Chapter Text
In the realism of it all, soulmates don’t exist.
Pond knows this among many other things.
You meet people, you fall in love and the world doesn’t set on fire and you don’t perish into flames.
Yet, it’s an idealism that humans fall back into, the theory of your soul being just one half of another. Invisible strings of some sort.
And Pond thinks about it sometimes. Soulmates.
He sometimes wondered what it would be like to meet his soulmate. If the stars will collapse, if the world will stop spinning. Will the earth orbits its focus until it sinks and immerses itself into the very moment where he looks into his soulmate’s eyes for the first time.
Because Pond feels it, regardless of realism and idealism, an invisible grip that tips over in his chest. And it’s the whole ordeal, hook line and sinker. And yet, it’s not. The world doesn’t stop, the constellation above him doesn't come crashing down. Pond’s breath isn’t being stolen and his eyes aren’t popping out of his skull. In all the ways it has been told over and over in books and movies.
And yet it’s all of those things. Pond looks into the man’s eyes, and everything shifts, ever so slightly. His heart rate is a racketing mess and he feels his breath get knocked out of his chest. And everything stops, yet it doesn’t. It’s all in his head, it’s in the pure need to taste the moment on his tongue; relishing in the way the desire is seeping through the veins that run through every core of his being and he craves for it so fervidly that he’s willing to drink in the lies. The abstract idea of soulmates.
And perhaps, when it all comes down to it, soulmates is merely a deceptive belief to one’s mind; but Pond, for once, doesn’t mind selling his soul and conscience to such false perception of reality. Just once.
Because after all, soulmates never really deal with realism.
Pond can hear the meat sizzling on the stone pan as Joong sings along to something by Radiohead and every time his eyes drift to the man across from the bar countertop, the man is looking at him. Entirely too confident to seem shameless about it.
Pond averts his eyes to the few customers that they have and he feels the way his chest tightens from being under such scrutinizing eyes, lack of breath centering around his heart.
“You got a chef with good music taste back there,” the man points his eyes towards the kitchen, fingers grazing the glass of his drink, lips lifted subtly.
Pond wants to laugh, Joong is hardly a chef and Radiohead is overrated but he’s not about to say that.
Pond smiles back, “I’ll make sure to let him know.”
The man doesn’t say anything to that, eyes quietly watching. He glances down at Pond's shirt and Pond’s gaze naturally follows him, “fan of Naruto?”
“Who isn’t a fan of Kakashi Hatake?”
The man raises his eyes at that, chuckling under his breath, “so a fan of pretty looking boys.”
The man quirks his mouth so slightly, sizing Pond up and Pond knows that he knows Pond is watching him. He sips the drink from the frosted glass and there’s this hint of shy abrasiveness like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Like he doesn’t know what he looks like to Pond. Or at least, he wants Pond to think so. It’s for show, Pond knows this among many other things but yet, he trips over over regardless. Head first into a void that feels completely bottomless, sucking him into the pit blackness.
“You could say that,” Pond answers him, eyes shifting to the door in case they have any customers coming in. He turns back to the man who sits there, looking at him, arms crossed over the hardwood countertop, so fucking pretty under the cheap dimmed overhead lights and Pond never had such a desire to see someone in broad daylight before, wondering if the sun has anything on someone that looks like the man sitting across from him.
The wetness of the man’s lips is all too distracting and Pond’s heart yanks. It hasn’t stopped yanking ever since this man stepped into the restaurant. And he has all of Pond’s attention with the way he’s staring at him under his dark lashes, “do I pass the test?”
Pond must have got all up in his head because his brain comes to an immediate halt as he looks away from his shiny lips, “huh?”
“You like boys who are pretty. Do I pass the test?”
He stares at Pond, at Kakashi on his shirt, then right into his eyes. Waiting. Anticipating. Like he knows the response Pond would give. Like Pond is just one of the guys. Just a guy. Someone. No one altogether.
Pond doesn’t answer, instead he says, “can I have your name?”
Because among other things, Pond needs to know his name. From the moment the man stepped inside the bar, Pond’s heart had tossed a line to him and sank its hook in, catching on the vessels and he’s so drawn to this practically stranger of man that his heart and body and mind no longer feel like they belong to him.
And soulmates aren’t real. Pond reminds himself.
The man squints his eyes at him, there are small wrinkles at the corners of his brown orbs and Pond has the sudden urge to sooth them away with his fingers, his mouth.
“Normally, you tell yours first before you ask for someone else’s.”
“Not big on formality.”
This time the man laughs, genuinely laughing, “or subtlety. It’s Phuwin. Since you seem so eager to know.”
Phuwin.
Pond easily gives in, “I was.”
“I’m Pond,” Pond adds, for the sake of etiquette even if Pond isn’t too big on that.
Phuwin is looking at him now, dark, measured, almost unabashedly staring at him, almost shamelessly. Almost. Pond wouldn’t even mind that. Shamelessness would look ridiculously good on Phuwin, all bare and slicked with sweat under the dim light. Phuwin meets his eyes and they stay there. “Your place or mine?”
And Pond is no longer 19, freshly entering university and learning the normality of hooking up for the sake of hooking up. Pond is in his late 20s and he has done this far too many times. Because sex is sex. Desire feeds desire. And afterall, humans are just the animals that feed on intimate connections. Yet his brain short circuits at the blunt suggestion, something rewires, reroutes, shifts its entire focal point, “um…give me 30 minutes. We close in 30 minutes.”
