living room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside. Gawin sat close to Joss, his hands trembling slightly as he finally let his voice break through the years of tension.

"I... I miss you," he whispered, barely audible, eyes dropping to his hands. "I miss everything... and I really wanted to have that baby."

Joss's chest tightened. He opened his mouth, but no words came at first. Gawin's gaze flicked up, brimming with tears, and the next words hit like a punch.

"I lied," Gawin admitted, voice cracking. "I didn't abort it. I... I just... I wanted you to feel worse. To know how much you... you hurt me. And I'm sorry... so, so sorry."

Joss stayed quiet, his jaw tight, staring at Gawin as if trying to read every shadow of truth and pain in his face. The confession hung heavy in the air, thick and suffocating, yet somehow fragile, like it might shatter at any moment.

Gawin swallowed hard, heart pounding. "I... I couldn't tell you before. I couldn't... I was scared. But now... I had to be honest. Even if it... even if it ruins everything."

The room held its breath. Joss's expression softened imperceptibly, his hands hovering near Gawin, unsure if he should touch him or stay back. Finally, he spoke, voice low and raw.

"Gawin..." he murmured, "you... you carried it?" His hand finally brushed against Gawin's, fingers entwining with his trembling ones. "All this time... you carried it?"

"Yes," Gawin whispered, leaning closer. "I... I wanted to make you feel it. The guilt, the regret. I wanted... I just wanted you to understand how much it hurt me to lose... to lose something that could have been ours."

Joss's hand cupped Gawin's cheek, thumb brushing along the curve of his jaw. His eyes, dark and intense, held Gawin captive. "You... you're insane," he said softly, almost a growl, but there was no anger—only a raw, aching intensity.

Gawin's lips trembled, his chest tight. "I... I know. I'm sorry. I just... I miss you. I... I still want... I want us. I want... another one. I know it's crazy..." His voice faltered, almost breaking. "...but what if we... made another one?"

The words hung between them like a challenge and a promise, heavy and potent. Joss stayed quiet for a long, unbearable moment, his gaze never leaving Gawin's. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead against Gawin's.

"Another one?" he murmured, voice thick with emotion. "You're serious?"

Gawin nodded, eyes shining with hope and fear. "Yes... I am. I want to try again. With you. Only with you. I... I want to make it right this time. I want to... fix what we lost."

Joss's hand moved from Gawin's cheek to his shoulder, pulling him into a firm embrace. "God," he whispered, voice raw, "you're unbelievable... and I... I still want it too. I still want you. And if this is what it takes—then yes. We'll try again. Together."

Gawin let out a shaky breath, tears spilling freely, relief and longing mingling in a heady rush. For the first time in years, he felt hope—tentative, fragile, but real.

Joss tightened the hold, pressing Gawin against him, whispering low against his temple. "This time... we do it right. No one else, no pressure, no shadows. Just us. We'll make it ours."

Gawin nodded, heart pounding, feeling the weight of the past finally ease slightly. And in that quiet living room, with only the two of them, the possibility of a new beginning, of another chance, shimmered—tentative, fragile, and full of hope.

Chapter Text

The boardroom was too quiet for what Santa had brought in his briefcase.

Perth sat at the head of the glass table, suit jacket undone just enough to show he wasn't in a hurry. "You said you wanted sponsorship," he said, voice smooth. "Convince me."

Santa swallowed and pulled out the sleek black box. "Our company makes... intimacy devices. We're small, but with your name—"

Perth leaned forward, eyes amused. "You're selling pleasure, but you sound like you're reading a manual."

Santa blinked. "I—uh—this is the new model. Heated, remote-controlled—"

"Have you used it?"

The question cut through the air. Santa froze. "E-excuse me?"

Perth smiled faintly. "If you don't know what it does to you, how do you expect to sell it to anyone else?" His tone wasn't cruel; it was lazy, confident, too knowing. "I invest in conviction, not theory."

Santa's heartbeat stumbled. "You mean—try it?"

"I mean understand it," Perth said, standing. He walked around the table, the scent of expensive cologne following him. "Know the product. Feel it. You don't have to perform for me—but you should at least know what you're offering the world."

Santa's breath hitched as Perth stopped behind him, voice low. "That's my advice, Mr Santa. Don't pitch pleasure like a stranger. Learn it first."

Perth moved away again, leaving Santa staring at the black box, pulse still racing.

 

Santa tried to keep his voice steady. "I assure you, sir, our testers already—"

Perth raised a hand, cutting him off without looking away. "Testers aren't sellers, Mr Santa."

He took the sample box from the table, turning it slowly in his palm. The lights from the city shimmered against the glass walls behind him. "I don't need a brochure," he said, thumb brushing the edge of the package. "I need someone who knows what they're putting their name behind."

Santa shifted, unsure whether to defend himself or stay quiet.

Perth looked up then, eyes sharp. "Come back when you've tried it yourself," he said. "I invest only in products—and people—that speak from experience."

The words landed heavier than they should have.

Santa opened his mouth, then closed it again, his face burning as Perth's gaze held him for a beat longer than necessary.

Perth smiled faintly, slipping the box back onto the table. "You'll find my office door open once you've done your... research."

The pause around that last word made Santa's stomach twist.

"Dismissed, Mr Santa."

He left the building with the box still clutched in his hands, unsure whether he'd just been challenged, humiliated, or invited into something else entirely.

Santa stormed out of Thanawat Holdings, cheeks burning all the way to his ears.

"Try it yourself," he mimicked under his breath, marching toward the elevator. "Easy for you to say, Mr Perfect CEO."

He jabbed the button for the ground floor. The doors slid shut, and he slumped against the mirrored wall, exhaling sharply.

The truth stung more than he wanted to admit—he'd never tried any of the toys his company sold. Not one. He'd inherited the business straight from his great-grandfather, who'd founded Velvet Joy in the sixties when things were a lot more... discreet. Santa had spent his entire career keeping it polished, respectable, and safely hands-off.

Until that man told him otherwise.

"Come back when you've tried it yourself," Perth had said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Santa groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Sure, just pop one in like it's a vitamin," he muttered, glaring at his reflection.

Still... a small, unwelcome curiosity flickered at the back of his mind.

What if Perth was right? What if he really didn't understand his own product the way he thought he did?

He shook his head, trying to brush away the thought, but it lingered—along with the memory of the CEO's calm, commanding voice.

By the time he reached his apartment, the box of samples felt heavier than gold.

Santa dropped his keys on the counter, toeing off his shoes with a groan. The city skyline glowed outside his window, pink and gold against the fading evening. He stared at it for a moment, then at the innocent-looking white box sitting on his table.

Velvet Joy — Bringing Love to Life.
The slogan smiled back at him like it was mocking him.

He sighed and plopped onto the couch, running a hand through his messy hair. "This is ridiculous," he muttered. "I design packaging, manage budgets, attend trade fairs. I don't... test things."

But then Perth's voice echoed again in his mind — calm, sharp, with that infuriating smirk:

"If you don't know how it works, you don't know how to sell it."

Santa groaned aloud, burying his face in a pillow. "Why does he have to sound like he's always right?"

The box sat there, patient and silent.

After several long minutes (and a glass of wine for courage), Santa sat up and reached for it. His fingers hesitated on the lid. He glanced around his empty apartment as if expecting someone to burst in and catch him.

"Okay," he whispered to himself. "For science. For marketing. For business reasons."

He peeled open the box. Inside, nestled in velvet, was the infamous Vibratron 3000. Sleek. Shiny. Absolutely terrifying.

Santa blinked. "This is going to kill me."

Still, curiosity tugged at him stronger than fear. He turned it over in his hands, tracing the polished edges, testing the switch. A soft hum filled the air, low and steady. It vibrated faintly against his palm, making his pulse skip.

He turned it off immediately, heart pounding.

"...Nope." He pushed it away, standing abruptly. "Nope nope nope. I'm not doing this."

He started to walk toward the kitchen—then stopped. His reflection in the dark window caught his eye. Flushed cheeks. Slightly parted lips. Eyes still curious despite the nerves.

He bit his lower lip, groaned softly, and turned back toward the box.

"Fine," he muttered, grabbing it again. "But if I die, it's Perth's fault."

