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The texture was soft. Soft, but hefty.
It wasn’t until First got home and stood under the showerhead that it fully sank in—he had grabbed his best friend’s crotch.
They’d been filming. Their heads were crammed with lines, cameras and boom mics pointed at them from all directions, and the director was yelling “Cut” through a walkie-talkie—there hadn’t been space for stray thoughts. But now, alone in the enclosed space of the bathroom, it all came rushing back. Eyes open or closed, all he could see was that part of his friend.
Soft. Heavy. It had lain quietly in his hand—docile, warm, unmoving.
Eyes closed, he let the water run over him as his hand slid downward, found himself. Like during the shoot, he wrapped his fingers around his own softness and gave it a slight squeeze.
It didn’t feel as full as his friend’s.
What had Khaotung been thinking then? Probably nothing at all… it had stayed soft the whole time, after all.
If it was already that big while still soft... how spectacular would it be when hard? Standing beneath the showerhead, First swallowed thickly. He felt the rush of blood gathering below his waist with alarming speed. He wanted —his body, belatedly, was awakening to Khaotung’s pull. That soft, heavy weight had returned after wrap-up like a silent ambush, rubbing insistently against the inside of his chest, teasing and stirring.
He shut off the water and hurried to the sink, yanking open a drawer and rifling through it. He kept some toys hidden in the bathroom, for times like this—when hunger burned too hot to ignore.
He found a few plugs, but after weighing them in his palm, he set them aside. Not enough. Nowhere near enough to match that . He hadn’t seen Khaotung aroused before, but he could imagine. That time on set—Khaotung standing beside him, swaying lightly, that soft, fleshy weight shifting with the motion of his hips—it had been the strongest aphrodisiac. It lit something wild in him, a heat that demanded release. He wanted to devour Khaotung, take him in whole, swallow him down. He wanted that part of his best friend buried deep inside him, wanted to climax on him, spill over him, mark him.
He needed to pretend Khaotung was here. That they were doing everything .
He reached to the back of the drawer and pulled out a thick, dark dildo. He’d never used it—it was too big, especially the tip, round like an egg, which had made his hands tremble. He had tried only once before and tucked it away. But now, it was the only thing that might come close to Khaotung.
He hurriedly coated the tip with lube and positioned it behind himself.
His ring began to stretch, bit by bit. He gritted his teeth, imagining Khaotung dressed as Bison, arms wrapping around his waist from behind, lips brushing against his back.
“Kant…” Khaotung whispered sweetly, “Let’s never be apart.”
“Mm…” First squeezed his eyes shut, a sound slipping from between clenched teeth.
“Call me phi…”
In his mind, Khaotung obliged without hesitation.
“P’Kant… P’Kant…”
Every time he heard it, First’s body clenched instinctively. Being called phi brought a guilty, forbidden thrill. He liked being the older one. Liked being needed. Liked being taken by a younger boy. Only on camera would Khaotung play the obedient younger role. And only in First’s imagination would he ever enter him.
The thick toy finally sank in all the way. First let out a long breath, straightened up, and looked into the mirror. His face was flushed, his body lean and toned, his waist narrow—and between his legs, his arousal pointed high, aching to be touched.
Just as he was about to take himself in hand— The doorbell rang.
The sound was sharp, almost menacing. He jolted in shock. There was no time to clean up. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around himself in a rush, and stepped out to see who it was.
It was already late. Who could possibly be visiting at this hour?
The doorbell rang again—hurried, insistent—making his heart race. The desire he'd just been drowning in quickly ebbed away. He rushed to the entrance, cracked the door open, and peeked out—
"Khaotung?!"
A large hand pushed against the door, and First stumbled back from the force. Khaotung slipped inside in one swift motion. First frowned, closing the door behind him, catching the faint scent of alcohol on his friend.
"You’ve been drinking? We’re filming tomorrow!"
"Just a little. I wanted to talk to you," Khaotung said as he turned around. His gaze darkened. "Were you in the shower?"
First instinctively moved to cover his chest—then thought better of it, quickly turning toward the bedroom. "I’ll go put something on."
Khaotung followed him in, closing the door behind them with a quiet click. A chill ran down First’s spine. He reached for his towel, hesitated. Turning back, he saw Khaotung standing by the door, silent.
"W-What’s wrong, friend?"
Khaotung tilted his head, taking a few steps closer, eyes trained on the front of the towel. Only then did First remember—the base of the toy must’ve been pushing outward, forming a noticeable bulge beneath the fabric.