Phuwin makes a face at that, nose slightly scrunched up and it’s cute. It’s such a misleading front he’s putting up. A contradiction to the way he dresses all in black and the way he talks like he wants Pond to taste his names on his lips, over and over. Phuwin looks far too lethal for someone who looks like the softest, sweetest, prettiest thing anyone has ever seen.
“I give you 10 minutes, max. I’m not waiting any longer.”
Demanding. Entirely too fucking certain. Like he knows Pond isn’t much of a type to put up a fight. Like he has Pond exactly where he wants him, weak and pathetic under his mercy.
He finishes the last bit of his drink before he looks straight into Pond’s eyes as he says, “I like my drinks rimmed, just so you know.”
And Phuwin must have known this. How ethereal he is under these artificial restaurant lights, an enticing little thing with the way the glint of the fainted brightness hits him just right, gleaming at the high of his cheekbones. And Pond can see the dip of his thin waist underneath the silk button down, imagining what it would be like to imprint his fingers on the curve of his hips, feeling the flex of his muscles between his hands.
“Do you–” and Pond lets the words trail off, a little too dazed, brian and mouth running on a different frequency. There are questions that sit at the tip of his tongue. Do you like quiet walks under the moonlit night? Do you like your hand being held? Do you always size men down to their knees? Do you like being kissed? On the lips. At the curve of your long neck. Between your shoulder blades. Between your legs after I make you wet down there. Instead, Pond asks, “do you always get what you want?”
And perhaps, he’s throwing Phuwin off a loop but Pond isn’t trying too, he’s genuinely curious if Phuwin does it on purpose. Demands for what he wants, knowing that he will get it. Inevitably.
Phuwin doesn’t answer, instead he slips off the stool, putting the dollar bills on the countertop, glancing back at Pond. At his lips, his gaze lingers, “guess we’ll find out.”
𓍯𓂃𓏧
When Pond walks out of the restaurant, the summer air of downtown LA feels sticky to his skin, the smell of grilled steak in the restaurants down the street lingering in the air.
He sees Phuwin pressing against the brick walk of the bar, glinting under the street light, a bright little pretty thing in the city that feels quite dull these days. Phuwin watches Pond, leaning against the wall with his hips jut out, shirt tucked in his black jeans, wrapped perfectly against the slim waist. Pond’s gut throbs at the sight, heart kicks stupidly in his chest.
“Only 7 minutes. Aren’t you eager.” Phuwin smirks and even that is keeping his face pretty, even prettier maybe, and it still startles Pond just how innocent Phuwin looks, when he allows himself to be.
Pond clears his throat, tensions lopsided and Pond wonders just how self aware Phuwin really is. If Phuwin is reveling in it, the attention Pond is giving him, wants leaking within him. Naked. Completely stripped bare. Pond thinks Phuwin must be, basking in some kind of self validation that he always gets what he wants.
Phuwin glances at his shirt again, snickering under his breath, “you look fucking ridiculous in that shirt.”
Pond grins lightly at that, reactions reduced to something that feels a little bit more within his control, or at least he thinks they are.
“Does it always work for you?”
Pond raises his eyes at that, waiting.
“You know, always looking aloof and standoffish. Does it work for you? With those pretty boys you take home?”
And Pond thinks it’s a little funny to hear those words from someone else when they are describing him. Because he is anything but those things; Pond is pretty easy to read for the most part. He’s been told often by the people around him that he wears his heart on his sleeves, all cards out on the table, and one could practically read all of his inner thoughts from his face.
Pond has been finding it extremely hard to fit Phuwin into this box of personalities, he wonders if Phuwin is also just trying to put the puzzle pieces too. But then again, maybe none of us are meant to be put in a box. Maybe Pond wears his heart on his sleeves. Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he just thinks he is. Good at doing so. Good at lying to himself about it.
“I don’t do this often,” Pond says and he’s honest about it.
Phuwin hums, light and airy but he sounds like he’s hardly buying it. “Have you decided?”
“On?”
“On whether you’re going to fuck me on your bed or mine?”
Everything in Pond’s mind stutters to a complete halt, he feels utterly wrung dry. And Pond understands that words are just words. They don’t always hold weight or any implication to them. Yet Pond can’t seem to remember the last time someone had him the way Phuwin is having him. Dizzy with pure desire, hands horribly empty, his body flighty and ridiculous with the way his limbs don't feel like they belong to him.
Something hot burns in Pond’s chest. It’s the bashful look in Phuwin’s eyes, the poised tilt of his hips and his confident stance, the way he’s an absolute composed of contradictions, soft and tough, so tangibly intertwined.
And Pond thinks Phuwin must be this good out of practice. Pond could think Phuwin is entirely unaffected by any of this. By Pond. Yet, there’s something in the way Phuwin is tilting his head back, biting his lip almost nervously at Pond’s silence and Pond can’t stop thinking about how pink those lips are. Can’t stop thinking about how they haven’t even kissed yet and how pink and swollen they would be the moment Pond gets a taste of them. He wants to lean forward and figure out if Phuwin’s lips are as sweet as he thinks or will they taste bitter, like the liquor he had down at the bar earlier.