Santa swallowed hard, gripping the device tightly. His fingers traced over the smooth surface, testing the buttons, the weight, the hum of the motor. The vibration buzzed faintly in his palm, startling him, and he let out a small, embarrassed gasp.

This is... not what I expected, he thought, cheeks flushing. It's... actually kind of impressive.

He took a shaky breath, trying to focus. Every movement was deliberate. Every sense heightened. He was learning, exploring, understanding—exactly what Perth had demanded.

He let out a shaky breath and tugged his pants and boxers down slightly, just enough to feel... exposed. His heartbeat thumped in his chest.

Santa's hands shook as he reached into the box, fingers brushing the small bottle of lube that came as a freebie with the toy. He stared at it for a long moment, cheeks burning.

"Okay... this is just... for testing," he muttered to himself, as if saying it enough would make it true. He uncapped the bottle, and a faint, slick scent wafted into the air.

The hum of the device in his other hand seemed louder suddenly, almost taunting him. He could feel his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Santa pressed a dab of the lube onto his fingers, hesitating. The cool liquid made him shiver, and he had to bite his lip to stop from squeaking.

"I'm... a virgin," he muttered under his breath, voice shaky. "What am I even doing?"

He traced the lube along the device, moving slowly and carefully, studying every curve and button. The hum of the toy under his fingertips made his chest tighten.

Santa took a deep, shaky breath and lowered himself slowly, carefully balancing on the tip of the device. His eyes widened immediately, and a curse slipped past his lips under his breath.

"This... this is... too much," he muttered, voice trembling. "It's... not natural... it hurts!"

He froze, hands gripping the edge of the couch, cheeks burning crimson. Every movement made his stomach twist with an overwhelming mixture of surprise, discomfort, and something... else he didn't want to admit.

Santa froze, gripping the edge of the table, cheeks blazing red. His mind raced, heart hammering in his chest. No. I... I can't do this on my own.

Before he could think twice, he bolted upright, stumbling backward. "I... I need a moment!" he yelled, his voice high and panicked.

He sprinted toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, pressing his back against it as if the small barrier could protect him from the intensity of the moment. His hands shook, and he took quick, shallow breaths, trying to calm the racing heat of embarrassment, nerves, and unexpected arousal.

He pressed his forehead to the cool bathroom tiles, muttering under his breath. "I... I'm not ready... I can't... I'm... a virgin..."

The lube bottle and the toy still sat on the table in the living room, waiting, humming faintly as if mocking him. Santa's fingers drummed nervously against the tiles, and he let out a shaky laugh.

Perth... how is he so calm? Santa thought, eyes wide, chest heaving. He's so... dominating... and I'm just... me... freaking out over a stupid toy!

Santa sank to the floor, hugging his knees, flushed and trembling. The panic, the pressure, and the embarrassment all mingled into one intense cocktail of emotions.

Santa arrived at Thanawat Holdings the next morning with his heart in his throat and a bag full of second thoughts. He'd rehearsed apologies all the way in the taxi, but rehearsals sounded silly in the harsh light of office reality.

Perth met him in the corridor with the same cool, unreadable expression, then — to Santa's surprise — reached for the door and shut it firmly behind them. The click of the lock sounded small and final, and for a second Santa's chest squeezed.

"You locked the door?" Santa asked, breath catching. The sound of his own voice surprised him; it was higher than he'd intended.

Perth's mouth tipped into the faintest smile. "I don't want interruptions." He crossed the room and rested his palm on the glass table as if the office itself were an accessory he could rearrange at will. "Did you try it properly?"

Santa's fingers curled around his briefcase strap. "I... I sat on the tip. It hurt. I'm a virgin — I didn't know what to do. I don't think I can get sponsorship if I can't even—" He stopped, cheeks flaming. The admission came out as a whisper. Vulnerability made his voice small.

Perth rolled his eyes once, like an annoyance more at the inconvenience than at Santa himself. "Of course it hurt. You treated it like a blunt object and panicked." He stepped closer, the city light catching his profile. "Come here."

Santa followed more from inertia than bravery. Perth guided him to the couch and sat down, not uncomfortably close but close enough that Santa could feel the warmth of him. The air between them was charged — a corporate boardroom one moment, a private lesson the next.

"I'm going to show you how it needs to be done," Perth said, voice calm and unruffled. "You don't need bravado. You need technique, patience, and the right mindset. If you want me to invest, you will learn to present this product without faking it."

Santa's throat bobbed. "You'll... show me?"

Santa's heart raced as Perth led him to the couch, the office suddenly smaller, warmer, charged. Perth's presence was dominant, patient, commanding all at once.

"Sit," Perth said, his deep voice smooth and low. Santa perched nervously, palms slick with lube, clutching the toy like a lifeline.

Perth leaned closer, his gaze sharp but patient. "You can't sell something you don't understand," he murmured. "You need to feel it, know it — before you show it to anyone else."

Santa swallowed, nerves coiling in his stomach. "I... I don't know if I can—"

Perth's hands settled on his hips, guiding him gently onto his lap. The warmth of Perth's body pressed against his own, grounding him, while the toy rested between them, gleaming under the light.

"First step," Perth whispered, voice brushing against Santa's ear, low and intimate, sending shivers down his spine. "Stretch. You need to relax, let yourself adjust. Patience."

He slicked two fingers with lube, pressing gently against Santa, just enough to show him the motion, to guide him. Santa gasped softly, tense but listening, trusting Perth's steady hands and measured pace.

"Slow," Perth continued, voice teasing, controlled. "Feel it. Don't rush. Let your body respond naturally. Control comes from understanding, not force."

Santa's chest rose and fell rapidly, warmth flooding his cheeks, nerves and excitement tangled together. Every brush of Perth's hands, every whispered word, every guiding motion made him acutely aware of his own reactions, of the intimate tension pressing between them.

Perth's hands moved deliberately, slicking the toy with lube, his fingers precise and teasing. The cool sheen glistened under the office lights, catching Santa's eyes and sending a shiver down his spine.

"Feel this," Perth murmured, guiding Santa's hands to the toy, letting him trace the slick surface. "Know every angle. Every curve."

Santa's breath hitched, nerves and excitement tangled together. Perth's presence pressed close, warm and commanding, his hands steady on Santa's hips. "Now, lean into it," he whispered. "Find the spot that makes your body respond. Don't fight it. Let yourself feel."

Santa hesitated, then slowly settled onto the toy, the sensation immediate, sharp, and overwhelming. He gasped, arching slightly, eyes widening as warmth and pleasure surged through him. The office around him faded — only Perth's steady guidance and the intoxicating, teasing pressure mattered.

Perth adjusted him gently, hands firm but careful, whispering encouragements that made Santa flush hotter. "Right there," he murmured, a hand sliding over Santa's back to steady him. "That's it. Let yourself react. You don't need to hide anything."

Santa's body betrayed him, shivers running through him as he tensed, then melted into the sensation. Every careful adjustment, every whispered word, every subtle nudge from Perth made the feeling grow, riding a wave of pleasure that left him gasping, eyes rolling back, heart racing.

"Good," Perth said low, voice dripping with approval. "That's how you know it works. That's how you sell it — by knowing exactly what it does, what it feels like."

Santa's breaths came in short, shaky gasps as he shifted onto the toy, the slick lube making every movement slick and sensitive. A low whimper escaped his lips, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

"Ah... oh... Perth..." Santa murmured, heat flooding his cheeks, voice trembling.

Perth leaned close, lips brushing against the shell of Santa's ear. "That's it," he purred, voice low and teasing. "Feel it, don't fight it. Let it hit the right spots."

Santa gasped again, a wet shiver running through him as his body reacted instinctively. "I... I didn't know... it could feel like this..."

"Of course it can," Perth murmured, hand sliding down to steady him. "If you don't know what it feels like, how are you going to sell it? You have to know... every curve, every angle."

Santa whimpered softly, rocking slightly, and a small gasp escaped as the sensations intensified. "Perth... I... ah—so much... it's—oh!"

Perth's smirk deepened, low chuckle vibrating against Santa's ear. "That's right. You like that, don't you? Say it."

"I... I... it's... too good!" Santa groaned, voice ragged, heat radiating off him. "Perth... please..."