Panicked, he turned to face Khaotung fully, but that only made things worse. Khaotung’s gaze burned hotter now.
"Fir," he said, voice low, "you’re hard."
It was Khaotung who kissed him first. First closed his eyes and received the heated brush of lips and tongue, already scrambling to justify it in his head.
He kissed me first. So kissing him back… that’s only fair, isn’t it?
“Fir… want to touch me there? Like you did on set today.” Khaotung grasped the back of his neck, words slurred and careless, the scent of alcohol heavy on his breath, clouding First’s thoughts.
So First reached out, just as Kant had once held Bison—his hand closing around Khaotung below. But this time, it was hard.
That thick, firm thing—like a blade of flesh—bounced with life in his palm. It was even bigger than First had imagined, too large to be fully grasped by one hand. It nuzzled and nipped at his palm, struggling to break free from the fabric’s restraint.
Khaotung sighed softly in his mouth, a sound curved like Bison’s voice—smooth, teasing. The mischievous assassin still lingered in Khaotung’s body, glaring fiercely at First. Kant’s sweet yet ruthless younger boyfriend who never blinked before killing.
“P’Kant… P’Kant,” Khaotung coaxed, teasing and poking in his hand, whispering near his ear.
Each utterance felt like a caress against his most sensitive places, his hole contracting sharply, forcing out tiny moans. “Stop calling me like that… stop…” he pushed Khaotung away, struggling to escape those nimble lips and tongue.
“Don’t you like it, Fir? When I call you phi, your eyes shine so bright. You love it, don’t you?” Khaotung tugged at the towel, “You were already hard on set, I felt it. Let me help you, or how will we shoot the rest of the scenes? Hmm?”
That trademark smile played on Khaotung’s lips, coaxing, until First bit his lip and loosened the towel.
Khaotung stared at First, who was busy folding the towel, for a few seconds. When his smile faded, he kissed him again—this time more urgent, biting with a hint of ferocity, as if the layer of meekness slipped off along with the towel.
First moaned, letting the scorching hands roam over his bare, wet body, kneading his sensitive shaft and balls. Finally, the strong veined hand reached his firm, round ass, grabbing and pinching the small, perky flesh.
“Fir, did you grab me on purpose during filming?” Khaotung whispered between bites, squeezing his buttocks firmly, coaxing an answer.
“…No, that was the script,” First stammered. The dildo he had inserted shifted left and right, scraping his sensitive prostate under Khaotung’s grasp. He pressed Khaotung’s hand back against his cheeks to keep it steady.
“The script didn’t say to grab that hard. Today, you gripped me with your whole hand, P’Fir. You were so forceful… Do you like me there?”
One secret First learned after playing Kant was shamelessness. In the past, if Khaotung said these things, First would have run so far. But now, First only looked away and murmured, “Mm...”
Like it, of course he liked it. He liked its weight, shape, and warmth. He liked it being on his best friend. He liked it growing hard in his own hand. So he tightened his fingers, feeling the warm soft flesh between them. But how could he confess to his friend, “I like your cock” ? No matter how many Kant he played, he couldn’t say it out loud.
It only took one Bison to awaken all of Khaotung’s madness.
Grinning, Khaotung unfastened his pants and kicked off both trousers and underwear, standing naked before First with a tilted head and a sweet smile. “You like my big thing, don’t you? So much that you used a toy in the bathroom to replace it.”
The old Khaotung had never been shy either, but not as bold and radiant as now—so dazzling that First couldn’t look away. And Khaotung’s cock was too tempting… Thick and hard, dark red in color, curving slightly upward between his legs. The full head looked like an opened umbrella, glistening with pre-cum, tempting First to taste it. But he didn’t need to say a word—Khaotung already knew.
“Lie down in bed. I’ll feed you.”
Khaotung pushed First onto the bed, straddling him, inching forward until he was right in front of First’s face. “Like it?”
First stuck out his tongue and licked the plump mushroom tip, defiantly asking back, “Like it?”
Khaotung smiled, running his fingers through First’s hair, then curled his hand tighter, guiding First’s open mouth to swallow the pre-cum-coated head of his cock.
First had no experience with oral sex. First had no experience at all.
What happened in the bathroom—hugging a dildo and licking it—didn’t count. Lying on top of his friend and moving as the script demanded didn’t count either.
Khaotung’s was the first real, warm cock that had ever entered his mouth—also the only one.
