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It’s a late night in the kitchen of the compound, the fridges and freezes humming in the stillness. It’s a windowless room, encircled by an ant farm of hallways and eating areas, and the bright ceiling lights make the room look the same no matter the time of day. The late hour is only evident in the lack of people.
It’s a Tuesday, and Chay is in the kitchen in search of a snack after hours of gaming. Time floated away, as it does sometimes, carried on hyperfocus and determination, and now he needs something to cajole his discontented stomach before he crawls into bed.
He isn’t expecting company, and startles when he suddenly hears the door open. His egg is still sizzling in the frying pan. With prickles of instinctive fear fizzing over his skin, his heart makes another panicked thump as he sees that the person who just stepped through the door is not a cook, or Porsche, or a wait person, or a bodyguard, or any other member of staff, but Kim.
Kim is dressed in form-fitting pants and a loose shirt that is unbuttoned at the top, showing off collarbones shining with body glitter and sweat. His hair is in a bit of disarray, but it’s clear that it has been carefully styled earlier that night, and he has light eye makeup on that makes his eyes seem bigger and deeper. More defined.
Chay swallows, suddenly feeling completely out of place in his worn pyjamas. His pyjamas with a hole at the knee. That hadn’t seemed so bad around the bodyguards who themselves knew what it was like to patch the same shirt collar for the umpteenth time, and who had been taught to sew on slightly mismatched buttons with the justification nobody will notice.
Chay feels like every little flaw is a lit beacon, glaring neon signs reading ‘undesirable’. He swallows, and then has to stifle a wince at how loud it sounds in the quiet of the night.
Kim stands frozen halfway across the spotless tiled floor, wide eyes fixed on Chay. It’s unfair how pretty he is. “I didn’t know you were here.” His voice is husky from recent use.
“Surprise,” Chay says in a bland, singsong voice, making a little waving gesture with the spatula in his hand. “I live here now.”
“I knew that part,” Kim blurts, so abruptly it mustn’t have been intentional. He swallows, his next utterance slowing. “I just wasn’t expecting you here.” He gestures at the room as he unfreezes and awkwardly makes his way to the fridge. “In the kitchen,” he tags on, throwing Chay a quick glance over his shoulder as he opens the matte steel fridge door.
He gazes into the vast coolness of the fridge. The silence seems to stretch between them for a moment, heavy with potential, a ledge of safety to balance on before falling off the cliff.
“You still cook?” Kim is still facing into the fridge, fingertips silently tapping the side of the door.
“I do late at night,” Chay responds, playfulness unconsciously making its way through his tone. He doesn’t know what possesses him to be flirty. He also doesn’t know what possesses him to offer what he offers next. “I could make you something.”
Chay doesn’t know what possesses Kim, when he spins around to face Chay, mouth partly open, eyes intense, the fridge door closing behind him with a quiet fwomp, and says, “Yes, please.”
-
The click of the expensive china against the shiny stone countertop is satisfying in its full roundness. The incongruence in elegance between the crockery and the dish that is plated up on it makes Chay almost feel silly. A wonky ketchup smiley face stares up at Kim.
Kim stares back down at it, the line of his mouth unreadable. “You made me this the time I stayed over at your place,” he says, tone neutral. Carefully so.
“Did I?” Chay asks, aiming for casually unaffected. Then he sighs; turns to the sink to start cleaning the pan. He turns on the faucet, letting the water run hot. “Just. Be good and eat it.”
Kim makes a muffled little noise, and Chay turns back to him, blinking. Kim has his lower lip cutely caught between his teeth, and there is something adorable about the roundness of his eyes as he looks up at Chay. He isn’t touching the food. Something heavy lodges in Chay’s stomach at the thought that Kim might leave it untouched.
“Is something the matter?” Chay feels jittery, as though he has somehow rolled over and exposed his soft underbelly to Kim, afuckinggain.
“No,” Kim says quickly, finally looking away from Chay and grabbing the spoon. He cuts through the egg with the edge of it and scoops up a bit of rice. He manages to make it look like a dainty morsel as he pops it into his mouth, lips closing over shining silver. The time it takes him to chew and swallow stretches out excruciatingly long. When he swallows, adam’s apple moving, and looks up at Chay from under dark eyelashes, Chay feels heat flare up his neck and cheeks.
He wishes he didn’t still react this way to Kim—wishes he could switch off the part of himself that wants. It’s creepy isn’t it? Staring at someone while they eat? Even though you cooked for them and you want them to like it? Especially if it is your first celebrity-crush-slash-kind-of-ex? He turns away again, the frying pan wobbling a little in his grip. He turns off the water and submerges his hands, hoping that the shaking won’t be seen under rippling water and soap suds.