"Shh," Perth whispered, a hand sliding along Santa's back, fingers teasing just the right spots. "You don't need to hide. I want to hear you, let me hear how it feels. You sell it with your body, Santa — feel it and don't hold back."

Santa gasped and moaned, small, wet sounds filling the room, trembling under Perth's steady hands and teasing voice. "Ah... yes... ohhh... Perth... right there..."

Perth leaned back slightly, letting Santa feel the friction, the warmth, and every movement, whispering dirty encouragements that made him flush hotter:

"You like that, don't you?"
"Tell me how much you want it..."
"That's my good boy, let it take over..."

Santa's head fell back, eyes fluttering, moans spilling out like confessions. His hands gripped the edge of the couch, shivering with the intensity of every teasing touch and whispered command.

Perth's voice dropped lower, full of control and amusement. "See? That's how it's done. That's how you sell it. You feel it... you own it... and then you know exactly what your clients will feel."

Perth's hands gripped Santa's hips firmly, guiding him down onto the toy. "Sit," he commanded, voice low and sharp, almost a growl. "All the way in your hole."

Santa whimpered, flushed and trembling, his hands gripping Perth's thighs instinctively. "Ah... P-Perth... it's... oh—"

Perth leaned close, teeth grazing Santa's ear, biting gently as he whispered, "Hold on to me. Good. That's it. I'm moving your body... you'll hit that sweet little spot every time. Relax and feel it, Santa... let me guide you."

Santa gasped sharply, shivers running down his spine as Perth's hands steadied him. "Y-yes... oh god... Perth..."

Perth's voice dropped lower, teasing, dominant, full of heat. "That's right... feel how it stretches, how it presses... you're mine to guide. That's my good boy..."

Santa's knees trembled, lips parting, a soft moan slipping out. "Ah... ohhh... yes... right there..."

Perth chuckled low, gripping him tighter. "That's it. Don't hold back. Moan, let it out... show me you feel it. This is how you sell it — you can't fake this, Santa. You have to feel it fully, every slick, hot inch."

Santa shivered violently, rocking instinctively, the pleasure teasing, intense, overwhelming. "P-Perth... I—ahhh... ohhh..."

Perth leaned closer, pressing a hand along Santa's back, holding him steady. "Good... that's perfect. Every gasp, every whimper — that's your product, your experience. Remember it. Own it. Feel it. This is how you'll convince anyone."

Santa trembled, completely lost in sensation, cheeks burning, moans escaping freely as Perth's whispered instructions and hands-on guidance kept him teetering on the edge of overwhelming pleasure.

Santa cried out, head tilting back, eyes fluttering closed, his body shuddering uncontrollably as he finally surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. Each wave rolled through him, leaving him weak and breathless, but perfectly guided, perfectly caught in Perth's hands.

Perth's voice was right in his ear, teasing and commanding at once. "Good... that's my boy... feel every second...."

Santa collapsed into Perth's lap, trembling, cheeks flushed, lips parted in small, soft gasps. Even as his body slowed, his chest still rose and fell rapidly, the tension gradually melting into a warm, dizzying afterglow.

Perth leaned down, brushing a strand of damp hair from Santa's forehead, voice soft but firm. "See? That's how it's done. Now you know. That's how you can sell it — because you know exactly what it does, exactly what it feels like."

Santa whimpered softly, still caught between embarrassment and relief, the intensity of what just happened leaving him flushed and vulnerable.

Perth carefully removed the toy, setting it aside. The faint scent of lubricant lingered in the air, mingling with the tension that still hung thick between them. He rose smoothly and headed toward the sink, the sound of running water filling the room as he washed his hands, the motion deliberate, calm — a stark contrast to the storm of emotions Santa was still riding.

Santa stayed where he was, still flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to process the heat and embarrassment coursing through him. Every glance at Perth's broad back and the casual way he moved made his stomach twist with a mixture of relief and lingering desire.

Perth glanced over his shoulder, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Relax," he said softly, though there was a teasing edge in his tone. "You did well. Now you know what it's supposed to feel like. That's experience you can actually sell."

Santa's lips parted in a small, breathless laugh, a mix of embarrassment and awe. "I... I can't believe I just—" His voice faltered, unable to finish the thought, but Perth's amused glance said he already understood.

The tension didn't vanish — it simmered, thick and teasing, as Santa realized this lesson was as much about control, sensation, and confidence as it was about the product. And Perth... well, Perth seemed to know exactly how to make him feel it.

The next morning, Santa walked into Thanawat Holdings with a mix of nerves and determination. He was still flushed from yesterday, still a little dizzy from what he'd learned — and yet, he carried himself differently. More confident. More grounded.

Perth was already there, leaning against his desk, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "You ready?" he asked, voice calm but teasing.

Santa nodded, swallowing hard. "I... I think so. I know what I need to do now."

Perth's gaze softened just slightly. "Good. That's what it takes. Confidence comes from experience, not pretending." He gestured toward the office space. "Show me your pitch. Sell it to me like you know exactly what you're offering — because now you do."

Santa took a deep breath, setting down his bag, and began. He demonstrated the products, explaining their purpose, design, and benefits. His hands moved smoothly, confidently, no longer hesitant or awkward. Every gesture, every word carried the authority of someone who had felt the products firsthand.

Perth watched quietly, a slow smile spreading across his face. He didn't interrupt. He didn't need to. The transformation was clear — Santa had gone from nervous and inexperienced to poised, assured, and persuasive.

When Santa finished, he looked up at Perth, heart racing, waiting for judgment. Perth's smirk turned into a genuine, approving grin. "Well," he said, leaning back, "I think that's enough to convince me. You finally understand what you're selling — and that's exactly what I wanted to see."

Santa exhaled, a rush of relief and triumph washing over him. "So... you'll sponsor it?" he asked, voice a little shaky but hopeful.

Perth's eyes twinkled. "All the way. You've earned it — and now, anyone who buys your products will feel confident knowing you know exactly what you're offering."

Santa's cheeks warmed, a mixture of pride and lingering heat from the lessons of yesterday. He'd earned his sponsorship — and, in a way, he'd earned a newfound sense of confidence, one he knew he'd carry into every sale, every presentation, every moment.

Perth's voice, calm and teasing, lingered as he added, "Just remember... experience makes all the difference."

Santa nodded, a small, flustered laugh escaping him. "I'll... remember."

Chapter Text

8Joong unlocked the door, exhausted from the day, but the moment he stepped inside, his attention snapped. Dunk was on the bed, legs spread, fingers buried deep, a small vibrator buzzing against him. His head was tilted back, eyes closed, mouth parted in soft moans.

Joong's pulse spiked. Heat pooled low in his stomach, and an almost predatory smile tugged at his lips. "Well, what do we have here?" he murmured, stepping fully into the room.

Dunk's eyes fluttered open, pupils dark with arousal. "Joong..." His voice was breathless, embarrassed, but it carried that shiver of want.

Without another word, Joong closed the distance, pressing a hand firmly to Dunk's chest, pushing him back onto the bed. Dunk shivered under his touch, hips lifting instinctively, desperate.

"You like being caught, huh?" Joong teased, voice low, commanding. "Always so eager... always so wet for me."

Dunk gasped, hands reaching for Joong, but Joong pinned them above his head with one hand, leaning down to kiss him roughly, teeth and tongue exploring. "I've been thinking about this all day," Joong murmured against Dunk's lips. "Thinking about bending you over my bed, taking you like I want."

Dunk moaned, trembling. "P-please... Joong... I'm ready... I need you..."

Joong grinned, sliding a hand down between Dunk's thighs, brushing the already slick head of his cock. Dunk arched, letting out a long, shuddering whine. "That's it... so wet for me already. Look at you, begging like a good boy."

He pushed Dunk's legs wider, leaning in to kiss the inside of his thighs, teasing, nipping, tasting. Dunk's hands fisted in the sheets, hips lifting off the mattress, desperate for more.

"Please... Joong... don't stop... I want you inside me..." Dunk gasped, voice breaking.

Joong didn't hesitate. He positioned himself at Dunk's entrance, teasing the tip, rubbing slow circles before finally sliding in, inch by inch. Dunk cried out, body shivering as Joong filled him completely.

