Someone’s glaring a hole in the back of Pran’s head.
He doesn’t acknowledge it. He knows who’s glaring at him, though he can’t possibly imagine why. But turning around is just asking for trouble, and unlike some people in his life, Pran has no inclination to indulge in such antics.
“Dude, what’s his problem?” Wai mutters next to him.
Pran grits his teeth and sneaks a glance over his shoulder. As expected, Pat’s not even being subtle, staring directly at him with hot, dark eyes even though they’re in the middle of class. Pran’s teeth click together in a tsk and he focuses back front, because unlike some people, he actually needs to take notes in class if he hopes to pass physics.
Wai fidgets next to him, attention darting between the professor and stupid Pat. It’s terribly distracting. Pran rubs the back of his neck and stomps down the urge to squirm.
“Will you stop that?” he mutters to Wai. His phone buzzes against his thigh, and a little zing! runs down Pran’s spine. “Wai.”
Wai purses his lips and glares a warning over Pran’s shoulder, but finally stops shifting around so much and Pran can finally focus. The hot eyes on the back of his neck don’t change, but Pran’s at least well practiced in ignoring those.
After class, Pran’s friends take him out to one of their favorite haunts and they whittle the afternoon away over overpriced pancakes and tea and stupid jokes. Pran’s phone buzzes a storm in his pocket, but Pran doesn’t even bother to pull it out. He knows who it is. He can wait, it’ll be good for him. And because if Pran doesn’t, he might get ideas that it’s acceptable to distract him when they’re in public.
Really, he did this to himself.
Pran can ignore his phone easy enough, but all bets are off when he goes home. Pran barely makes it to his apartment before the door across the hallway slams open and Pat glares at him with twice the heat from earlier.
“You didn’t answer your phone.”
Nonchalant, Pran shrugs and pays the other man no mind as he unlocks his door. “No phones in class, Pat.” He leans back against his door jamb and cocks his head. Pat looks two steps away from strangling him. Pran raises his eyebrow and asks, smug, “What? You gonna bother me?”
Pat narrows his eyes. “Come here.”
Pran can’t fully suppress the shiver that races down his spine. Pat smirks, the ass.
Pat’s smirk falls away. “Come here.”
Pran considers just walking away, shutting the door in Pat’s face so he could watch him grow furious through the peephole. It must show on his face because Pat’s nostrils flare and he takes half a step forward before he remembers to hold his ground. Pran sighs and walks over, stopping just a step outside of Pat’s doorway with his hands on his hips. “What.”
Pat grips the back of his neck, long fingers digging into the sore muscle of Pran’s neck and the hickey he’d left there when he was fucking Pran’s thighs last night. Pran tries to bite back his groan but fails, a reluctant moan spilling from his lips as Pat scrubs away the makeup hiding the mark, making the already tender skin flare red hot.
“You covered it up,” Pat says, petulant.
Pran reluctantly opens his eyes enough to see Pat through the thick sweep of his lashes. “Yes Pat,” he says drily, another sigh escaping him as Pat continues to massage that part of his neck, “We are trying not to get caught.”
Pat makes a noise of pure frustration, fingers sliding back to cradle Pran’s head and pull him in for a kiss. Pran groans into the harsh press of Pat’s mouth, lets the man push him hard up against the door trim, lets him bully a muscular thigh between his legs. Pran has to snake his arms between them so he can pull apart the buttons of Pat’s shirt, revealing swathes of soft skin and the many scratches and hickies he'd left scattered across Pat’s collarbone. He digs his fingers into the marks, loving the way Pat shudders tremulously.
Pat pulls back, caught between a sigh and a groan, and Pran can’t help but smirk at how satisfied Pat looks even with just that kiss. Then his eyes sweep open and Pran’s thighs tighten under Pat’s all-pupil gaze. He looks away, not blushing as Pat hums, chest vibrating under Pran’s palms like he’s a cat, and Pat trails wet kisses down the line of Pran’s jaw.
Pran’s breath hitches in his throat, one hand sweeping up to tangle his fingers in Pat’s hair, unable to help himself even as they remain exposed, halfway to Pat’s small messy bed, halfway into the hall where anyone could walk by and see them.
The awareness trickles down Pran’s spine like ice. He takes a deep breath for strength, then shoves Pat away. Pat whines and pouts like he’s been denied a treat. Beautiful.
“What,” Pat grumbles, already trying to inch back closer. So naughty. Pran really shouldn’t encourage him.
Pran looks pointedly at the hallway, which thankfully has stayed empty this whole time. Pran smoothes his clothes and hair, eyes furtively checking up and down the hall as though he doesn’t enjoy the game too, as though the urge to dare the world to see them together doesn't linger under the many layers of fear and pain he locks their relationship behind. He ignores it, focusing instead on Pat’s adorable pout, though he refuses to show it. Pran’s still mad about those antics in class. He’d hate to encourage such rebellion.
Pat steps further inside his room, beckons with his finger. “Then come here.”
Pran raises his eyebrow, unbudging. What a fool. His bed is so much nicer than Pat’s.
Pat stomps his foot, grabs Pran’s wrist and tugs it gently. “Come here.”
“But I so prefer it when you follow,” he says, flicking Pat’s chin as he turns away.
Pran doesn’t look back as he walks into his room, gut tight with nerves until he hears Pat gasp and scramble after him. He can’t stop himself from smiling right before Pat collides with him, arms wrapped around his waist and propelling them forward, kicking his door shut so he can push him up against it and kiss him like he’s drowning and Pran's his last chance for air. As Pat sloppily kisses down the line of Pran’s neck, as desperate as the fingers struggling to get under Pran’s shirt, Pran lets his head fall back with a contented sigh. He won’t encourage Pat’s brattiness, but his obedience?
Oh, Pran can’t wait to reward that in spades.