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“he’s so— he’s just— he’s impulsive, he’s messy, and he never listens to me on top of that. i’m so fucking frustrated, he’s like a damn child, you figure at some point you grow up or mature, but not him. fucking hell, pran— he just does whatever the fuck he wants,”
pran nods understandingly and leans his chin into his palm as wai continues to rant about some menace to society that seems to be a new boyfriend. wai’s never been good with dealing with that type of person, but he always falls for them anyway. the aggressive, smart but stupid, happy-go-lucky type.
"sounds rough," pran helpfully supplies, hiding an amused grin.
he nods again as wai groans out loud, slamming his forehead against the table. he then slowly pulls up, staring pleadingly at pran, who just raises his eyebrows in response.
“how are you supposed to do it?”
“do what?"
"get them to listen."
"you mean to get them to obey you?” pran snorts, stifling a laugh. “he’s not a dog, wai. what the hell are you supposed to do about it if it’s just the way he is? isn't that something you can't change?”
wai sighs and puts his cheek against the metal table. “you’re right, whatever, i just— ugh,”
pran smiles and pets wai’s head in sympathy as his exhausted friend proceeds to down two straight shots before drinking pran’s coke to wash out the taste, fucker.
he waves the waiter over, prepping to take wai home, pulling his wallet out. it’s still fairly early, just passing nine pm, but wai is drunk out of his mind somehow and tired after what’s been two all-nighters so it’s probably for the best.
he’s about to help wai up when he gets a vision full of big earnest eyes. “you’ve got a boyfriend too, don’t you? what do you do?”
"what do you mean?"
"i mean your boy listens to you," wai slurs, leaning into pran's side. "how'd you get him to be so good?"
pran hides a smile as he tugs wai up by the bicep, letting him cling to him for support. “my boy’s not like yours." he huffs with a short laugh, thinking that wai's pretty funny when he drinks. "i wouldn’t know, don’t ask weird questions. you sound like a parent.”
wai groans. “dude, i feel like a parent.”
pran has to laugh again at that, opening the door (albeit with an effort) and shoving wai into a taxi. he flips out his wallet again to hand a few bills to the driver, who gives him a quick smile and hits the gas just as pran slams the door shut.
he’s about to call for a taxi of his own when he turns to a face full of— boyfriend, as it seems.
because directly in front of him is pat, who is out of breath like he came in a rush, dressed in loungewear: sweatpants and a loose gym shirt, phone in hand.
quickly in recognition, pran pulls out his own phone, staring at the notifications of thirty texts and nine missed calls that seem to be whining at him. a smile creeps across his face as he looks back at his boyfriend, who’s pouting at him absolutely adorably, feet shuffling on the pavement.
“you wouldn’t answer your phone,” pat explains, taking a step forwards.
he’s upset, pran notes, tilting his head to the side as pat’s eyebrows furrow in frustration and then attempts to smooth them out like he’s controlling the pushes and pulls of his temper.
“how’d you know i was here?”
“wai posted on facebook.” he sniffs, looking at pran expectantly, then at the numerous people passing them by, walking in and out of the club. cars honk and drive behind pran from where he stands, nearly on the curb, and pran hopes wai’s made it home safe by now. his roommate should take care of it from here.
pran smiles at his boyfriend, who glows golden in the club lights, hair ruffled, damp, and messy like he got out of the shower not too long ago, soft. “i was gonna go home.”
pat nods and takes another step forwards until they’re toe-to-toe, but he still doesn’t touch pran, only reaching out to hook his index finger into the fabric of pran’s shirt as he hails another taxi to the curb. “okay.”
the taxi ride home is silent safe for the driver’s occasional cursing at the odd cars who drive in and out of their lanes like madmen pretending they’re in tokyo drift.
“who were you with?” is what pat asks when they step out of the car, taxi quickly speeding away behind them.
pran sighs, stepping into the cool air of their apartment complex, “just wai.”
he almost hears pat’s frown deepen at that, eyebrows twitching in anger. through his peripheral, pran catches pat’s fingers flexing and twitching against his sides as they stop in front of their respective doors.
pran turns to stick his key in the door when pat’s hand circles his wrist, pulling him and turning him around, broad shoulder stopping him from walking away. it’s just him and the door.
“pat?” pran questions.
“it’s only nine-thirty,” pat tests, pressing closer to pran, who can’t help but lean into the warmth. “can’t you come to my room for a bit? i didn’t see you today.”
cute.
