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It takes three tries for the key to properly slide into the door. The first time is too high, the second is too low, but the third is fortunately just right for it to slide into the hole and lock into place. Santa lets out a sigh involuntarily, noting to himself to help change the porch light that’s been out for the past week. He would have done it by now, if not for the insane back-to-back schedules he had before having to fly to Singapore for Musicon.
As he pushes the door open, the inside of the house seems somehow darker than the night outside, shrouding him as he steps over the threshold and pushes the wood closed behind him. There’s the familiar scent of khao soi wafting through the air from the adjacent kitchen, but the hunger he feels isn’t something that can be satiated from a meal; it’s much deeper, more carnal, pressing at the insides of all his organs to remind himself of just how much he has been longing since his departure from Thailand. Santa doesn’t even bother organizing his things, leaving his suitcase haphazardly by the front door. Even if it’s not his own, he knows the layout of this house all too well by now, is completely familiar with the twists and turns necessary to get to the sanctuary he’s been waiting to return to. As he makes his way up the stairs, he leaves a trail of clothes in his wake, not caring that it undoubtedly looks like a tornado has blown through the house: his shoes and socks are the first to go, then sweats until he’s left in nothing but his underwear and thin long sleeve.
Usually he would take a shower, but he doesn’t have the energy in himself to do that right now, not when the antidote to his exhaustion is just mere feet away. The walk to the master bedroom has never felt this far and Santa thinks he might genuinely lose it until he sees the light creeping out from under the doorway, a beacon that draws him forward mindlessly like a moth to a flame. Just like downstairs, he pushes the door open, the brightness enough to have him squinting at the vague shape of a person on the bed.
Perth looks up quickly, ripping his headphones away from his ears so fast they fall on the bed next to him. He turns off his phone and immediately places it on the sheets before hopping onto the floor and softly padding over to Santa.
“I didn’t know you were coming home tonight, baby,” he says softly, finally coming to a stop just in front of Santa. “I would’ve picked you up.”
Santa says nothing as a pair of arms wrap around his waist, a small whimper the only thing to fall past his lips. It’s been two days without Perth, over forty eight hours without a single touch, a kiss, a good fuck. He can feel himself melt into the embrace, softening like honey left out in the sun, sweet and docile now that he’s home.
“How was Musicon?” Perth pulls back to cradle his face in his hands, thumbs rubbing absentmindedly against rosy cheeks. Santa’s eyes are glazed over, unfocused as he stares blankly at Perth’s lips. Instead of giving an answer, he just shrugs. It was fine, fun in the moment even, but once that all subsided and all the adrenaline drained from his veins, the only thing left was an overwhelming desire to see his boyfriend again. Pond had laughed at him, called him a sucker, but none of that mattered; instead of taking the extra day like everyone else, Santa booked the earliest flight he could find from Changi Airport to Suvarnabhumi, desperate to get back home. He wasn’t even expecting Perth to be awake, more than willing to just slide into bed with him and wait until morning.
But of course the night owl would be up late when he doesn’t have a schedule, and of course Santa no longer cares for the idea of crawling into bed and sleeping.
“You did good. I saw, you were the prettiest one on that stage.”
By now, Perth has a good understanding of how Santa is when he wants certain things, how he acts. Even from the beginning, he could read him like an open book, seemingly born with the innate ability to sense exactly what he’s feeling — he knows when he’s hungry, when he’s overwhelmed, when he needs alone time. Santa is good at hiding his emotions from most people; Perth isn’t one of them.
This ability is the exact reason why his hands are snaking lower and lower down Santa’s torso, disappearing just beyond the hem of his underwear to knead his ass gently, savoring the sweet noise that comes when he pulls his cheeks apart and presses a dry finger to his impossibly tight hole. He pulls him closer, wanting to be connected through every inch of skin possible; if Perth could only mold them together, he would do so in a heartbeat.
“Do you need Phi to take care of you? You tired?” Perth whispers gently, teasing him by pulling the tight ring of muscle with the pad of his thumb. Santa all but moans at the feeling despite the burn of such a small stretch. It’s not nearly enough, and he’s trying to be patient, but it’s virtually nothing compared to how full he usually feels with Perth’s cock buried deep inside him. Just thinking about it has his own dick straining hard against his briefs, begging to be touched and played with.
“I really need you.”
The shakiness in his voice would be embarrassing around anyone else, but with Perth he feels nothing but desire, uncaring for how pathetic or desperate he might sound. When Perth’s hands leave his ass to tug him toward the bed by the arm, Santa has to resist the urge to whine in protest at the loss of content. He watches wistfully as Perth removes his own clothes, his sweats and boxers coming off in one go before he tugs Santa’s top over his head and pulls his underwear off of his legs.