And Pond thinks Phuwin must find this easy, hooking up, sex, fucking. The whole ordeal. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe Phuwin’s head is just as much of a mess as his. Maybe the heat that is burning in the pit of his stomach is all in his head.
Pond says, far too breathless, “wherever you want.”
𓍯𓂃𓏧
“Nice place you have,” Phuwin comments, eyes scanning around his flat.
It’s an absolute mess, vinyl records stacked up on top of each other, a whole collection of every volume of Death Notes, clothes scattered on the floor, under his bed, all over the sheet. It’s slightly embarrassing, having someone who looks far too pretty like Phuwin, standing amidst a mess of the life he’s living in.
And Pond feels a bit too much like a mess himself, like he doesn’t know what to do with his body and hands, reaching and grasping and nothing. Like he doesn’t know how to do any of this.
Phuwin scans the room one last time before his eyes land on Pond, eyelashes dark as ever under the weak ceiling light of Pond’s flat. Phuwin crossed his arms over his broad chest, biceps lith and sculpted, muscles toned with stark veins running along his arms.
“Are you going to take off your clothes?”
Pond swallows, not knowing what else to do, “now?”
“Or you can kiss me. But if you want to just stand there all night, your call.”
And Pond wants to laugh at just how ridiculously demanding this man is and how it works on him like he’s under some sort of spell. How Phuwin doesn’t ask but rather, he commands, yet his voice is slightly breathy, a bit too needy. It makes Pond’s head go haywire, giving him a complete whiplash each time.
And Pond reminds himself that it’s just sex. That it all comes down to just that. Sex.
“Or you could do that yourself.” And for a moment, Pond thinks Phuwin is going to put up a fight, putting up another front.
Instead, with a soft hum, Phuwin steps forwards, pushes gently, and Pond easily gives, takes a step back then another, until Phuwin’s body presses into him against the hard wall. With Phuwin against his chest, Pond can almost hear the mismatched beats of Phuwin’s heart, the heat and desire rippling within him like a tangible staggering force. Phuwin and him, perhaps, they’re not that much different.
Pond leans in closer, feels the heat of Phuwin’s lips the moment they brush against his own, bated breaths and heady stares. And Pond glances down at the boy before him, watching the way his half-closed eyelids flutter shut before he leans in to fully press his lips to Pond’s in a searing, molten kiss that completely takes Pond’s breath away. He feels the way Phuwin grips onto his forearms, fingers must be turning white at how tight he is holding onto Pond.
Groaning quietly, Pond also tightens his grip on Phuwin’s waist and pulls him closer, kissing him deeper. He hears the way Phuwin grasps in response, clutching the front of Pond’s shirt, pulling the fabric so tight that for a moment Pond is concerned it’s going to tear. Phuwin trembles, whining in the back of his throat, breath all rapid and hot with pleased noises spilling all over him.
“Fuck,” Phuwin buzzes all over, the word ringing right into Pond’s mouth, tongue wet and hot against Pond’s, panting heavily. And Pond feels dizzy again, he reaches to jerk Phuwin’s body even closer, pressing against him and relishing in the way his solid weight and tense muscle feels against his body.
And Phuwin smells good, something like warm musk along with the cloying sweetness of something flowery and fruity. Phuwin smells expensive, entirely out of Pond’s league. Pretty little thing like him, it fits. It just makes sense for someone like Phuwin, an air of refinement to go along with a tint of an unfiltered filthy attitude of his. Pond pulls back from him entirely and Phuwin lets out a confused little noise, cheeks lightly flushed, lips parted and wet, shining under the cheap dimmed kitchen light.
Pond can’t stop the smile that spreads across his lips. To know that Phuwin is just as affected as he is. Because Pond is just a guy. But so is Phuwin. And in the grand scheme of things, they are just a tiny speck of the burnt out cosmos. Insignificant to everything that makes up the constellation.
The glint in Phuwin’s eyes returns, mischievous and brazen, “I should ask you something else too.”
“Which is?”
“If you’re going to give me whatever I want.”
Pond thinks it’s a silly question. Because Phuwin could ask to eat his heart right up and Pond will probably let him.
Pond’s heart clenches, “anything.”
Phuwin’s face immediately loses its intensity, the sensuality of it all as he lets out a breathy snicker, “does that line usually work for you?”
It’s the second time Phuwin has asked him something like this, an implication of how casual this must be for Pond. And it ticks something within Pond because Pond craves for Phuwin to know that he has never been this down bad for anyone like this before, borderline pathetic about it too. But Pond gets it, this is just sex. Pond tries to understand it.
So he says, “honestly, I don’t know. Never used it before so I guess we’ll find out.”
Phuwin laughs at that, and this time it’s entirely unrestrained, mouth wide open and the sound is bordering on unattractive. Yet on Phuwin, it’s attractive, probably the most attractive thing about him through Pond’s eyes. And Pond feels it, the way his heart kicks again. Pond feels it, the way he wants to keep Phuwin laughing like this. Something like this. Like forever. Like soulmates. Something. Nothing.
𓍯𓂃𓏧
Pond is stripped down to his boxer once he is sitting on the edge of the bed, Phuwin tucked between his legs. Pond wonders if it’s a power thing, the way Phuwin is looming over him, fully dressed while Pond is almost stripped bare. Pond gets to fuck him yet Pond is the one with his balls almost out, everyhing out of place. His heart, a puddling mess on the floor.