"You're mine," Joong growled, holding Dunk's hips down as he began a steady, deliberate rhythm. "Mine to fuck... mine to take..."

Dunk moaned, bucking into him with every thrust, nails digging into the sheets. "Oh... Joong... harder... I need you... don't stop..."

Joong leaned down, kissing Dunk's shoulder, whispering filthy praise, letting his hands roam over Dunk's trembling body. Every thrust was measured, designed to drive Dunk crazy, every sound from him feeding Joong's hunger.

Minutes passed in a haze of moans and wet skin. Dunk's body tensed, shaking violently as he came, clenching around Joong as he buried himself deeper, grunting through his own release. Joong followed moments later, holding Dunk close, riding out the wave together.

When they finally collapsed, sticky and breathless, Joong pressed a soft kiss to Dunk's temple. "You're perfect like this... always so eager for me."

Dunk trembled in his arms, still shivering, but smiled, exhausted. "I'm yours... always..."

The morning sunlight spilled across the apartment, warm and golden, catching the mess of sheets on the bed where Dunk had collapsed the night before. Still buzzing from the previous night, he shuffled into the kitchen, hair mussed, bare chest exposed, eyes heavy but alert.

He reached for the coffee beans, ready to make himself a cup, when he froze. Joong was already there, seated at the kitchen table, laptop open, fingers flying across the keyboard. His posture was sharp, commanding—the same presence that made him the chairman of a high-profile company. Dunk felt a shiver run through him, both from admiration and a lingering, private memory of how last night had ended.

"Morning," Dunk said softly, trying to keep his voice steady.

Joong looked up, brows furrowed slightly, glasses slipping down his nose. "Morning," he replied, voice professional, clipped. No trace of last night's heat in his tone... at least on the surface.

Dunk leaned against the counter, sipping the freshly brewed coffee, watching Joong work. The contrast was dizzying: the man who had had him trembling and begging the night before was now focused, calculating, a pillar of authority.

"You're... up early," Dunk said, leaning closer, a teasing edge to his tone.

Joong didn't look up, fingers still moving across the keyboard. "Deadlines don't wait," he replied smoothly. "Unlike you, apparently."

Dunk smirked, setting his mug down, stepping closer until he was behind Joong, warm body pressing into the small of his back. He rested his chin on Joong's shoulder, brushing his lips across the shell of his ear. "Hmm... I remember last night. You were much less... professional then."

Joong stiffened slightly but didn't move away, fingers still typing. "I don't... mix business with personal... except when absolutely necessary," he murmured, voice low, yet betraying a flicker of heat.

Dunk pressed closer, hand sliding lightly along Joong's hip, teasing the line of his lower back. "Sounds like last night was necessary," he whispered. Joong finally let his fingers still for a moment, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I... suppose some things can't wait," Joong admitted quietly, finally leaning back just enough for Dunk to see the playful glint in his eye. "But you—" he tapped the laptop lightly, "—still have to wait while I finish this."

Dunk groaned softly, lips brushing Joong's ear again. "Waiting isn't my strong suit. And I don't think yours is either, Chairman."

Joong chuckled quietly, a soft, dangerous sound. "Maybe not. But right now, business comes first."

Dunk's hands drifted lower, teasing, fingers brushing along Joong's thighs beneath the table, earning a sharp intake of breath. "Mmm... then maybe I'll just make this morning... a little more productive for both of us."

Joong glanced at him over his shoulder, eyes darkening, pulse quickening despite himself. "Careful... I'm in charge here."

"And you love it when I test you," Dunk whispered, sliding a hand further up, grazing the edge of his cock.

Joong shivered, finally closing the laptop just enough to turn to him fully. "Maybe... just maybe," he murmured, lips brushing Dunk's in a hungry, lingering kiss. "But only because last night was... far too good to ignore."

Dunk grinned, leaning down to capture Joong's lips fully, warm coffee forgotten, the office-strong chairman melting into the man who couldn't resist him at home.

oong's hands shoved the laptop aside with a decisive flick. Dunk's eyes widened as Joong's strong grip held him firmly, lowering him onto the edge of the kitchen table.

"I... Joong! I don't want to do it on the table!" Dunk groaned, rolling his eyes, trying to squirm free.

Joong smirked, leaning down to whisper against his ear, hot and possessive. "You don't get a say this morning, Dunk. I decide where, how... and when."

Dunk shivered, part exasperated, part thrill running through him. "Joong... the table is... hard... and... ugh..."

"Exactly," Joong purred, hands sliding up Dunk's thighs, fingers teasing along the sensitive skin that was already slick from last night. "You're supposed to feel every inch of me, and I want to watch your reactions... right here."

Dunk bit his lip, trying to protest, but his body betrayed him, trembling as Joong's hands roamed over him, teasing, pressing, brushing just enough to make him whine.

Joong's lips trailed down Dunk's chest, teasing, biting lightly at his nipples, licking the sensitive skin until Dunk's back arched instinctively, moans escaping in soft, needy bursts. His hands fisted the edge of the table, trying to find something to hold onto as Joong's mouth worked him over.

Then Joong's hard cock pressed against Dunk's stomach, teasing the sensitive skin with the weight and heat of it. Dunk shivered violently, hips lifting slightly, trying to get closer, though Joong held him firmly in place.

"Do you feel that, Dunk?" Joong whispered, voice low, rough with desire. "You're going to take me, aren't you?"

Dunk moaned, rolling his eyes but unable to deny the slick ache pooling between his legs. "Y-Yes... Joong... please... I want you..."

Joong's hands roamed lower, sliding down to tease the slick tip of Dunk's already wet cock, brushing slow circles, making him whine and squirm. "So eager... so perfect for me," Joong murmured, pressing his lips to Dunk's neck, teeth grazing lightly. "You're mine this morning... and I'm going to make sure you remember it."

Dunk trembled, hips lifting involuntarily as Joong's cock pressed heavier against him, the friction teasing him ruthlessly. His breaths came in broken gasps, every nerve on fire from the combination of Joong's mouth, hands, and the weight of him pressed so deliberately.

Joong smiled darkly, knowing exactly how to push him over the edge, his hands moving with precision, teasing, holding, and taking Dunk to the brink before giving him any relief. "You're going to come for me, Dunk... right here, right now... say it."

"I-I'm going to... oh god... I'm coming, Joong!" Dunk cried, voice shaky, body shivering uncontrollably as he tensed and bucked under Joong, the sensations too much to bear.

Joong leaned down, pressing a final, possessive kiss to Dunk's lips as he let himself come shortly after, groaning as he buried himself inside him, both of them trembling in the heat of their shared, overwhelming pleasure.

When it was finally over, Dunk slumped against the table, chest rising and falling rapidly, while Joong held him close, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Still want the bed next time?" Joong teased softly.

Dunk could only whimper, exhausted and satisfied. "Maybe... but I don't care... not as long as it's with you."

Joong gripped Dunk firmly, pulling him down so that his chest pressed flat against the edge of the kitchen table. Dunk's legs trembled under him, knees wobbling as he tried to balance, but Joong held him steady, hands sliding over his hips, gripping him possessively.

Dunk's ass pressed back against Joong's cock, the hard length brushing and sliding against him as he instinctively rubbed over it, desperate for friction. The warmth and weight of Joong beneath him made him shiver, every motion sending sharp pulses of pleasure straight to his core.

"Oh... Joong..." Dunk whimpered, his voice shaky, fingers gripping the edge of the table, slick cum trailing down his thighs, mixing with the heat building up in him again.

"You are so disgusting! Actually, me and Phuwin are animals, but you two just make me vomit!"

Dunk's head snapped toward the laptop, eyes widening in horror. There, on the screen, Pond's face stared back at him from the front camera, jaw slack, eyes wide with shock and disgust.

"No... no, Pond! I—" Dunk stammered, panic and shame washing over him, cheeks flushing hot. His body froze on the table, legs trembling uncontrollably.

Joong's grip on his hips tightened, pressing him down firmly. "Relax," Joong murmured, voice low and commanding. "It's not like he can do anything from there. Calm down... focus on me."

Dunk's wide eyes flicked between Joong and the screen, a mixture of embarrassment, arousal, and fear coiling tight inside him. "I... I didn't know he was... watching... oh god..."