Perth is the first to sit on the bed, his half-hard cock lolling against his thigh lazily. “Sit down.”
Perth’s voice is husky, primed with the same hunger he had been feeling in the few days of Santa’s absence. He loves nothing more than to obey Perth like a lost puppy, and it’s only when the skin of his thighs meets Perth’s that he feels safe and warm, that ache in his chest subsiding just enough for him to properly relax. As Perth rummages through the drawer of his nightstand, Santa admires just how handsome he is with the warmth of the lamplight painting him in a soft glow. He’s gotten more tan since the filming of Scarlet Heart, constant trips to Chiang Mai goldening his skin and emphasizing the muscles he’s been developing. The stubble on his chin and upper lip makes Santa bite the inside of his cheek; it’s not very often that he gets to see him so rugged, not with all the filming Perth has been doing recently that requires him to have a clean face. Perth knows, too, that the hair alone is enough to make Santa wet, probably the exact reason he hasn’t shaved yet.
Perth pulls their nearly-finished bottle of lube from deep within the drawer, uncapping it and pouring more than enough on his fingers before warming it up. It’s just how he likes it; he always revels in the view after they’re done fucking, taking far too much pleasure in the way Santa’s hole twitches while a mess of cum and lube pour out of it and decorate his equally messy thighs.
“Don’t need to prep me,” Santa whines, which earns him an unamused stare.
“Just a little bit longer, yeah? And then you can sit on Phi’s cock as long as you want.”
Santa is about to protest when he feels a slick finger jam roughly into his hole. It takes him by surprise and he yelps, jutting his hips forward in a way that accidentally forces his cock to rub against the lines of Perth’s abdomen. He starts pistoning his finger in and out slowly, soothing Santa’s back with his free hand.
“Baby’s probably so tired, hm?” Another finger joins in next to the other and the slight stretch makes Santa hiss, his back curving further so that he’s pressed chest-to-chest with Perth. When the peaks of his nipples rub against the smooth skin of his boyfriend’s chest he moans lewd and loud, right next to the shell of his ear.
Perth drinks in the pretty sounds, not getting to hear them very often nowadays with how upsettingly busy they are. Preparations for LOL left them too tired to do anything most nights, exhaustion only allowing for a blowjob here and there. Of course, he loves touching Santa in any way possible, but god if he hasn’t missed being inside that overwhelmingly tight heat that he’s grown addicted to. He’s impatient, no better than his boyfriend, desperate to just bury his cock deep inside Santa and fuck him dry until he’s pumped full with his spend, but that’s not what Santa wants — what he needs — right now. Perth always puts his princess before himself, so despite the fact he hasn’t gotten off in a few days, he’ll be patient. As he pushes in a third digit, Santa mewls and kisses his cheek messily, tonguing and biting at the thick skin. He smirks to himself; Santa hasn’t even sat on his cock yet, but he’s already drunk off of it.
“Phi, can you,” Santa stutters as Perth spreads his fingers, “can you mark me?”
It’s a simple enough request, but he hesitates. No matter how much he loves seeing Santa covered in dark red marks, signaling to everyone that he belongs to Perth only, they’re still actors — their entire careers depend on appearances. He tries to think of what they have coming up, an event in a couple days, but nothing that would have Santa at risk of having his chest exposed. Even though Santa prefers having his marks on display to the world, Perth figures they can compromise just for today. A kiss on his earlobe, his neck, the dip in between his collarbones, a path that only they can feel, that only they will remember. He cranes his head just enough to bring one of Santa’s nipples between his teeth, toying with the bud in a way that has Santa clawing at his back.
Perth doesn’t have to do much for the reddish-purple bruises to bloom, with Santa’s skin being so sensitive. Every bite is punctuated with a sharp thrust of his fingers, curling every so often to feel the way Santa’s thighs shake bracketed around his own. Within minutes, his pale chest is a mess of red that’ll all-too-soon fade to yellow and purple, a thin sheen of spit accompanying the colorful additions. He figures Santa is thoroughly stretched and even if he isn’t, Perth knows well enough that he likes the burn that comes from being stuffed when he’s not properly prepped. Santa groans at the removal of his fingers and falls forward, breath coming in shallow waves and skin sticky with sweat.
Without so much as a word, Perth lifts him up by his ass and aligns his tip with the puffy hole.
The first push inside is like heaven, so sweet and sinful that Perth doesn’t even have time to try to bite back the guttural moan that rips from his throat. It’s like Santa was made just for him, as if his walls have molded to fit Perth’s cock only. The thought alone makes him dig his nails into the skin of his ass to drag him further onto his cock, punching a choked sound from Santa’s chest as he bottoms out.