And one moment Phuwin stands tall ahead of him and the next, he’s down on his knees. Pond’s breath goes shot immediately, Phuwin’s heat hits him full force, the way his fingers grazing over his knees. Phuwin is barely touching him, yet he fucking feels it everywhere, the pit of his stomach burning and crumbling. And when Phuwin looks up at him, his eyes are the dark things in the light, he carefully smooths his hands up Pond’s thighs and Pond’s cock twitch, half hard against the thin fabric of his boxer.
Phuwin glances up at Pond when he says, “you’re not gonna come if I suck you off first, right?”
Pond fumbling, his words, his mind altogether, “N- fuck. No.” Because Pond is weak but he’s not that weak. Pond looks down at Phuwin, licking his lips, throat clicking all too loud in the dead silence of the room, arousal is a hard knot in Pond’s gut.
Phuwin runs a finger along the line of Pond’s cock in his boxer with a grin lingering at the corner of his lips, making a little noise when he sees the wet patch against the dark fabric, “good. Wanted your cock in my mouth the moment I saw you.”
And Pond reminds himself again, that words are just words. And people say anything during sex, in the heat of the moment, Pond is guilty of it too. And Pond knows this. Among other things. But he still wonders if Phuwin knows just how effective his words weigh on him, he must know. Pond feels a sudden urge to ask Phuwin if he meant the second he saw Pond or the moment he saw his cock but Phuwin doesn’t give him a chance when he pulls his cock out of his boxer and wrapping a hand around him, fingers rough yet soft, the slide progressively wetting as he dips his head lower on Pond’s laps.
Pond slowly inhales through his nose when Phuwin finally drags his tongue along the length of his cock, head a hazy mess, finger gripping and grasping. On something. On nothing. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch Phuwin yet, if Phuwin wants to be touched. He simply does not know what to fucking do. It’s fucking ridiculous. As if years of experience in sex came crashing down into nothing.
Phuwin drops his pretty mouth open, lapping his tongue over the head of Pond’s cock before he flutters his lashes closed and takes Pond into his mouth. And Pond’s brain fizzles out completely, everything feels like a chemical reaction of some sort, too heady, too heavy, for something that is physical. So strictly physical.
And Pond had his cock sucked before. It’s nothing of a groundbreaking new experience. Because at the end of the day, a mouth is a mouth. A tight, wet, hot place for his cock. As long as teeth stay bare minimum, he wouldn’t mind getting his cock sucked by anyone. And Phuwin is all of those things, mouth hot, tongue wet, throat tight when he drops his jaw opens, letting Pond sink deeper into the heat of his mouth. Yet, Phuwin is Phuwin. And it all feels too fucking new, too different. And Pond is just trying to not get too much into his head.
Phuwin pulls off with a wet pop, breath stuttering, voice hoarse, “god, Pond. Your cock.” Phuwin makes it sound like he just experienced something so reverent in his life, like he just got his throat fucked. And they have barely done anything.
Pond feels too light headed to respond, he feels weak and even weaker when Phuwin lets out a muted groan, runs his lips down his cock again, skims his nose along the base and nuzzles there just a bit, and it feels a bit primitive, territorial almost, like he’s marking his place there. Like no one gets to be as close to Pond as he is, and the worst of it all, Pond doesn’t even mind that. If Phuwin chooses to claim him and gets territorial about his dick, Pond will gladly hand it to him on a golden platter.
Phuwin moans, eyes half lidded, Pond can see the muscles of his back bunching as he arches into Pond, see one of Phuwin’s hands disappearing between his legs as he swallows around Pond’s cock. And fuck. Fuck. He is so thoroughly fucked.
He watches the way Phuwin’s arm slightly jerks between his own thighs, elbow jutting sharply and fuck, it’s just so obscene, with his cock at the back of Phuwin’s throat, “fuck. Are you touching yourself? Shit—Phuwin, fuck, you’re so–”
Pond doesn’t know how to finish that sentence, his mind is rumbling, can’t stop thinking about how hard Phuwin must be, how wet he is under his tight jeans, how much it must hurt against the rough fabric, “shit, I want to get my hands all over you, Phuwin. You’re so fucking hot.”
Pond doesn’t get to say more, Phuwin simply doesn't let him as he starts moving, one last suck at the head before he’s off of Pond’s cock completely. Pond’s hips jerk as an instinctive reaction, jolting slightly and he thinks he might have hit Phuwin in the chin, he makes a move to apologize but Phuwin hardly gives you a chance.
He’s up on his feet now, fingers impatiently digging and pulling his shirt out of his jeans, over his head.
Pond raises his hands, hesitating, when he says, “can I?”
Phuwin groans, almost frustratingly as his hand is a fumble mess against his belt, it’s cute, fucking adorable but Pond holds back the comment. “You don’t have to fucking ask all the time, Pond. Are you always this fucking polite before you fuck someone?”
Manners. Formality. Etiquette. Phuwin seems to hate all of those things.
Both of them at each end of the spectrum.
Pond doesn’t let Phuwin ask twice when he places his hand at the button of Phuwin’s jeans, zipper down and jeans halfway down his thigh before Phuwin makes another one of his demands.