Joong leaned closer, chest pressing against Dunk's back, teeth grazing the shell of his ear. "Doesn't matter," he whispered, his hand rubbing Dunk's thigh, holding him in place. "Right now... only you and me. Just feel me, Dunk... forget everything else."

Dunk's trembling body betrayed him, despite the humiliation. He tried to turn, to hide, but Joong's hands held him steady, cock pressing insistently into him. His breaths came in short, shaky gasps as the friction, combined with the shock of being caught, made him ache even more.

"Joong... I... I can't..." Dunk whimpered, but his hips still rolled instinctively, trying to ride Joong's cock, even as the panic clawed at him.

"That's it," Joong murmured, smirking.

Pond's voice cut through the tension one last time.

"Pff, I'm out," he said, rolling his eyes, swiping the screen to end the FaceTime. The laptop went silent, leaving only the hum of the kitchen and Dunk's ragged breaths.

Dunk pulled away from Joong, leaning back on shaky arms, face flushed bright red, sweat still clinging to his skin. His legs trembled, and he stared down at the table as if it had personally betrayed him.

Joong's hands lingered on Dunk's hips, but he finally let him pull free, leaning back slightly with an amused smirk. "Someone's embarrassed," he murmured, voice low but teasing.

"I—Joong... I can't... Pond..." Dunk stammered, still breathless, feeling the shame press heavy in his chest. "I... I didn't mean..."

Joong chuckled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Dunk's forehead. "It's fine. He's gone now. Just... focus on me."

Dunk shook his head, glancing down at the table and then back at Joong, still trembling. "I... I need a moment... I can't... not after that."

Joong leaned closer, chest brushing against Dunk's back again, voice softer this time. "Okay... we pause. But remember... this isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Dunk's lips parted in a shaky breath, still flushed, still aroused, still caught between shame and desire. He could only nod, pressing his face into his hands for a moment, letting the heat linger, the tension between them thick and unbroken.

The kitchen was quiet now, the only sound their uneven breathing.

Chapter Text

The rehearsal room was emptying out, lights dimming one by one until only the glow above the mirrors remained. William sat on the floor, his back against the wall, hair damp with sweat, hands trembling from the endless repetition of dance moves. The music had long stopped, but the rhythm still pulsed in his head like a heartbeat.

Hong crouched in front of him, worry written across his face.
"You're done for today, Will. I'll call Est. You can't even walk straight."

William tried to smile, but it came out weak and half-hearted. "Don't bother him, he's probably busy—"
But Hong had already pressed the call button, his voice low and calm. "He'd rather be bothered than have you pass out on this floor again."

Twenty minutes later, the studio door opened with a quiet click. Est stepped in, wearing a hoodie and jeans, his hair still messy from sleep. The faint scent of his cologne—clean and familiar—filled the space.

William blinked up at him through heavy lashes. "You really came..."

"Of course I came," Est murmured, walking over and crouching in front of him. He reached out and brushed a few damp strands from William's forehead. "You're burning up. You push too hard again, don't you?"

William's lips curved into a tired smile. "That's what idols do."

Est sighed softly, his fingers lingering on William's cheek. "That's what idiots do."

He helped William up carefully, one arm around his waist. William leaned into him, head resting against Est's shoulder as they walked through the quiet halls. The cool night air outside hit his face like a soft caress, and he breathed out, finally able to relax.

Est opened the car door for him, steadying him when his legs nearly gave out. Inside, the world shrank down to the sound of rain tapping the windshield and William's slow, sleepy breathing. Est reached over to buckle his seatbelt, fingers brushing the hollow of William's throat. The touch made William's breath hitch, eyes half-lidded as he looked at him.

"Stay awake a bit longer," Est whispered. "You can sleep when we get home."

"Home..." William repeated the word dreamily, his voice barely a murmur. "As long as you're there."

Est's hand paused on the buckle. His expression softened, the kind of quiet, wordless love that didn't need to be said aloud. He leaned in and kissed William's temple, letting his lips lingers there for couple of seconds.

The apartment lights were low when they got home, a golden quiet filling the rooms. William barely had the strength to untie his shoes before Est knelt to help him, steady hands moving with quiet familiarity.

"Sit," Est said softly, guiding him toward the bathroom. Steam rose from the half-filled tub, fogging the mirror and carrying the faint scent of lavender. The sound of water trickling was steady and calm, a contrast to the pounding beats that had filled William's day.

Est rolled up his sleeves and gently helped him into the warm water. William sank down with a sigh that trembled somewhere between relief and exhaustion. The warmth seemed to melt everything — the ache in his legs, the tension in his shoulders, the noise in his mind.

Est sat behind him on the edge of the tub, dipping a cup into the water and slowly pouring it over William's head. The streams ran down through his hair, over his temples, down his neck. He worked shampoo through the strands with slow, careful movements, fingers massaging the tired skin beneath.

William let his eyes close. "It's so hard, Est..." he murmured, his voice breaking with fatigue. "Every day it's the same — dance, sing, smile — and they all tell you it's not enough."

Est didn't say anything at first. His fingers moved through the suds, rinsing them away. When he finally spoke, his tone was low and calm. "You don't have to be perfect for them. You just have to be you. That's what people love, even if you forget it."

William turned his head slightly, his damp hair sticking to his cheek. "But if I stop pushing... they'll find someone else. Someone better."

Est's hands stilled. He leaned closer, his breath brushing against William's ear. "There's no one better," he whispered. "There's only you."

The words sank in deeper than the warmth of the bath. William's shoulders trembled, and Est gently drew him back until his head rested against Est's chest. They stayed like that for a long while — no words, just the sound of water moving softly around them, the world narrowing down to touch and quiet breathing.

When the water finally cooled, Est reached for a towel and wrapped it around William, holding him close as if to keep him from falling apart.

"Let me take care of you tonight," he said quietly. "You don't have to do anything. Just rest."

William nodded against his shoulder, his voice a whisper. "Only if you stay."

"I'm not going anywhere," Est murmured. And in that small, fragile space between exhaustion and peace, William finally believed him.

wearing soft pajamas, William shuffled into the living room, his damp hair falling in loose strands over his forehead. Est followed him with a blanket in his arms, still fussing like he hadn't just washed every bit of stress out of him fifteen minutes ago.

William dropped onto the couch with a sigh. "Let's watch something," he said, his voice lazy but a little brighter now. "Maybe that documentary about the serial killer from—"

"No," Est interrupted immediately, tossing the blanket at him. "Absolutely not. You're too tired to handle your creepy murder obsession tonight."

William laughed, the sound soft and a bit hoarse. "It's not an obsession, it's educational."

Est raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. The last time we watched one, you woke me up at three in the morning to tell me how the killer hid the body in a—"

"Okay, okay," William interrupted, grinning as he tucked himself under the blanket. "Then you pick."

Est sank down beside him, grabbing the remote and scrolling through the endless line of glowing thumbnails. "Something romantic," he murmured. "Something with a happy ending for once."

William leaned his head onto Est's shoulder, watching the screen through half-lidded eyes. "Romance is boring."

Est smirked and brushed his thumb along William's wrist. "You say that, but you're literally falling asleep on me right now."

"That's just comfort," William mumbled. "Not romance."

"Same thing," Est whispered.

He finally picked a quiet romance film — one of those old ones with soft lighting and slow music, where people fell in love through half-smiles and unspoken words. The kind of movie that felt like a heartbeat stretched across two hours.

William didn't last twenty minutes. His head slipped from Est's shoulder to his chest, his breathing evening out as the glow of the TV danced across his face. Est looked down at him — at the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his hand curled instinctively into Est's shirt — and something warm tugged at his chest.

He brushed a strand of hair from William's forehead and whispered, "You can chase your dreams tomorrow. Tonight, sweet dreams."

The movie played on, forgotten. Est leaned back, one arm wrapped around the boy sleeping against him, the quiet room filled with the soft rhythm of rain outside and William's peaceful breathing.

The next morning, the alarm rang earlier than usual — a harsh sound breaking the soft quiet of dawn. Est blinked awake to find William already sitting at the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes and trying to gather enough strength to stand. His voice, when he spoke, was thin and rough.

"I've got to go. The others are probably already at the studio."