“i was with wai all day, i think i wanna sleep,” and pran does it on purpose, just to see the way pat reacts, every micro-expression.
pat inhales sharply at that, the response settling in as his eyes trail down pran's face, down to his neck and his collar, where purple hickeys hide under the soft fabric. his fingers tighten instinctively around pran’s wrist, and the pressure eventually causes it to ache a bit as pat stays firmly planted in his position, grip almost bruising.
pran's eyes narrow a bit. he glares up at him, warning, with a quick eyebrow raise, be good. “pat.”
his fingers immediately release and he goes back to pouting at pran, eyes big and sparkly as he tries to get farther into pran’s space. it takes pran a minute to realize that he’s smelling him. when he does realize, he laughs.
"what are you doing?"
pat doesn't answer.
"pat," there's still an edge to the lilt in his voice.
pat sighs. "you smell so good."
pran scrunches his nose. "i smell like sweat, beer, and nightclubs."
pat shakes his head vigorously in response, pressing his nose deeper into the cotton of pran's shirt like he's trying to convince pran too, "you don't, you smell good. like fabric softener."
there's a few beats of silence before pat lets out a frustrated whine.
“what is it, puppy?”
pat's face contorts in frustration at the question, not wanting to say it out loud or express, but he's good, he's still good; hands planted against the door like he's keeping pran from both leaving and opening the door to his apartment, caged. quietly, “wanna touch you.”
"what was that?"
"wanna touch you."
pran leans his head back against the door, a smug and amused smile on his face. “you can touch me, puppy, i’m not upset with you.”
pat deflates in relief and two large hands quickly come down to bracket pran’s waist, holding him close and pressing his nose into the function where the shoulder meets the neck. pran shivers a bit, body melting a bit into the touch.
and he's almost startled when pat’s lips part and he’s starting mouth at pran’s collarbone, tongue prodding healing red splotches from a few days before. pran’s eyes narrow in realization, and one hand slide up pat’s back to tangle into his hair and pull. hard.
sharply, “hey.”
pat whimpers in annoyance but obliges non the less, turning his head to rest his cheek against the wet skin.
pran snickers and strokes his scalp, fingernails scratching against the skin. “good boy.”
pat huffs again in annoyance, and pran just laughs again, endeared. “you gotta use your words, silly puppy. what is it?”
pat pulls back and looks at him again, and pran nearly gives in completely at the soft and frustrated look on pat’s face as he gently squeezes pran’s waist. “wanna-- wanna kiss you. can i kiss you?”
the hallways are empty, pran notes. so he smirks and nods with an exhale, sighing as pat leans down and kisses him soft and slow, controlled.
his kisses slowly get sloppier as he gets more desperate, fingers tangling in pran’s shirt and pressing him hard into the door, knob digging into pran’s back a little uncomfortably. pran wants to say something, but he’s being absolutely drowned by pat’s mouth, the rough kisses. he’s gasping for air as he tries to find a place to speak, only being able to let out high gasps and soft mewls as pat licks his mouth open, parting his lips and yielding him.
pat pushes a thigh between pran's legs and pran keens into pat's mouth, exhale going shaky and knees startling to tremble slight. but that's never been an issue, pat takes it all in stride, leaning pran against the door and holding him right where he wants him. then pat's teeth tug gently on his lip, and his thigh shoves up farther, pressing like he wants to overload all of pran's senses.
pran shudders and presses back against the door.
pat lifts one hand from his waist to tilt pran's chin up and kiss him even harder, rolling his hips subtly and swallowing the whines bubbling up in pran's throat with eager enthusiasm.
"good boy," he whispers between kisses and that only spurs pat on more, the pace becoming rough, bruising, and fast, leaving pat gasping and lungs begging for air, brain going cloudy.
“pat,” he gasps breathlessly, as he tries to pull pat’s hair, but the wetness and sensuality of the way pat kisses him are making him weak. he melts against the door again, only to feel the sharp prodding in his back. he shoves at pat’s chest, hitting him lightly.
pat finally gets the hint, pulling away with a string of saliva connecting them, and he looks apologetic, so pran just might forgive this one.
“pat,” pran arches an eyebrow. pat looks down sheepishly. “pat. you want to be a good, right?”
pat turns and nods and nods at him once, pouting again. pran can't help but feel a little proud of the haze that's clouding pat's eyes, glassy in the light. he feels a little pity as pat leans back to hug him, pulling him close and squeezing.
pran smiles. “okay, i’ll come to your room. only because you’re being cute.”
and pat beams in response, happily grabbing pran by the wrist and hurriedly pulling him across the hallway, metaphorical tail wagging excitedly. and pran can’t feel anything but endearment as he pinned against the couch with sloppy, wet, and searing kissing being planted down his neck. he keens and arches, pat knowing exactly what nerves to hit.
pran thinks he’ll never have to worry about the same issues wai does. pat’s just too good and maybe too stupid of a little puppy to do otherwise.
“you’ve got a boyfriend too, don’t you? what do you do?”
well, pran thinks. my boyfriend's not like yours.