“Fuck,” is the only word that Pond could murmur out. He grips the sides of Phuwin’s hard thighs, and he thinks he’s making a bruise out of his skin at how firm he clenches the skin in his fingers. He groans faintly when he sees the material Phuwin’s brief stretches over his cock, the head is soaked through. Phuwin is not real. He just can’t be.
And Pond must have thought it out loud, must have mumbled out the word that Phuwin is unreal because he hears the way Phuwin snorts before him. And Pond had meant it, when he said he wanted to get his hands all over Phuwin, his mouth at every inch of his naked skin. He leans in to kiss the band of Phuwin’s brief, hands skimming up and down over the soft skin of Phuwin’s thigh, from the back of his knees to the thick of his upper thighs, right below his ass. He feels the way Phuwin’s clenches under his touch, a sharp inhale and Pond’s gut is twisting. Over and over.
“Wait, Pond, fuck,” Phuwin’s hands push into Pond’s hair and holding him back with a harsh pull, “don’t touch my cock yet.”
Pond hisses slightly at the rough pull, and Phuwin must have sensed because he releases his grip, fingers gentle as he smoothes them through Pond’s hair. “Sorry, it’s just—I’m going to come if you touch my cock right now. And I want to at least sit on your dick first before I do that.”
Pond thinks about Phuwin teasing him if he’s going to come from a mere blowjob, thinks about how pathetic and weak it had made him seem. And he realizes that Phuwin might be too. Just a little pathetic. A little weak. Pond takes it as a small victory.
And Phuwin is all talk really because he becomes pliant under Pond’s touch, in the way Pond licks at the edge of Phuwin’s boxer brief, moaning a little when he reaches the inside of Phuwin’s thigh, skin smooth and slicked with precum. And Phuwin is all talk really, because he lets Pond do whatever, spreads his legs a little wide for Pond’s mouth. Pond sucks on his skin and Phuwin’s voice boils down to a breathy moan, thighs twitching in Pond’s hold and Pond wants it. So desperately. He wants to feel that sound against his mouth, he wants to hear it once he gets Phuwin on his back, once he slides into the heat of him, he wants to feel it trembling around his cock.
Once Pond gets Phuwin out of his jeans and his briefs altogether, he can’t help but to look at Phuwin. Really taking him in, the shapes he makes in his bedroom, the way the dimmed overhead light is outlining his thin but toned body, and he can’t help but wonders how Phuwin would look under a much softer light, under something a little bit more twinkling, like the moonlight and the stars.
And Pond must have been really looking, maybe far longer than he had intended to because Phuwin grips his shoulders lightly when he asks, “are you going to just keep looking at me or are we going to actually do something?”
Pond blinks, then he laughs. He doesn’t mean to but he does, and it feels easy. It feels light. And he wonders if Phuwin thinks they are in something of a time crunch, almost if Pond doesn’t get inside him quick enough, they might run out of time. It’s such an absurd thought, considering that Pond would give him his whole night. The rest of forever if that’s something Phuwin is looking for.
Phuwin frowns at him, practically fucking pouting, not really finding it amusing, and it just makes Pond smiles even wider, “sorry. You’re just really fucking beautiful.”
Pond unconsciously reaches up his thumb to wipe the corner of Phuwin’s lips, a residue left from when he had them wrapped around Pond’s cock earlier. Phuwin easily lets him, doesn’t stray away.
He does roll his eyes however, “you already have me naked in your bedroom, Pond. You don’t need to sweet talk me.”
“Do you not like it? When guys sweet talk you? How could someone not do that to you?”
Pond thinks he’s rambling, he doesn’t know how to stop once he starts. And Phuwin doesn’t answer him. Just lightly shrugs as a response.
Phuwin climbs on his laps a short moment later, pushing him further onto his bed, “you need to stop talking.” There aren’t much bites to the words, just pure unadulterated wants. And Pond thinks he could let Phuwin have this, this control that grips at his throat. Instead, he flips them over in the last second, getting Phuwin on his back with the white sheet ruffling underneath his naked skin, head on Pond’s pillow like it belongs there.
Phuwin looks up at him, breathless, grasping, entirely too startled.
Pond dips his head, kissing Phuwin’s the expands of Phuwin’s chest. And he keeps kissing him, everywhere and anywhere he can reach with his mouth. He slides his hands down to the meat of Phuwin’s ass, groaning against Phuwin’s skin as he kneads the soft flesh until Phuwin almost kicks him out of pure desperation for Pond to get the fuck on with it. His mouth latches onto one of Phuwin’s nipples while one of his hands is thumbing the other. And Pond almost feels like he’s not enough, not enough mouth, not enough hands. Nothing that can be enough for Phuwin.
He presses his hips against Phuwin and the moment their cocks brush against one another, Phuwin immediately yanks Pond’s hair, so hard that it stings against his skull. It makes Pond grunts as a reaction, biting onto Phuwin’s nipple, getting it pink and swollen.
When Pond pulls back, he sees the way Phuwin’s eyes are blown wide, mouth panting, hair all disheveled and spread out on his pillow. He looks dirty, filthy almost, wet and pink. The prettiest type of mess Pond has ever laid his eyes on.