Kim, ever the mind reader when it comes to knowing exactly what Chay wants to hear, says, “It’s good.”
Chay smiles softly. The sponge in his hand glides smoothly over the teflon coating, the water swirling around his fingers. He doesn’t know if it’s true, but he appreciates the politeness. Maybe they can be polite to each other, go about their lives and interact politely when they cross paths—it might even be as though they never happened. It’s not like it was even real, it was just—
“I never thought I would have the chance to taste this.” Kim’s voice makes Chay pause. He makes a little quizzical noise, throws a quick gaze over his shoulder. Kim’s shoulders are a little drawn as he leans forward over the plate, one elbow propped on the stone counter, scooping up another spoonful. “I didn’t try it that morning,” he continues.
“I know,” Chay says. Breathes. Debates with himself in the late night hush of the kitchen. He is absently rubbing slow circles into the base of the frying pan. It’s already clean, just needs to be rinsed off, but Chay isn’t ready to let it go just yet. “Why didn’t you?”
“It felt like you didn’t make it for me.”
The pan clatters dully against the bottom of the sink when it slips out of Chay’s hands. “P’Kim—What?” He swivels around before he even registers that he is moving. Water drips on the tiled floor.
It’s almost comical watching Kim’s eyes go wide as he struggles to swallow quickly in his rush to speak. “I know you did—I know it was for me,” he clarifies quickly before he slows, “but it wasn’t all of me. It was a curated version of me.” He looks down at the food, at the half eaten ketchup smile. “The parts I thought you would like.”
Chay’s mouth suddenly feels dry, his pulse a physical presence in his ears and fingertips. He swallows. “Which ones did you think I wouldn’t approve of?”
There is a shift, and then a stillness in Kim. His shoulders straighten and then artfully relax, his expression goes blank, and his eyes are suddenly empty.
“The fighter?” Chay asks, drying his hands on his pyjamas, “The scam artist?” He places his damp palms on the cool counter top. “The mafia prince?”
“The liar,” Kim finally responds, voice a little gruff.
Why is Kim talking about this? Chay exhales in a puff through his nose. “I told you I like all sides of you.”
Kim’s shrug is smooth, unaffected. “That was before.” Too smooth. Too unaffected. There is something he wants, but Chay isn’t sure what.
“P’Kim. At first I had a celebrity crush. Then I really fancied my tutor who I was kind of dating. But I aways knew that they weren’t the whole picture.”
Kim angles his head an inch back, looks right into Chay’s eyes. His collarbones glitter as he breathes. “And then I broke your heart.”
“And then you broke my heart,” Chay agrees. His heart thumps rapidly as he goes on to ask, “Do you regret it?”
Kim is silent, but his gaze falls to the table. Chay sighs. “You never truly know someone until you see their flaws. Seeing another side of you didn’t make me stop loving you. It just made the person I loved more fully human.”
One of Kim’s hands grips the edge of the counter, so tightly his thumb pales with pressure.
Chay decides to be brave. Once more, and then he won’t have to ever again. He will not have to stare into this face and bare his heart again. “Look, I,” he swallows. “I still feel those feelings. That never stopped. But I hope that you can respect me enough to not try to use that against me again—”
“I regret it.” Kim’s words overlap Chay’s, makes him forget what they were, what they were going to be. They vanish, turn into mist in his lungs. “I mean. I don’t regret getting to know you.”
Chay is at a loss, staring at Kim’s mouth, anticipation skittering through him at every word.
“I regret not telling you who I am. I regret convincing myself the best way to protect you was to push you away. Making you cry, not telling you how I felt—I regret not kissing you—“
It almost doesn’t register for Chay that he has leaned over to grab Kim’s shirt with one hand and press his lips against Kim’s before he is kissing him over the plate of food.
There is a metallic clatter against stone, and then hands are at Chay’s neck, fingers sliding into his hair, and Kim kisses him back.
When Chay nips at Kim’s bottom lip, Kim makes a sweet noise, like melted caramel, and his lips open under Chay’s, allowing him to deepen the kiss.
Kim tastes a little like ketchup, a little like fried egg. A lot like happiness. Chay dips in to lick a line up Kim’s palate, delighting at the shiver he gets in response, at how Kim’s hands flex and Chay is pulled one tiny inch closer, his hips flush against the side of the counter.