Perth pecks at his lips again, savoring the taste of whatever chapstick is left over from the flight, nipping at the plumpness yet again. Santa tries to pepper him in kisses, too, but he’s almost lethargic, dazed from that familiar feeling of being filled to the brim, ready to spill over at a moment’s notice.
“What do you want, hm?” Perth coos, tugging at the dark strands of hair plastered to Santa’s neck. It’s finally getting back to its longer state since they concluded filming for Love You Teacher, and he secretly hopes he’ll keep it this way; not only does he love how gorgeous he looks with longer hair, but he loves to pull on it when he fucks Santa from behind. Perth noses along his jawline, peppering it with kisses and drinking in the scent of salt and lingering cologne. “You want me to fuck you a little? Or you just wanna be full for now?”
Santa nods at that, craning his neck to give Perth easier access to the unmarred skin. “I haven’t felt you in so long, phi. Just wanna feel you.”
To anybody else, two days without sex is an easy feat, something most people do without even realizing it. It’s far from the case for them — Santa can’t go one day without being underneath Perth, and Perth can’t go one day without seeing his boyfriend blissfully fucked out on cum-covered sheets. Heavy petting and oral aren’t nearly enough to satisfy either of them. Some days Santa is so needy that they have to fuck twice, leading them to precarious situations in bathroom stalls and Perth’s car whenever they have a schedule together, otherwise he’ll sulk and ignore everyone the rest of the day.
Perth has never really minded though. They both crave each other in a way that is so intense, it feels all-consuming.
Their lips find each other once more but Santa has moved past the need for small pecks. He kisses Perth lazy and sloppy, tongue mapping every corner that he can, committing every line and crevice to memory for the thousandth time. Perth grinds his hips forward every so often, chasing some, any friction he can without disrupting Santa’s kisses and shy touches. They stay like this for as long as possible, far into the early morning, panting into each other’s mouths and biting and licking wherever they can. Perth keeps a watchful eye on Santa, and before long his eyes are drooping with the pure need for sleep. With one more shallow push and pull, he starts to lift his boyfriend up with firm hands gripping the meat of his ass until he’s met with a yelp of protest.
“No, keep me on!” Santa whines, fighting against the force trying to keep him away from the current object of his affection. “I don’t wanna be empty…”
Such lewd words shouldn’t sound so cute, but Perth can’t help but coo at the docility of his lover. “I’ll leave it in you while we sleep, okay?”
Santa seems to contemplate for a moment, nodding his head with his eyes still closed. Perth takes the initiative of laying them down, soothing him when he accidentally slips out a bit, until they’re both flush with the sheets. He never stops kissing him, the nape of his neck, the space between his shoulder blades, the soft give of his hair, even after Santa is lulled to sleep. He just keeps going until he can’t anymore, when his own eyelids start to fall and he can no longer keep them open, welcoming sleep with open arms.
𖤓
When Perth opens his eyes, he’s immediately blinded by the light coming through the halfway-open curtains. He squints to adjust to the light, about to sit up until he registers the warmth tucked against his side. Naturally, Perth went soft in the night and slipped out. Now facing each other, tossing and turning in their sleep, he’s left to admire the face he hasn’t seen in forever.
Santa is always so beautiful when he sleeps. Perth has always thought that, ever since they first had to share a hotel room the first time they went abroad. He had spent the better half of his night staring at him from his own bed, admiring in a way that had felt almost illegal at the time, as if it was wrong to lust after your coworker. Nothing has changed since that first time. His body still heaves with deep breaths, pale chest rising and falling slowly. Long, dark eyelashes fan against his cheeks, pretty pink lips open just slightly; Perth trails the pad of one thumb from his cheekbones to his mouth, admiring the way the skin gives beneath his touch. One of his legs is thrown out of the covers, porcelain that stands out starkly against the dark sheets.
He moves as gently to avoid waking up Santa, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and stretching his arms over his head. The time on his phone tells him it’s just past 1 P.M., and Perth knows that it would be in his best interest to do something productive on his day off.
The issue is he is so painfully hard.
He strokes himself a bit, rubbing his palm against the oversensitive head and stifling a moan. A quick look behind him is enough to confirm that Santa is still fast asleep, although his eyebrows are scrunched so cutely, like he’s focused on a dream. That just makes Perth’s dick throb even more, unfortunately. He squirts the last bit of lube directly onto his length, massaging it in for a few more grueling seconds before deciding that it’s good enough.
In seconds he’s around to the other side of the bed, slipping underneath the sheets behind Santa. Hesitantly, Perth breaches the cleft of his ass, fingering his hole experimentally. It’s still soft from yesterday, warm to the touch, and he can’t help but pull apart his cheeks to take a look at the pretty pink thing, making a mental note to ask Santa if he can eat him out later. For now, he desperately needs to fuck him into the mattress.