He brushes his thumb over Phuwin’s cheek and he can’t seem to stop, and Pond feels like he forgets what to do next. Like he doesn’t know where to go from here. And Phuwin must have sensed it, the way his eyes are a little softer, whispering, “get your lube, Pond.”
Pond finds his lube in his first drawer before he gets on top again, he eyes the way Phuwin is grimacing at the lube in his hand. “Can’t believe I’m going to get fucked by someone with a banana flavored lube.”
Pond opens his mouth, trying to explain himself out of this one, he’s coming up with nothing.
“They’re cruelty free, if that helps,” Pond tries, watching the way Phuwin looks a bit stunned at the comment, blinking his eyes over and over trying to make sense of it.
”That’s cute, Pond. Why don’t you read me the package label while you’re at it, yeah?”
He thinks Phuwin is trying to sound snarky about it, but he comes off a lot loosen up than he has been all night, a lot softer. Tension hangs much lower before them. Pond thinks he might get used to this. He tries not to.
“I can even read you a phone book, if you’re into that.”
Phuwin buries his face into his neck and Pond can feel it, the way his lip is stretching into a soft smile against his skin. He switches their positions as he straddles Pond’s laps once again, Pond’s cock is now flushed against his ass. “Hurry up and finger me, I want to see if your hands can hold up to your cock and your mouth.”
And Pond lets Phuwin take the lube out of his hand, squeezing it all over his finger, a little too much for Pond’s liking, it makes it a little bit more messy. But Phuwin seems like the type to like it a little messy and Pond is down to whatever Phuwin is into.
When he’s two fingers in, Phuwin is practically shaking in his lap, his mouth on Pond’s shoulder, teeth digging and biting. “The plastic smell of the artificial banana is a fucking turn off, you’re lucky you’re this hot, Pond.”
And Pond wants to groan, or apologize. He doesn’t know. He just wants to go back in time to the moment he was in the lube aisle because why the fuck did he pick banana of all the flavors.
Phuwin grunts, scapes his teeth along Pond’s collarbone, rutting his hips back when Pond presses his fingers deeper, fucking him slowly and deeply, the sound of lube is wet against his skin.
Pond sucks on Phuwin’s nipple again, because he knows Phuwin likes it and he feels the arch of Phuwin’s back when he crooks his fingers just lightly, brushing against Phuwin’s prostate as Phuwin grinds his hips into it.
When he lets go of Phuwin’s nipple, he looks up only to see Phuwin staring down at him, brows twisted, knees digging on either side of Pond’s hips, and Pond feels the desperate need to fist his cock, or both of his cocks, getting both of them off, getting Phuwin to come right on his lap, just like this.
But he doesn’t, instead he curls his finger even more, wrist is aching but he hardly cares, he’s too deep in the soft moans that Phuwin is making. Another rub against his prostate and Pond can feel his rim clenching around his fingers, knowing that he’s close, knowing that if Pond keeps up, he’s going to have a mess of Phuwin all over his lap.
“Fuck, Pond, I’m gonna–”
“You can. Just–”
“No,” Phuwin says, sharply, almost entirely too determined. “I’m not gonna come until you’re fucking me.”
And Pond wants to tell him that he technically is. That fucking is many things. He can do it with his tongue, his mouth, his hand. Or his cock. And they’re all fucking. Just in different forms. And he’s burning with need to put his cock inside of Phuwin but he also doesn’t mind if Phuwin comes like this, all over his fingers. Anything will do. Pond just wants Phuwin. However Phuwin allows him.
Phuwin is off of Pond’s lap in moments, hands reaching out to the condom that Pond had taken out of his drawer earlier, and Pond can’t help but stare at the fact that he gets a faceful of Phuwin’s ass, perky and muscular, all lubed up, spread open. And so so fucking wet. So entirely pink. Practically dripping. Pond wants to taste him, wants his head here until he’s neck deep in Phuwin’s filth.
Pond reaches his hands out, kneading Phuwin’s ass gently, fingers spreading out on his cheek, thump grazing against Phuwin’s hole as he watches the way it clenches onto nothing. He watches the way Phuwin arches his back at the touch, muttering curse words under his breath.
And Pond keeps up, strokes his thumb over the cracks as bending forward as he leans in, in, and in. Until he smells the scent of banana lingering in his nose and he doesn’t know what the fuck Phuwin was going on about, because it smells fucking splendid, entirely too intoxicating. Though it might not have been the lube. It might just be Phuwin.
Phuwin perches on knees, breathing loudly and Pond wants to put his mouth on him, where Phuwin is wet and glistening with lube. Pond thinks about asking Phuwin, if he’s allowed to. If Phuwin is into that. He remembers the comment about his drink being rimmed, but Phuwin could have just said that just to say it. Phuwin could have just said anything. Pond is just no longer sure. His mind is bubbling and he’s fumbling all over the place.
He kisses the cheeks of Phuwin’s ass, breath goes shaky when he asks, “Can I?”
Phuwin makes a sound to that, his face pressed into the sheet, and Phuwin doesn’t respond. Instead he reaches behind him to yank Pond’s head forward until his face crashes and is buried between Phuwin’s ass, tongue dragging along his rim in one long, dirty stroke.
Pond pulls back and let his hot breath falls over Phuwin’s hole, clenching pretty and pink and so fucking empty. When he goes back in again, there’s more intention to it, tongue lapping on the rim, licking over and over until Pond’s sense is just fucking synthetic banana, thick and sweet and so fucking wet in his mouth. Smearing all over his face, his chin, his fingers, everywhere all at once.