A slightly salty, bitter fluid leaked from the slit, and he rolled his tongue around it, swallowed it with his own saliva.
The shaft was big. So big that he had to force his mouth open as wide as he could to keep from scraping Khaotung with his teeth.
Before long, his jaw began to ache. And yet, he’d only managed to take in half of that delicious, thick length.
Khaotung wasn’t in a rush. His movements were slow, graceful, almost like a dance as he moved his hips rhythmically above First’s face. His hands were even gentler, cradling the back of First’s head, guiding it in sync with his motion.
“Does it feel good, P’Fif?” he murmured, his voice low and unhurried, as he moved carefully within the warmth of First’s mouth. “When you grabbed me on set… did you want to taste it? Hmm? Phi?”
A muffled sound vibrated deep in First’s throat, his breath caught in response to that single word—Phi. The reaction was immediate: a twitch, a clench, a silent confession his body couldn’t hide. The toy inside him slipped slightly and was drawn back in, deeper than before.
Khaotung must have noticed. With quiet amusement, he kept repeating that name—Phi—softly, teasingly, and every time he did, First trembled, giving off a faint, helpless moan. The toy moved with each contraction, sliding in and out like a teasing rhythm that never quite reached its end. Frustrated, First reached back and pressed it in deeper.
His throat tightened as Khaotung pushed in fully at the same time—filling him from above, while the toy stretched him from below. The overwhelming sensation blurred everything else: his vision rolled back, his limbs tightened, his breath caught mid-air.
Khaotung slowly withdrew, his length dragging wet warmth across First’s lips and cheek, leaving behind a glistening trail. He smiled, eyes soft as silk.
“Did you like that, Phi?”
First panted as he stared at Khaotung for a few seconds, then suddenly flipped him over. Khaotung didn’t resist—he let First turn him with deliberate ease, lying back comfortably with arms and legs sprawled open, allowing the bare flesh of First’s hips to settle onto his thighs.
“Want to do it, frend…?” First asked in a hush, sitting atop him, shifting his hips experimentally. The aftermath of his release glistened faintly on both of them, trailing from his own stomach onto Khaotung’s skin, pooling in the shallow dip of his navel. Between his thighs, the base of the toy nudged faintly against Khaotung’s inner leg, suggestive, unresolved.
His expression still held a trace of shyness, but as he rubbed his own still-sensitive length—softened slightly after release—against Khaotung’s firm arousal, there wasn’t the slightest hesitation.
Khaotung raised an eyebrow appreciatively. “I like this version of you, P’Fir.”
A deep flush crept up to his ears. Embarrassed, First reached out to cover Khaotung’s smoldering gaze with his hand. “Don’t look at me like that. Are we doing this or not?”
With a soft laugh, Khaotung pulled a pillow over half his face. “Let’s do it, frend. You should’ve asked me like this two years ago.”
The man beneath him lay with limbs spread out like a starfish, completely relaxed, as if offering himself without reservation. And the part of his face that peeked out from under the pillow—those lips with the little dip in the center, the teasing curve of his smile, the faint stubble starting to show—was the face First had quietly adored for six long years.
There was something inexplicably alluring about Khaotung’s body. First leaned down with reverence, kissing his lips, his chin, his neck. One hand reached behind, carefully pulling the toy out from inside himself.
Nothing could compare to the real thing—no toy could match the sheer presence of what his friend now offered him. He grasped it, positioning it beneath him, and began the slow, careful descent. It was like trying to take a steel rod into himself—so thick and firm it left him breathless.
The tight ring of muscle clenched stubbornly, refusing to yield further no matter how deeply he inhaled or tried to relax. Khaotung was simply too big—bigger than anything First had ever tried to take.
He was drenched in sweat, flustered and overwhelmed. Reaching down to where their bodies were joined, he touched the place gently, his voice trembling as he pleaded, “Frend… c-could you… not be so hard? Just a little less…”
Khaotung let out the breath he’d been holding and chuckled through his panting. His hands found First’s waist and held him firmly as he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, “P’Fir… I can’t help it either. Phi’s too tight, too warm… Khaotung only wants Phi to feel good…”
“Don’t… don’t—”
The pleasure licked up from the curve of his ear down to his belly, sharp and hot. Though he had already come once, First’s body was stirring again, his arousal rising rapidly—and his twitching entrance, in a sudden involuntary motion, took in another inch of that thick, unrelenting heat.