It’s a thrill, finally being this close to Kim, touching him, feeling the gentle movements of returned kisses, the give of Kim letting him closer, deeper, tongue almost shyly meeting Chay’s. It is not what he had expected from kissing Kim—he had always thought there would be more confidence and force in his movements, but what meets Chay is sweet compliance in everything but Kim’s arms, which hold him in a firm position as far over the counter as he can lean.
Chay guides the kiss to slow, and Kim softens his grip a fraction of an inch, his nose sliding against Chay’s cheek and his breath released into the corner of Chay’s mouth.
Kim’s cheeks are flushed, his breathing unsteady, his hands tangled in Chay’s hair, fingertips pressure points against his scalp. His lips are plump, reddened from kissing; his eyes dark, a little hazy.
“Can you let me go, P’Kim?”
Chay’s words are soft, hushed. But Kim lets Chay go as quickly as if he has been burned and takes a wobbly step back.
“Sorry,” he says, a bit too fast, a bit breathy. There is a skittery quality to the way his eyes slide away from Chay and across the room, as if he is cataloguing escape routes.
“No no,” Chay refutes firmly but gently, stepping around the counter to approach Kim, “I just wanted to be able to reach you better.” Kim stumbles back a step as Chay draws closer. His lips are parted, jaw a little slack as he watches Chay approach; as he allows Chay to back him up towards the wall. Kim has never been this way with Chay before: hesitant and vulnerable, as though Chay is the one who holds all the cards. It makes something heat in the pit of Chay’s stomach, makes him feel strong and sure. It makes him feel like he wants to protect Kim.
The grey fabric of Kim’s shirt shimmers dark and silver as Chay grips it at Kim’s hips, scrunching the fabric in his hands. He meets Kim’s gaze as he guides his hips flush against the wall, notes how his pupils are dilated. “P’Kim,” he says softly, stepping in so that the radiation of warm skin can be felt through their clothes, “What do you want?”
The sound Kim makes is tiny and instinctive, quenched in a flash. “You.” He says, then swallows. There is something heady about seeing Kim this way, so different from the confident WiK he must have been projecting from the stage only a few hours ago. So different from the Kim who with strength, cunning and skill left six men dead on the floor to protect Chay.
And yet here Kim stands, backed into the wall by Chay, who he could force away in a second. Kim is choosing this. Is choosing Chay, even if it’s only for a moment. Even if it’s only for a night. Chay’s heart squeezes at the thought.
He dips in as though for a kiss, but veers to the side and instead smiles against Kim’s cheek. “How do you want me?”
Kim gulps down a breath of air, hands reaching out, fingers curling into the warm crooks of Chay’s elbows, pressing in a little as if to feel his pulse. He turns his head to lock gazes again, nose sliding cutely against Chay’s cheek. “Touch me. Kiss me,” he murmurs, eyes searching Chay’s. “Stay,” he whispers.
Relief unfurling the last bit of tension and heartache that has made its home in Chay’s chest for the last few weeks, he moves to press another kiss to Kim’s lips. “Take me to your room.”
Kim licks his lips, nods. Then he slides his fingers down Chay’s arms to his wrists, leaving tingling trails in his wake.
Half eaten food and a few dirty dishes are left behind in the fluorescent brightness as the kitchen door slides shut behind them.
-
Kim’s room is in fact a suite, dimly lit with soft dots of warm light, and with large windows overlooking the glittering Bangkok skyline. Kim’s profile lies half in shadow as he guides Chay through rooms that seem neatly put together, over plush rugs that dampen their steps. The whole time he has one of Chay’s hands in both of his own, tracing along the back and between his fingers, as if to reassure himself that Chay is really there.
He pauses once they enter a dark room where Chay can see the vague outline of a large bed, and reaches over to a panel on the wall to turn on the lights. The room suddenly appears to Chay’s view in a champagne coloured glow. And Kim—gorgeous, cool, untouchable Kim—stands suddenly motionless, his cheeks flushed. His shirt has slipped to the side to reveal more of his glittery collarbone. Chay wants to lick it.
Instead he untangles his hand from Kim’s, reaches out to sweep a lock of hair behind his ear. He sees the suppressed shiver, the way Kim’s eyes narrow with feeling before widening again, quick as a blink.
“Sit down on the bed for me,” he commands gently. A small burst of heat flares in his stomach when Kim follows the instruction without hesitation, looking up at Chay with liquid dark eyes. There is nervousness there too, fluttering through him like butterfly wings, but the look on Kim’s face makes him feel sure of himself, of his footing. Of where he stands, here, in this moment with Kim.