And every moan out of Phuwin’s lips, Pond feels it on his tongue as he moves to wrap his arm around Phuwin’s waist, pulling him back slightly until his head lands on the pillow, allowing Phuwin to practically sit on his face.
Phuwin keens above him, “Oh my fucking god.”
Pond can only groan as Phuwin settles his thighs on each side of Pond’s head, and Pond feels like he’s suffocating, like he’s drowning into the deepest part of the ocean, the deepest part of Phuwin’s filth. And he knows it’s just pleasure clouding his common senses but he doesn’t think he minds dying like this.
Pond fastens his mouths around Phuwin’s rim, lips sliding wetly, and sucks as Phuwin keeps writhing and bucking his hips on to Pond’s tongue and all Pond can do is pushing his tongue deeper inside his ass, licking up at the slick walls.
Pond is definitely drowning, he’s swimming in it, tongue thick and filthy inside of Phuwin and he keeps going until he feels Phuwin pushes his head back, picking up his hips.
And the moment Phuwin straddles his lap again, Pond moves his hands to cup Phuwin’s face.
“Can I kiss you?”
Phuwin makes a scoffing noise, “do you always ask for everything? Is this like your thing? To Bring manners to bed?”
Pond chuckles at that, “I’m just trying to be polite.”
“You just ate me out, Pond. I think we’re far past polite. You have also already kissed me.”
And Pond wants to say something to that, anything. But Phuwin leans in before he gets a word in. The kiss is gentle at first, closed mouth and smooth from how sticky their lips are. Phuwin also moves his hand to cup the sides of Pond’s neck, as he kisses the top of Pond’s lips, then the bottom, teasing their lips together before Pond opens his mouth and their tongues intertwine.
And Pond’s head must have been somewhere else when they kissed the first time. Because he feels this. The moment their lips touch.
Pond is fucked.
Mind and body, alike.
Pond inhales sharply when he feels the way Phuwin’s rim catches onto his cock, swallowing the head just slightly, and Pond is so far gone. He doesn’t even know exactly when Phuwin had slipped the condom onto his cock.
Phuwin grips his cocks at the base and Pond feels the way his hip kicks again, and Phuwin holds him down as he says, “wait.” He’s halfway down on Pond’s cock, ass clenches around the grit and he’s going down so fucking slowly for someone who has been entirely too mouthy about getting fucked this whole night. “Just give me a sec, stay there. Please.”
It’s the please that shoots him dead, commanding and pleading. And Pond still can’t string his thoughts together to accept that Phuwin is real. Body sculpted and strong and attractive, almost poetically masculine as if someone had carved him from ancient stones, soft and thick where it matters, where it feels good to touch.
Pond just lays back, his sheet now smells like Phuwin and he wonders how long the scent will last. If he even wants to wash his bedsheet to rid the smell of Phuwin.
Phuwin’s hips flex, pelvis clenching once Pond is fully seated inside of him, rocks himself so slightly on Pond’s lap. And Pond tries to keep his hips from kicking into the heat, tries to focus on the way Phuwin is grinding onto his cock, trembling and slicked with sweat.
He lets Phuwin set the phase, letting Phuwin pleasuring himself and Pond feels like he might actually pass out. And he can’t remember sex has ever been like this. Phuwin makes Pond question everything he knows about sex, about being inside of someone, all the metaphysical bullshit that people say they think about during sex. It’s like he’s high off of the moment, drunk, bewildered.
Phuwin tells him to not move and Pond doesn’t, he keeps his hands to himself, everything to himself. He succeeds at some parts of it and fails at the other. Because he can’t help the hands that run up Phuwin’s body, rubbing along his thighs, and with every stroke of his hand, Phuwin fucks himself down harder on Pond’s cock. He’s riding Pond at one point, hips circling, quick and messy. “Fuck, your cock, Pond. Feel so good. Shit.”
It’s too much for Pond, his cock is throbbing in the drench heat of Phuwin’s hole, he bends a leg and rolls up into the clench of Phuwin’s body. He just can’t help it.
Then Phuwin’s movement comes to a complete half as he stops to look down on Pond, “you can fuck me now,” he tells Pond. So fucking dirty. The words that are dripping out of his mouth. “How do you want me?”
In any way. It has never been about what Pond wants. It’s just Phuwin. Just Phuwin.
Pond watches him for a moment too long, and Phuwin lets him this time, staring right back at him.
He lightly lifts Phuwin off of his cock, fingers a trembling mess as he whispers, “come here.”
Phuwin ends up underneath him, back pressed flat on the mattress, with his knees hiked up. Pond presses into him again, hip smacking wetly and Phuwin does let him, let Pond fucks him however he wants, meeting every one of Pond’s thrust, edging Pond on as he moans against Pond’s mouth. Pond digs his heels into the mattress a little more, widen Phuwin’s leg so he can fuck him a little harder, angling his hips into the heat. He watches the way Phuwin throws his head back, and he’s so wet, so slick, glistening and gleaming. There's a mess of lube everywhere on their skin, on the bed, and it might be borderline disgusting, but it doesn’t feel very much so. His mind is just buzzing, all tacky and blurred from the pleasure.