Est frowned immediately. The color had drained from William's face, and his usually bright eyes were dulled by exhaustion. He reached out, pressing the back of his hand to William's forehead — warm, far too warm.

"You're not going anywhere," Est said gently but firmly. "You've got a fever."

William tried to protest, pulling on his hoodie with shaky hands. "If I skip practice, they'll fall behind. Hong and the others—"

Est caught his wrist. "Hong would rather have you alive than collapsing on stage."

The room went still for a moment. William's defiance faltered, his shoulders sagging as he let out a quiet sigh. "I just... don't want to be the weak link."

Est softened. "You're not weak, Will. You're human." He guided him back to bed, tucking the blanket up to his chest. "Even stars need to rest before they burn out."

William managed a tired smile at that, the edges of his lips curving faintly. "You always have a metaphor ready."

"Only when you're being stubborn," Est replied, smiling back. He brought over a glass of water and some medicine, coaxing William to drink. Then he drew the curtains, letting just enough light spill into the room to make it feel warm but calm.

As William drifted back to sleep, Est sat nearby, scrolling through his phone. He typed a quick message to Hong:

He's sick. I'm keeping him home today. Take care of the others.

A reply came almost instantly:

Got it. Tell him not to worry. We've got this.

Est set the phone aside and looked at William, who was already dozing, his breathing slow and even. Outside, the city was waking up — buses rumbling, people hurrying to work — but inside their small apartment, time seemed to pause.

Est brushed his thumb gently along William's hand. "You don't have to shine every second," he whispered. "The world will wait for you."

And for the rest of the morning, he stayed by his side, watching over him as the fever slowly ebbed away.

The sun had climbed high enough to slip through the blinds in narrow golden stripes. William lay sprawled across the couch, half-buried in blankets, hair messy from sleep and a box of tissues balanced dangerously on his chest.

"I'm bored," he groaned, dragging the word out like it weighed a ton.

Est looked up from the kitchen counter where he was cutting fruit. "You're supposed to be resting, not complaining."

"Resting is boring," William mumbled. "I already slept, drank your gross tea, took the medicine. I'm cured."

Est smirked. "You sneezed three minutes ago."

"That was dramatic effect."

Est shook his head, walked over, and sat at the edge of the couch. He handed William a slice of apple. "Eat. If you're really that bored, we can do something quiet. No screens, no dancing, no documentaries about murderers."

William bit into the apple with exaggerated sulking. "Then what's left in life?"

Est thought for a second, pretending to consider. "Hm... maybe a card game. Or I can read you something. A love story, perhaps."

William's eyes glinted with that familiar mischief. He leaned back into the pillows, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Or..." he said softly, letting the word hang for a heartbeat, "we could do something else."

Est raised a brow. "Something else?"

William's grin widened just a little. "You know," he murmured, his voice turning quieter, "something that doesn't need cards or books."

William's grin widened, and before Est could respond, he shifted closer, tugging Est gently against him. Est's breath hitched slightly at the sudden closeness, and William rested his head against Est's shoulder, nuzzling affectionately.

"You're impossible," Est murmured with a small laugh, his hands brushing against William's arms, trying to steady the teasing energy radiating from him.

"I'm not impossible," William whispered, voice soft and warm, "just... irresistible."

He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Est's neck — light, lingering, more like a sweet claim than anything else. Est shivered, both from the warmth of the gesture and the quiet, unspoken intimacy between them.

Est turned slightly to meet William's gaze, eyes soft but sparkling. "You really know how to get your way, don't you?"

William only smiled, resting his forehead against Est's and letting the quiet settle between them. "I just want to stay here. With you."

William's lips curved into a small smile, his fingers tracing idle shapes on Est's arm. "You promise you won't get tired of me?"

Est chuckled softly, brushing a thumb over William's cheek. "Not possible," he murmured. He leaned in, lips brushing against William's, and their mouths met in a slow, lingering kiss. William's body shivered immediately, hands clutching at Est's shoulders, pressing closer.

Est pulled back just slightly, letting a low laugh escape his throat. "You're too easy to tease," he murmured, before diving back in with renewed fervor. He kissed William's neck, leaving soft, teasing bites along the jawline, then down to his collarbone. William gasped, tilting his head, lips parting, body trembling.

Hands roaming, Est pressed against him, brushing over the soft skin of William's chest and stomach, pausing just long enough to make him squirm. He kissed a trail down William's torso, flicking his tongue over sensitive spots, eliciting soft moans and whimpers.

William tried to twist slightly, letting out a breathy laugh. "Est... wait... that tickles—"

Est only laughed, a low, teasing sound, pressing closer, licking and kissing everywhere he could reach, marking the soft planes of William's chest, stomach, and sides. William's fingers dug into his shoulders, his hips shifting involuntarily, pressing back against every touch.

"You're so soft... so easy to drive crazy," Est murmured against his skin, lips trailing everywhere, teeth grazing lightly, tongue flicking teasingly. William gasped, back arching, eyes fluttering shut, breath coming in short, trembling bursts.

Est's hands cupped his sides, teasing the hardened nipples through his pajama top before sliding lower, pressing and brushing against the thin fabric over his hips. William whined, trembling violently, hips lifting slightly with every touch.

"I... I can't..." William gasped, voice breaking, trying to steady himself, body betraying him completely.

Est chuckled darkly, brushing a strand of hair from William's forehead, leaning down to whisper hot against his ear. "You love every second of this... don't you?"

"Yes... yes... Est..." William moaned, shivering, fingers curling into his shoulders. "Please... don't stop..."

Est's lips continued their trail down William's torso, teasing, nibbling, and licking, each touch making William shiver violently. His hands fisted in Est's shoulders, chest rising and falling rapidly, breath coming in short, shaky gasps.

With a mischievous smirk, Est slid his hands to the waistband of William's pajama pants and boxers, tugging them down slowly, just enough to bare the smooth skin of his lower belly. William froze, wide-eyed, a soft whimper escaping him.

Est pressed his lips against the exposed skin, tongue flicking teasingly over the sensitive lower belly, circling in slow, deliberate patterns. William's hips jerked instinctively, a mixture of nerves and desire making him tremble.

"Mmm... so soft... so responsive," Est murmured, voice low and husky. He continued downward, brushing his lips and tongue over every inch, teasing William mercilessly. William gasped, fingers digging into Est's shoulders, body shivering uncontrollably.

Then Est's mouth found the tip of William's cock, licking softly at first, teasing the sensitive head with delicate, wet flicks of his tongue. William's back arched, a loud, breathy moan escaping as his body reacted immediately to the gentle, deliberate stimulation.

"Ah... Est... oh god..." William gasped, hips pressing up, trembling under the teasing touch. "S-so good... please... please more..."

Est chuckled, licking slowly, teasing the sensitive tip with careful precision, alternating between soft licks and gentle, teasing sucks. He watched William shiver and whine, each reaction guiding him, taking his time to explore every inch of him.

William's hands fisted in the sheets, legs trembling as heat pooled low, hips jerking slightly with each deliberate motion. "Est... I... I can't..." he moaned, voice breaking, trembling in need.

Est's grin widened, his tongue tracing wet circles, lips pressing teasingly over the shaft, occasionally brushing the sensitive underside. "Shh... just relax," he murmured, letting his lips and tongue take control, drawing soft, desperate moans from William with every slow, deliberate motion.

Est pulled back just enough to look at William, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Here," he murmured, pressing two fingers into William's hand. "Wet them."

William blinked, heat flushing his cheeks, his breath hitching. Hesitation flickered for a moment before his fingers instinctively pressed against his lips, wetting them with a soft lick.

Est's grin widened, leaning down so his lips hovered just above William's lower belly again. "Good... now use them," he whispered, voice low and husky.

William's fingers trembled as he obeyed, sliding them along the sensitive skin Est had teased moments before. Est's hand guided him slightly, pressing his fingers exactly where he wanted, while his tongue traced slow, wet patterns along William's cock, eliciting soft, desperate whines.

"Ah... yes... just like that..." Est murmured, low and husky, his own body shifting closer, warmth pressing against William. "Keep going... don't stop."