He leans down to kiss Kim, who goes pliant, allows himself to be pushed down to the bed and his shimmery shirt to be unbuttoned. It is silky and body warm, and falls away like butter in Chay’s hands, parting to reveal the long line of Kim’s stomach. He drags the backs of his fingers over the gentle bumps of Kim’s abs, and then presses his palm flat against them as he nips Kim’s mouth open and deepens the kiss.
Kim‘s hands find the hem of Chay’s pyjama top and quickly pulls it up and off. Chay laughs a little as he has to pull back to untangle himself from it in response to Kim’s impatient movements, and then quickly stops laughing as Kim puts his hands on Chay’s lower back to pull him close. They’re suddenly skin to skin, the flush heat in the both of them heightened, growing erections pressed together.
Chay noses up the side of Kim’s cheek, presses another kiss against Kim’s lips, and then finally dips down to taste his pulse point, trace down his delicious neck, taste the glittery hollow between his collarbones. “What would you like us to do?” He asks against Kim’s skin, question fanning out over the hard edge of his clavicle.
Kim’s hands tighten a little on Chay’s back, clammy palms inviting him closer. “Anything—Chay,” is Kim’s breathy response, “Whatever you’d be willing to give me.”
The words melt through Chay’s insides. He tilts his head back to look Kim in the eyes. He is making choices too.
His words are slow, his voice deep as he speaks them. “And if I ask you to fuck me?” Kim’s eyes darken, and Chay feels him harden where they are pressed together. “Do you have condoms?”
Kim nods.
They have to part to quickly divest themselves of their remaining clothes, but Chay is too focused on getting his hands back on Kim to manage to pay it much mind. One moment he is tearing off his remaining clothes and throwing them somewhere on the floor, the next he is folding Kim into another embrace, his heat everywhere, Chay’s whole skin sparkling from the feeling of being held in return. Lube and a packet of condoms have been found and flung in the vicinity of the pillows.
They roll over, until Kim is on top, his weight pressing Chay into the bed, one of his strong thighs resting between Chay’s own, firm muscle flush against Chay’s hardness. It feels so good Chay just breathes through it for a moment, his cock rubbing deliciously against Kim’s hot skin, the tip bumping into the curved edge of his hipbone. He twitches with pleasure, feels the wetness of precum making him a little slick.
Chay kisses Kim to distract himself, then reaches down to wrap his hand around Kim’s erection, feeling its shape and girth in his grip, against his fingers and palm. He feels Kim’s breath shudder into the kiss, sees Kim’s eyelids lower in pleasure as he strokes up and down a few times and playfully lets his fingers flutter over his tip, thumb tracing a line along the groove and flicking into the divot at the tip. Kim cries out into his mouth and Chay smiles, the kiss turning into a gentle nibble of Kim’s lower lip as he arches away minutely.
“Fuck, Chay—” Kim pants, colour high on his cheeks, staring at Chay with a heated gaze. “I want you in my mouth.” In the next moment he has slid out of Chay’s grip and down the bed, his warm hands on Chay’s hips, looking up at Chay’s face as he licks a line up Chay’s cock that makes him burn with desire.
“P’Kim,” he manages, overwhelmed for a moment, not knowing what to do with his hands that clench uselessly at his sides.
One of Kim’s hands come to guide Chay’s into his hair as he closes his mouth over the head of Chay’s cock, tongue swirling around it. It takes all of Chay’s willpower not to come at once, to not buck up into the heat of Kim’s mouth and spill onto his tongue. His fingers tighten in Kim’s hair, until the tremble in them stops, and he feels the tightening of Kim’s mouth around him in a pleased expression. He looks down. Kim’s eyes are closed, his mouth open around Chay’s cock, his lips redder than Chay has seen them before, and an aroused flush staining his cheeks. He breathes a long breath through his nose, opens his eyes lazily to gaze at Chay, and then he sinks down. Warm heat envelopes Chay, his tip dragging against the smooth, slick back of Kim’s throat, suddenly too good, too much, and before he can warn Kim two things happen: Chay comes into Kim’s mouth, and Kim gags, pulling off in a hurry.
Chay’s come splatters Kim’s lips and chin, the pink of his tongue. He breathes, and then swallows, tongue flicking out to lick up the come on his mouth while Chay writhes, caught in the firm weight of Kim’s grip on his hips, cock twitching with pleasure and also aching from the sudden lack of it in the chill of the air.