Phuwin bites into the edge of his jaw, then soothes it with his tongue, Pond jerks his hip as a response, feeling the way Phuwin is stretched around him, clenching and stretching. He grips onto Phuwin’s upper thighs, grinding his cock into him, wondering if one is capable of blacking out from being so thoroughly turned on and overstimulated.
“Your ass is fucking amazing, Phuwin. Want to make you come. Fuck. Phuwin. I–” he doesn’t know what he’s saying, he just keeps rambling and he thinks Phuwin is grunting or snorting or laughing underneath him, he’s not sure.
He leans forward to kiss Phuwin again, running his tongue along the roof of Phuwin’s mouth, and Phuwin sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. With Phuwin moaning against his mouth, Pond can’t stop the buzz in his veins, the way his heart has been yanking the entire night. He can’t stop it. He doesn’t even know if he wants to.
He needs to make Phuwin come, he’s determined to do so.
Pond sits up slightly, gliding a hand around Phuwin’s cock as he groans when he finds him sloppy wet, realizing that Phuwin hasn’t been touched this whole time. Pond mumbles something into Phuwin’s mouth as he sucks onto his tongue, kissing him deeper as he starts to stroke his cock. Pond keeps the same phase with the way he’s rolling up his hips and fucks himself into the wet grinds of Phuwin, and he does it over and over until Phuwin’s mouth falls open, clenches hard on Pond’s cock and spills messily all over his fist, leaking through his finger, making a mess out of everything.
And Pond attempts to move off of Phuwin, just in case it becomes too much for Phuwin, but Phuwin digs his heels deeper into the lower of Pond’s hips, urging Pond to keep going. Keep fucking him until they’re both sedated. And it only takes a few seconds after that until Pond completely tips over the edge, orgasm swooping out from within him and his cock throbs hard when he comes into the condom, face in Phuwin’s neck, his muscles spasming from the pleasure.
“Too much,” he hears Phuwin mumbling beneath him as he reaches for the hand that wraps around his cock. Pond lets go, kissing the side of his neck like he’s apologizing as he looks down on Phuwin, reaching for his face, running his thumbs along Phuwin’s cheekbones. Too gentle. Too fucking gentle.
Something in Phuwin’s face shifts and Pond reminds himself that the moment is over, that he should fucking move and get on with it. So he pulls out completely, watching the way Phuwin slightly whines as he pulls off the condom and throws it into the bin beside his bed.
Phuwin rolls over and plants his face into the sheet, groaning and whining. Pond can’t help the way he touches his hip softly as he asks, “you’re good?”
Phuwin grunts, borderline moaning when Pond digs his fingers into the muscle of his hips, legs spread and Pond can still see the wet mess of his ass. Pond thinks about burying his face there again, but the moment is over now. Pond has to keep reminding himself.
Phuwin stretches on his bed like a cat basking in the summer sunlight, his muscles flexing and he’s all slicked with sweat under the light.
He lets Pond clean him up without much complaints, too laxed and fucked out to say anything, body pliant on the sheet.
“You’re such a gentleman, Pond,” Phuwin says it like an offhand comment. Pond doesn’t know what to do with that.
“You don’t want me to be?”
“I never said I want you to be anything.”
It tastes bitter on his tongue, it stings a little bit and Pond tries not to think about the way Phuwin seems to shy away from Pond’s touch for the first time since they met.
One moment, Phuwin is all wrapped up under him and the next, he’s on his feet.
“You can stay, if you want to.” Pond doesn’t want to mean anything by that. He doesn’t want Phuwin to think he means anything by that. He just wishes to have Phuwin a little longer, by any means.
But Phuwin is guarded now, the moment is long gone.
“I shouldn’t.”
“You shouldn’t?”
“Because you’re not looking at me like you just want me to stay the night. And I’m really not looking for anything right now.”
It’s fair. Pond tells himself. It’s fucking fair. It’s a hookup. It’s sex. And it should just be that.
And Pond wants to think that it’s pretty presumptuous of Phuwin to think such things of Pond but his words run dry. Because it’s partly true. And Pond feels more naked now than he was when he was inside of Phuwin just moments ago.
He quietly watches Phuwin putting on his clothes.
“You’re a sweet guy, Pond. But I don’t do sweets.”
He puts on a pair of sweats before he follows Phuwin to the front door, and he watches the way Phuwin just kind of stands there, like he wants to leave. Like he doesn’t want to.
It does things to Pond’s heart, it doesn’t stop his heart from tugging.
“I don’t sleep with the same person twice. So don’t take it too hard.”
Pond wants to laugh at that, “even if they’re sweet?” It sounds sarcastic, perhaps, Pond doesn’t mean for it to but he goes with it regardless.
Phuwin keeps his gaze on him for a moment, letting the silence drift before him, his lips curved up slightly. And it feels genuine, it feels too fucking honest when Phuwin says, “if it makes you feel any better, most people aren’t sweet.”
And he’s out of the door in seconds, into the hallway and he doesn't look back, Pond doesn’t wait for him to do so before he moves to close the door shut.
He might never see Phuwin again. Pond doesn’t allow his mind to hope to see the man again. If his heart yanks and tugs and clenches, Pond will pluck it out of his chest.
Because in the realism of it all, soulmates don’t exist.
Pond knows this among many other things.