William's breath came in short, ragged gasps, hips pressing against Est's face instinctively, shivering under the teasing touch. His fingers, wet and obedient, mirrored the teasing of Est's tongue, each movement sending jolts of pleasure coursing through him.

"I... I don't know where my spot is," William whispered, voice trembling as he slid his fingers over himself, unsure but desperate. His hips lifted slightly, trembling, as the wet heat of his own fingers glided over the sensitive skin.

Est leaned closer, lips brushing William's lower belly, warm breath ghosting over his skin. "Here," he murmured, pressing a hand gently to guide William's movements. "Let me show you..."

William shivered violently, eyes half-lidded, lips parting in a soft gasp. He let Est's hand guide his, fingers moving slower now, following the pressure and rhythm that Est demonstrated. Every touch, every subtle correction sent sparks through him, making him arch his back instinctively.

"That's it... yes," Est whispered, voice low, rough with desire. "Right there... do you feel that? That's it... don't stop."

William whimpered, letting out a soft moan, fingers trembling over the spot Est indicated. "Ah... yes... I... I think..." His body shuddered, hips pressing instinctively, breath hitching with every teasing touch.

Est's lips moved lower, tongue flicking along the sensitive skin of William's cock, drawing soft, desperate moans from him. "See? That's exactly it," Est murmured. "You just needed a little guidance... just let it happen."

Est slowly pulled William's trembling fingers from himself, holding them up and licking them clean, watching William's chest rise and fall with ragged breaths. The wet warmth of his tongue made William shiver violently, hips instinctively pressing upward.

Reaching for lube and a condom, Est's hands moved deliberately, prepping carefully. William's eyes followed him, half-lidded with need, voice soft but desperate. "No... I want you to cum inside me," he whispered, spreading his legs wider, hips lifting slightly, inviting Est fully.

Est's grin deepened, dark and possessive. "You're sure?" he murmured, sliding a hand over William's thigh, pressing him back gently onto the bed.

"Yes... Est... please..." William gasped, fingers curling into the sheets, body trembling, heat pooling deep and desperate. "I... I want it... I'm ready..."

Est coated himself with lube, his hands firm and steady as he positioned himself at William's entrance. William's breath hitched, chest rising and falling rapidly, legs trembling as Est slowly pressed inside, inch by inch.

"Oh... Est... oh god..." William moaned, back arching, hips pressing instinctively against every movement. "So big... so... ah!"

Est held him close, thrusting slowly at first, letting William adjust to the stretch and fullness. Every movement was deliberate, teasing, driving William wild with pleasure. "That's it... move with me," Est murmured, low and husky, hands gripping his hips, guiding every thrust.

"Yes... yes... harder..." William gasped, nails digging into the sheets, body shivering as Est's pace increased, thrusts deep and measured. "I... I'm... gonna... ahhh!"

Est leaned down, kissing his temple and neck, murmuring encouragements as he drove deeper, each movement building William's desperation. "Keep going... don't stop..."

William's moans grew louder, breath ragged, body trembling violently as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. Every thrust, every kiss, every teasing touch from Est drove him closer, his legs wrapping instinctively around him, pressing Est in even deeper.

"I... I'm... I'm gonna... ohhh Est!" William cried, hips jerking uncontrollably as he came around Est, trembling and shuddering, body completely overwhelmed by sensation.

Est followed, groaning low, thrusting deep as he released inside him, holding him tight as they both rode out the waves of heat together, bodies slick and trembling, breaths ragged and mingled.

When it was over, Est collapsed beside him, brushing damp hair from William's forehead, voice soft and gentle. "You did so well," he murmured, hand resting over his chest.

Chapter Text

Morning light streamed through the curtains, soft and golden — a perfectly peaceful start to the day.
Peaceful, that is, until a loud crash echoed from the kitchen.

"JOSS!"
Gawin's voice carried through the house like a warning siren.
"You're not supposed to flip the pancake with your hands!"

Joss's voice followed cheerfully. "It builds character! You can't cook without passion!"
Another thud.
Another sizzle.
And then, the smoke alarm began to scream.

Barcode stumbled out of his room wearing pajama pants and a hoodie, hair sticking up in every direction. He blinked blearily toward the kitchen.
"Appa, are we on fire again, or is that just your new recipe?"

From behind a cloud of smoke, Joss appeared — wearing a pink apron that said 'Kiss the Chef (If You Dare)'. He held up a frying pan triumphantly.
"No need to panic! Breakfast is under control!"

Gawin stood beside him with crossed arms and a coffee mug, his expression screaming It's not under control.
"You've burned three pans, two toasts, and possibly the countertop."

Pon entered next — the responsible one, always too calm for this family. He looked around the kitchen, took one deep breath, and sighed like a man who had seen this a thousand times before.
"It's Sunday," he muttered. "Of course it's chaos."

"Son," Joss said, dramatically wiping his brow with a dish towel, "one day you'll thank me for teaching you how to make the perfect omelet."

Pon eyed the blackened pan suspiciously. "That looks more like an archaeological discovery."

Barcode giggled. "Yeah, the Lost Civilization of Overcooked Eggs."

Joss gasped, pretending to be offended. "The youth of today have no respect for culinary art!"

Gawin took a sip of coffee and said dryly, "They have too much respect for their digestive systems, that's what."

The whole family erupted into laughter.

Twenty minutes later, the kitchen was a battlefield.
Pon had taken over the stove. Barcode was supposed to be washing dishes but was instead scrolling on his phone and singing off-key.
Joss kept trying to "help," which mostly meant getting in the way.
And Gawin? Gawin had resigned himself to being the designated coffee refiller and damage control officer.

"Barcode, can you please hand me the salt?" Pon asked.

Barcode looked up from his phone. "Which one's salt again?"

"The one labeled salt."

"Oh. Right." He handed Pon the sugar instead.

Pon didn't notice — until he tasted his scrambled eggs and immediately spat them out. "Why does it taste like dessert?!"

Joss clapped proudly. "A creative twist! Sweet and savory!"

"Dad!"

"Don't shout at your father," Gawin said mildly, scrolling through the news. "He's emotionally fragile before noon."

"I'm emotionally fragile after noon too," Joss admitted. "It's called being an artist."

Barcode snorted so hard he nearly dropped his phone. "Artist of disaster maybe."

That earned him a towel flick from Joss — which he narrowly dodged — and in the process, the towel smacked into Gawin's coffee mug. Coffee spilled across the counter, everyone yelled, and the smoke alarm started again.

"WHY IS THIS HOUSE CURSED?!" Pon groaned, waving a dish towel under the detector.

Barcode, between fits of laughter, shouted, "Because we live here!"

Eventually, by some miracle, they sat down to eat.
The eggs were questionable, the toast was more "charcoal" than "golden brown," but the laughter was constant.

Pon pretended to complain. Barcode recorded Joss doing his "chef pose" again. Gawin kept muttering about the electricity bill. But underneath it all, the room buzzed with warmth — that kind of messy love that doesn't need to be perfect to be real.

When the table finally fell quiet, Gawin looked around and smiled softly.
"You know," he said, "for all the noise and disasters... I wouldn't trade this for anything."

Joss grinned. "Not even for a Michelin star?"

Gawin leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Especially not for that."

Barcode made gagging noises. "Ew, old people love."

Pon rolled his eyes. "You're both older than them mentally."

Joss pointed his spatula like a wand. "Respect your elders!"

Barcode smirked. "Respect starts when the food's edible."

"OUT of my kitchen!" Joss shouted, but he was laughing too hard to mean it.

A few hours later, Pon and Barcode lounged in the living room.
Barcode scrolled through his photos and showed Pon one of Joss posing with the burnt omelet like it was a trophy.

"Should I post this with the caption 'When your dad thinks he's Gordon Ramsay but it's really more like Gordon Burnt-see'?"

Pon chuckled. "Do it. But blur the smoke in the background. We don't need child services showing up again."

From the kitchen, Joss shouted, "I heard that!"
And Gawin's voice followed: "Good! Maybe next time you two do the cooking!"

Silence.

Then, perfectly in sync, Pon and Barcode called back:
"Never mind. We love your cooking, Appa!"