Under the pillow, Khaotung tilted his head back and released a quiet moan of bliss. “Phi… mmm… you’re so hot, Phi…”
First knew he was doing it on purpose—Khaotung was—but that didn’t stop the tremors rippling through him. He loved it when Khaotung called him like that, loved it so much his knees buckled. No longer able to support himself, his hips dropped lower, and his body, desperate and yielding, slowly welcomed Khaotung to the hilt.
“Ah… Tung…”
“Phi… I want it all—I want every bit of you.”
Khaotung’s tone changed—dripping sweet, sultry, winding through the air like Bison’s on set. First shook uncontrollably, a rush of sensation swirling in his chest and abdomen. His arousal lifted high again, already smearing slick, glistening traces across Khaotung’s stomach. He wanted to take him in completely—not just the heavy, pulsing length, but the warm balls beneath it too. All of him.
He lifted his hips and slowly sank down, repeating the motion several times until his insides seemed to finally adjust to the fullness of such a large, foreign presence. First panted heavily, hands braced beside Khaotung’s ears as his chest pressed firmly against the bare skin before him. Their nipples rubbed together, quickly hardening into sensitive peaks.
“Khaotung… Khaotung…” he moaned, moving his hips, swallowing Khaotung’s length with his tight entrance, his whole body pressing and trembling over the smaller man’s frame, mixing breathless moans and gasps.
Khaotung was driven back toward the headboard, forced to brace himself against the bed with one hand while the other wrapped around First’s slim waist. “Phi, faster…”
First buried his face into Khaotung’s neck, crying out, his hips driving hard, the soft flesh of his rear slapping loudly against Khaotung’s thigh.
“It feels so good, Tung… Phi really feel so good,” he gasped, tears streaming uncontrollably, his muscles relaxing completely to wrap tightly around the delicious length inside him, which glistened wetly along its shaft. Every fold deep within him was stretched open, even the very end of his intestines teased and prodded, causing his lower belly to bulge softly.
Khaotung couldn’t see it, but the sobbing by his ear curled his lips into a smile as he panted and whispered, “Come for Tung?” His voice was hoarse yet gentle, carrying echoes of countless roles he had played. First, tears flowing, pressed the length harder against his prostate, lost in a daze where it felt like he was making love to Ray, Aye, or Bison.
“I’m close… Khun, together with phi… together…”
His words were jumbled, but Khaotung understood perfectly. Suddenly, he grabbed First’s waist firmly, stopping the restless movements. First relaxed his thighs, letting himself be held. Then Khaotung bent his legs and began pounding into First like a machine, steady and deep.
First couldn’t speak, his mind almost drifting away with each thrust, until Khaotung paused to catch his breath. Only then did he realize he’d drooled onto Khaotung’s shoulder.
“Come inside me,” First said, pulling the pillow off Khaotung’s eyes, tears in his own as he cupped his friend’s face. “Phi wants it—all of you, Tung. I want it all…”
Khaotung opened his eyes, cheeks flushed, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Firfir, you’re really so cute.”
Before First could fully react, a new wave of thrusts began. His flesh was slapped and bounced, sending waves through him. Held aloft by Khaotung’s grip, his legs trembling as they pressed against Khaotung’s waist, the thick shaft nudging at his belly button also quivered. He felt like he was riding a low-frequency wooden horse, the only living thing the rod sliding deep inside him, angled perfectly to stroke his prostate.
He couldn’t form full sentences, only gasped between breaths. Suddenly, a deep thrust from behind sent a fierce tide rushing through his body. Every muscle trembled and contracted, driving waves of semen forward. The rush of orgasm made him cry out, hugging the neck beneath him as he came in strong waves.
Feeling the wetness pooling on his lower belly and chest, Khaotung gave a few last powerful thrusts, holding First’s waist as he emptied himself deep inside the warm passage.
The two trembled in the aftershocks of their climax, neither moving. A long moment passed before First finally lifted his head.
Khaotung brushed aside the damp strands of hair from his forehead. “How do you feel, frend?”
“Not Phi anymore?” First murmured, frowning.
“…From now on, I can only call you Phi in bed.”
That meant there would be a next time. Content, First buried his head back into Khaotung’s neck and shifted his hips, letting the now-softening length slip out from his entrance. He reached back and cupped it in his hand, weighing it thoughtfully. Heavy — not only filling his body but also filling the deepest, unspoken longing he held for his friend.
“Phi… you know there’s a price for all that grabbing and fondling.”