Perth scooches down until he’s at the perfect height for his cock to be properly aligned, and without so much as a second thought he pushes through. Santa’s insides are so hot, probably a sign of a fever developing from being overworked, but he’ll make sure to deal with that when it comes. For now, all he’s able to focus on is the suction on his cock as he bottoms out, muttering a quick fuck into his lover’s neck before pulling his hips backward once more. When he thrusts back in again, it’s hard, hard enough to jolt the both of them forward and send a whine spilling from Santa’s lips. No matter how good it feels, though, it’s still not enough; the angle only allows for so much movement and Perth needs so much more right now.
“Baby,” he whispers, licking at the shell of Santa’s ear, uncaring for the salty taste that subsequently coats his tongue. His hips piston back and forth still, a shallow rhythm that makes his hands shake with impatience. “Ta, baby, can I turn you on your back?”
There’s a small grunt, but whether it’s in approval or not, Perth can’t really tell. He asks again, snaking his hand to thumb at the wet tip of Santa’s own neglected dick, stroking a couple of times to bring it up fully. That must be enough to get Santa awake, his voice rough with sleep as he mutters a quiet “Phi?”
Perth shushes him, pulling out and flipping Santa onto his back. He’s a lot more pliant now that he’s awake, ready to bend to all of Perth’s wishes and commands because their relationship is nothing if not give and take; Santa got his wish yesterday, and Perth will fulfill something for the both of them now.
Like instinct, Santa wraps his arms around Perth’s neck, eyelids still heavy as he tries to adjust to the lighting of their room. “What are we doing?”
“‘M taking care of you, yeah?” Perth spreads Santa’s thighs apart, bending them as far as they’ll go so he can thumb at the pucker yet again. If he pulls the wrinkled muscle back far enough, he can see the pink of his insides, ready to be bruised and puffy. “You’ll let phi fuck you really good, right? Gonna take such good care of you.”
Being stuffed full of cock again must be enough to truly wake Santa, his eyes going wide and jaw falling slack as Perth pushes in with one hard thrust. The pain of the stretch has him pulling Perth close until their chests are flush, wrapping his legs around the other to ease some of the tension in his back. When Perth hits the spot inside of him just right, his pace relentless, Santa’s thighs tighten around his waist to the point he thinks his stomach might bruise. Drool pools at the corner of his mouth as he’s fucked silly, Perth licking some of it off as a show of pure affection.
“You’re so — fuck — so warm, princess,” he breathes, punctuating the pet name with a snap of his hips. The bed below them squeaks and groans with the weight of their bodies, and the headboard slaps against the wall every few seconds. Their skin is plastered in sweat yet again, and they’ll definitely need to change these sheets when they’re through, but all of that is in the very back of Perth’s mind. Santa’s hands touch every inch of his skin before settling in his hair, pulling at the thick locks in the way he knows Perth loves it, that pleasant sting residing at the base of his skull enough to have him picking up the pace and driving Santa further into the mattress.
Soon enough Santa is babbling nonsense, a lewd string of words interjected every so often by Perth’s name. Shifting his weight to just one arm, Perth uses the other to reach between the two of them and stroke at Santa’s cock, the pull eliciting almost pornographic noises from him that break up his empty phrases. He times each jerk with his own thrusts and swipes his finger over the tip to spread the copious amounts of precum leaking from him.
“Please keep going, I’m so close, I’m so so close—"
The sentence is cut short by a moan that pierces the air, the white hot liquid spurting all over his tummy and even up onto his chest. Perth can feel his own orgasm coming, spurred on by the fucked-out look on his boyfriend’s face. The rhythm he set is starting to fall away now, his thrusts becoming erratic and unpredictable as he chases an impending high. Santa is still whining from the overstimulation of having cock in him, his spent dick twitching pathetically against his thigh.
“Can Phi come inside you? Wanna fill you up.” It all comes out through gritted teeth and Santa, too elated to respond properly, simply nods in agreement and digs his nails into his back. That’s really all it takes for Perth to come undone, groaning lowly as he pumps him full of his spend, hips still involuntarily twitching until he’s completely empty and falling into the bed next to Santa. Usually, he’d stay back and watch it all ooze out of him, but the lack of proper sleep is starting to get to him and there are more important matters at hand. Perth pulls Santa close to him, both instinctively entangling themselves in the other as they steal pecks at each other’s lips. For a while they just lay there, relishing in the silence that comes with finally being alone together after so many busy days. There’s nothing either of them loves more than to be in one another’s presence, connected in every way humanly possible.
“Can we go back to sleep?” Santa asks after a bit, nose buried in the curve of Perth’s neck.
“No can do. We should shower and you definitely need to drink some water.” Perth knows that there will be protest, and so he adds on, “I’ll eat you out in the shower if you promise to get up in five.”
“Hmm… deal.”