The laughter that followed echoed through the house — loud, bright, full of love — exactly the kind of chaos that made their family theirs.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The evening was soft and lazy.
A movie flickered across the TV, half-watched, half-forgotten.
Joss had his arm slung around Gawin, both curled up together on the couch under a shared blanket. It was one of those perfect family evenings — quiet, warm, and slightly ridiculous.

Across from them, Pon was stretched out on the carpet, scrolling on his phone, while Barcode sat beside him with a bowl of popcorn that was 70% eaten and 30% spilled.

Pon was leaning against Barcode's shoulder, pretending not to fall asleep.
Barcode sighed. "Why are you literally using me as a pillow? I'm not a mattress."

Pon mumbled sleepily, "You're warm."

Barcode looked over at his parents. "See? This is why I can't have nice things. I live with three clingy people."

Joss chuckled, pressing a kiss to Gawin's forehead. "Oh, come on. You secretly love it."

"I don't," Barcode said firmly. "I'm an independent adult."

Gawin raised an eyebrow. "Independent adults don't whine about who gets the last popcorn."

Barcode crossed his arms. "That was a matter of principle."

"Uh-huh."

Joss smirked, brushing his thumb along Gawin's hand before looking back at his sons. "You know, Barcode..." he said in his mock-serious dad voice. "You should find yourself a boyfriend."

Barcode's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

Pon perked up instantly, suddenly awake. "Oh, yes, please do. Maybe then he'd stop using me as his emotional support roommate."

"Hey!" Barcode protested.

Gawin sipped his tea, trying not to laugh. "Your dad has a point, though. You've been third-wheeling us for three years straight."

Barcode groaned dramatically. "It's not third-wheeling! It's family bonding! And besides, I don't have time for dating. I have a busy schedule."

"Busy schedule of what?" Pon teased. "Rewatching dramas and stalking your favorite actors' Instagrams?"

Barcode threw a pillow at him. "Shut up!"

Joss laughed so hard he almost spilled his drink. "Son, you're adorable, but if you don't get a boyfriend soon, I swear Gawin's going to start matchmaking."

Gawin pretended to think. "Hmm... maybe I already have someone in mind..."

Barcode froze. "Don't. You. Dare."

Pon was now fully enjoying the chaos. "Wait, I volunteer to help! We can make a dating profile! I already have pictures—"

Barcode lunged for him. "DELETE THEM!"

Joss and Gawin watched the boys tumble off the couch, laughing so hard tears formed in their eyes.

Joss leaned into Gawin's shoulder, whispering between laughs, "We really did raise two disasters."

Gawin smiled, eyes soft as he looked at them rolling around like overgrown puppies. "Yeah," he murmured. "But they're our disasters."

Barcode finally managed to pin Pon down, triumphant. "Ha! Who's laughing now?"

Joss grinned, raising his glass. "You will be — when your mother actually finds you a date."

Barcode froze again.
Gawin smirked. "Oh, I'm already making a list."

"WHAT LIST?!"

Pon started howling with laughter as Joss buried his face in Gawin's shoulder.
The house filled with noise — laughter, teasing, warmth — the kind of love that only came from being deeply, joyfully, messily family.

It was a calm Saturday morning.
The kind of morning where birds sang, sunlight streamed through the curtains, and everything should've been peaceful.

Until Joss's voice echoed through the entire house.

"BARCODE!"

The sound was loud enough to wake the neighbors, the plants, and possibly the dead.

From his room, Barcode shouted back, "WHAT?!"

Then came the follow-up, even louder:
"DID YOU DATE THAT JEFFF?!"

The entire house went silent for two seconds. Then —

"WHAT JEFF?!" Barcode yelled, stumbling out into the hallway in his pajamas, hair wild.

Joss was standing at the bottom of the stairs, hands on his hips, the picture of fatherly outrage.
Gawin appeared behind him, holding a coffee cup, already sighing. "Oh no," he muttered, "here we go again."

Joss pointed dramatically up the stairs. "Don't play dumb with me, young man! I saw your old photos! That Jeff with the tattoo and the motorcycle!"

Barcode blinked. "Dad, that was years ago!"

"How years ago?!"

"I was like, seventeen!"

"SEVENTEEN?!" Joss's voice cracked like a broken trumpet. "He looked thirty!"

"He was twenty! And it wasn't even serious!"

Gawin calmly set down his coffee. "Joss, love, please take a breath before you spontaneously combust."

"I am calm!" Joss shouted, waving his arms. "My son was dating a grown man on a motorcycle! He could've been kidnapped!"

Barcode rolled his eyes. "Dad, he wasn't a kidnapper. He was an architecture student."

"Oh, so he could build prisons!" Joss countered.

At this point, Pon came out of his room wearing headphones, blinking sleepily. "What's going on?"

"Your brother dated a man named Jeff!" Joss declared like it was a scandal on the evening news.

Pon frowned. "Jeff? Oh yeah, the guy with the leather jacket? He was nice."

"NICE?!" Joss clutched his chest like he was in a telenovela. "This family is doomed."

Barcode groaned. "Dad, please stop acting like you're in a soap opera."

"I am the soap opera!" Joss cried, throwing a kitchen towel over his shoulder dramatically. "And you are the rebellious son!"

Gawin finally stepped in, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Joss, honey, you're being ridiculous. Jeff was harmless. He helped you fix the car that one time, remember?"

"Oh, I remember!" Joss said. "That's how he infiltrated this family!"

Barcode burst out laughing. "Dad, it was six years ago!"

"Doesn't matter," Joss said, crossing his arms. "I forbid you from ever seeing that man again."

Barcode blinked. "I haven't seen him since he moved to Canada!"

"Well, good!" Joss sniffed. "Canada's far enough."

Pon collapsed onto the couch, laughing so hard he nearly fell off.
"Dad, you're more dramatic than a soap opera marathon."

Joss turned toward him. "You're next, mister. Don't think I forgot about that girl with the purple hair!"

Pon choked. "She was my hairstylist!"

"Exactly! And that's how they get you!"

Gawin finally lost it and started laughing too, wrapping an arm around Joss's shoulders. "Come on, Drama King, sit down before your blood pressure becomes a family emergency."

Joss grumbled but let himself be guided to the couch, muttering, "Still don't trust that Jeff."

Barcode sat across from him, shaking his head. "Dad, if Jeff ever comes back, I'll make sure to call security."

Joss narrowed his eyes. "Good." Then, after a pause —
"...But also tell him I still want my wrench back."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The house had finally settled.
The chaos of breakfast, arguments, and Jeff-related drama had quieted down like a storm that had spent itself.

Joss collapsed onto the bed, flopping dramatically into Gawin's arms.
"Finally... some peace," he sighed, nuzzling against Gawin's chest.

Gawin chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around him. "It's about time."

Joss let out a long, exaggerated groan. "You know... I will never again say I want a kid."

Gawin raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Really? Even after Pon and Barcode?"

Joss pressed his face into Gawin's shoulder. "Even because of Pon and Barcode."
He flopped an arm across his face. "Chaos incarnate. Absolute chaos. And I was supposed to guide them, mold them into civilized humans..."

"You did guide them," Gawin said gently. "Just... your style of guidance is... explosive."

Joss peeked out from under his arm, frowning. "Explosive is a polite word for it. Do you know how many times today I almost had a heart attack?!"

Gawin laughed quietly, brushing Joss's hair back. "Maybe it's your cardio for the day. Keeps you young."

Joss grumbled. "I don't want youth if it comes with constant screaming."
He snuggled closer. "But... I have to admit. Despite all the chaos... I wouldn't trade it. Not really."

Gawin smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "See? That's why we're stuck with them — and each other."

Joss sighed contentedly, letting the warmth of Gawin and the quiet of the house wash over him.
"Yeah," he murmured, voice soft now, almost sleepy. "Stuck with them... and stuck with you. Chaos and all."

Gawin hummed in agreement, tightening his hug. "And we love it. Even the chaos."

Joss let out one last dramatic sigh. "Fine. Maybe... maybe I could handle one more kid someday."

Gawin raised an eyebrow. "Joss..."

"I'm kidding," Joss said immediately, pressing a kiss to Gawin's jaw. "Definitely kidding."

And in the soft glow of the evening, the two of them lay together, laughing quietly at the memory of the day — Pon and Barcode's antics echoing in their minds like the perfect soundtrack to family life.