“Ah ah, hah,” Chay moans through breathless pants for another second before it recedes and he can finally unclench his fingers. He stiffly cards them through Kim’s hair as he gets his breath back.
Kim just gazes up at him, pleased as punch, resting his chin on Chay’s right hip while his fingers trace meaningless patterns on his left.
“Good?” He asks, voice rough, as Chay gets back to himself.
“So good. Very good,” Chay rambles, still breathing heavily, “So good for me, P’Kim.”
Kim reddens, then smooshes his nose into Chay’s hip. There is a quiet moment as Chay comes down, and then he says, “I’m still going to ask you to fuck me, you know.”
A tremor runs down Kim’s back, and then he turns to look up at Chay in a way that makes Chay’s cock twitch even though he just came. Chay reaches up behind him and pats until he finds the lube and a condom, passing it to Kim wordlessly, licking his lips.
Prepping takes a shorter time than it usually does when Chay has done it before by himself. It’s so easy to just focus on the pleasure of it with his limbs still loose from his orgasm, and with Kim warming the lube in his hands before starting to rub around the rim of Chay’s hole, dipping in shallower at first, and then increasingly deeper as Chay’s body gives way. He lets the knuckles of his other hand trace along Chay’s perineum and between his testes, just lightly skimming past Chay’s oversensitive cock, making it twitch again, before he palms Chay’s testicles and tightens his grip lightly.
About halfway through Chay’s cock has started filling out again, and Kim takes it into his mouth, suckling on it as he works Chay open with his fingers, to Chay’s enthusiastic and babbling encouragements. By the time Chay is spreading his legs as far as they go he is already dripping with precum again.
“I’m ready P’Kim,” Chay says, urging Kim up by the grip his still has on his hair, until he is laying on top of Chay and is within reach for Chay to fit their mouths together. He kisses Kim with urgency, Kim now tasting a little different from before—earthier, but good. “I really need you to fuck me. I want to feel you. Be good for me.”
At that Kim moans into the kiss, hips twitching into Chay’s, his hardness a firm line. Chay, whose hands aren’t covered in lube, is the one who unwraps the condom and rolls it down Kim’s length.
They are both impatient, coming together a bit too fast as Kim slides in, and Chay is overwhelmed by the feeling of being filled. He holds Kim close, arms tight around his ribs, legs tangled together, and just breathes Kim in for a moment.
When he urges Kim to move, it is with soft words and a slant to his hips that helps Kim slide a little deeper, a little closer, a little further into his heat. Kim’s cock isn’t bigger than Chay’s dildos, but the feeling of being filled with Kim’s heat, of hearing Kim’s sweet little moans in his ear, of sharing breath and being pressed so close… Chay has never felt anything like this his before.
“Mh, ah, yes, so good for me. P’Kim—“ Chay moans, bucking up into the pleasure of Kim changing the angle in a way that makes Chay see sparks. He finds Kim’s mouth again and claims it in a deep kiss as Kim speeds up his thrusts, urgency and building pleasure showing in the lines of his back as he pants into the kiss. His eyeliner is smudged, there is glitter everywhere, and his cheeks are flushed as he pushes into Chay and then seizes up, mouth falling open and face going slack with his orgasm.
Chay feels himself teetering, right at the edge with Kim’s pulsing cock inside him, and moves to stroke himself to completion to follow Kim over it. His second orgasm washes over him, a slow wave of glowing light, and he sinks into it, lets it suffuse him.
When it recedes, Kim is lying heavy and comforting on top of him, his face nuzzled into Chay’s neck. Limbs heavy, he reaches up to pet Kim’s hair, turns to kiss his forehead.
“I think I should cook for you more,” he comments lightly, and when Kim replies with a sleepy hmm?, he continues, “I loved the the song writing sessions, but none of them ended like this.” He squeezes Kim a little inside him, to feel him still there, pulls him a little closer with his calfs curled over the backs of Kim’s thighs.
Kim very slowly and lazily raises his head to peek over Chay’s chin. He stretches out to prop an elbow on the mattress, leaning his head against his palm. There is humour in his eyes.
“Thanks? For cooking for me?”
“Oh! What did the chef guy say in that pirate anime? You’re welcome, you damn crook,” Chay giggles, giddy with two orgasms, countless kisses, and Kim in his arms.
Kim grumbles, flops back down, and swats him lightly on the shoulder, but then he softens it by pressing a kiss to Chay’s neck. “Stay,” he mumbles, languid with the edges of sleep, and Chay, yawning, replies,
“I’ll stay.”
The end.