Archive of Our Own

Tawan wasn’t dumb. Not by a long shot.

He knew his boyfriend was jealous, had been for a while, actually. Aran wasn’t good at hiding it, not from him anyway. The shift had started the moment the casting announcement dropped. A stupid fucking oversight on Tawan’s part, if he was being honest. He could admit that much. Letting Aran find out through a headline that his boyfriend was set to star in an R-rated movie with his supposed “ex-girlfriend”? Yeah, that was a dick move.

Except Sandy wasn’t really his ex. That was just the media doing what they did best: fabricating flings and romances out of convenient shadows. But the irritating part was…they weren’t entirely wrong either. Tawan had been in her bed a couple times, back in his single days, when he’d fucked his way through anything attractive and willing. No strings, no feelings, just sweat, skin, and leaving before breakfast. Calling Sandy an ex was stretching it, but try telling that to Aran.

As far as the model was concerned, Tawan was about to spend months rolling around half-naked with someone he’d once actually rolled around fully naked with. But acting was acting. Tawan knew the difference, and had been in the industry long enough to have his own code. The cameras, the lights, the damn script; that was all it was. He didn’t confuse himself with the characters he played. He detached. Did the job. Got paid. Went home. That was it.

Still, he wasn’t blind. He knew it would piss anyone off to imagine their boyfriend tangled up with a past fuck, fake or not. And Tawan had little ground to stand on when it came to jealousy. He was practically a master in it. The mere thought of someone else touching what was his made his blood boil. A lingering look in Aran’s direction, a hand brushing too close to his waist, and Tawan wanted to smash skulls. And he had, more than once, especially when alcohol loosened his temper and Aran was being naughty. The minx knew how to push buttons, how to bait Tawan, and he always got what he wanted.

But Aran loved differently than Tawan did. Tawan was fire; blazing, consuming, impossible to ignore. Aran was ice; calm, cool, deliberate. He kept his emotions tucked in, locked behind his sharp tongue and careful expression. And that made him more dangerous than anyone Tawan had ever dealt with. You couldn’t read him. You couldn’t predict him. He played games, spoke in riddles, drove Tawan absolutely insane. And yet, it was also what brought him to his knees. Tawan needed him. Fire didn’t burn without oxygen. 

And Aran was his oxygen.

The model had said nothing. Not about the casting, not during the six months of filming, not a word about Sandy. He didn’t pry, didn’t ask, didn’t even hint at curiosity. Not that Tawan had anything to hide. Sure, his costar made a few advances; Sandy always did, because as far as she was concerned, Tawan was fair game. And Tawan had brushed her off with half-assed excuses about professionalism. She didn’t push. She wasn’t that invested. End of story.

Still, Aran never asked, and Tawan never volunteered. Why stir the pot if Aran wasn’t bringing it up? Except now, with the wrap-up party looming, it was obvious Aran was stewing in silence. The little tells gave him away. Snappier than usual. Shorter fuse. Agitated for no reason. Colder in bed. Less sex. Less everything. That wasn’t what pissed Tawan off though; it was the distance. The way Aran had gone emotionally closed off, like he was pulling back piece by piece, leaving Tawan clawing at empty space.

And Tawan fucking hated empty space.

He liked sex, who didn’t? But he needed the aftermath just as much. He needed Aran curled into his chest afterwards, needed the warmth, the grounding, the whispers and rare love confessions. Without it, everything felt wrong. Like the casual hookups Tawan had been used to. When Aran was anything but. But Tawan wasn’t good with words. Not like Aran. He couldn’t lace emotions in clever riddles. His body, that was his language.

So when he woke up the morning of the wrap-up party with Aran’s back turned to him, lying just far enough away to feel like a rejection, Tawan knew something had to give. No way in hell was he spending the upcoming evening pretending for cameras while Sandy clung to him like a damn accessory, without clearing things up. It was enough to drive Tawan insane.

So he dragged a hand over his face, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then reached for his boyfriend. His arm snaked around Aran’s waist, tugging him back, pulling him flush. Aran made a small sound, groggy and soft, not fighting it. He rolled over into Tawan’s bare chest, his face nuzzling against warm skin, his breath hot against him. His hair was a messy tangle, his lips parted, his expression unguarded in sleep. He looked breakable like this, and fuck if that didn’t punch something sharp into Tawan’s ribs.

He fit perfectly, like he was designed for Tawan to hold. Slim body pressed into him, head tucked beneath his chin, wearing one of Tawan’s shirts; the same one he’d pulled on after they’d fucked last night. Only the shirt. Which meant his lower half was bare now, skin against Tawan’s thighs, vulnerable and soft. It made Tawan's breath catch, his heart speed up. Desire coil in his gut, fast and feral.

Last night, Aran had skipped the cuddling, had rolled away instead. And that had burned. But now, half-asleep, his arms came up around Tawan instinctively, clutching him closer, like his body knew what his pride wouldn’t admit. It made Tawan smirk against his hair, silent victory curling in his chest. Sleeping Aran didn’t know how to stay mad, his body willing. And that was enough to make Tawan hard. Not that it ever took much when it came to Aran.

Even now, bedhead, bare face, shirt swallowing his frame, he was gorgeous. Effortlessly so. The kind of beautiful that was impossible to imitate, dangerous in how easy it was to fall for. Beauty and grace, easily wielded like a weapon when wanted. Tawan had fucked his way through half the industry before, and none of them had ever compared. Aran was temptation wrapped in cool detachment, designed to make men crawl. And Tawan, for all his arrogance, was no exception.

Even when the model had been just the object of Tawan's sexual desires, Aran had made him work for it. Grind for it. Frustrated the hell out of him. With that smart mouth and quick wit. Those knowing eyes and naughty hands. And when emotions and love came into the equation, so fast and hard Tawan almost didn't recognize it, there was no escaping his fate. 

Because Tawan was a simple man. Horny and smitten.

His hand slid lower, cupping the curve of that perfect ass, squeezing until Aran whimpered faintly in his sleep and buried his face deeper into Tawan’s chest. That sound made his cock twitch, heat flooding through him. He dragged his palm down further, slipping between Aran’s thighs, where he lingered, teasing himself with the memory of how those same thighs felt when they locked around his head, trembling while he worked his tongue inside him. A devil’s grin tugged at Tawan’s mouth. Yeah, that was what he wanted. What he needed. The last few months had been too tame, too vanilla, because Aran had been punishing him with silence and lukewarm sex. Just one round, nothing adventurous, no playful edge. And that wasn’t enough. Not for Tawan.

He wanted more. He always wanted more. Different positions, different places, different ways to break Aran open until he was crying his name. Aran was always up for it too before, always willing to let Tawan push, to let him ruin him in new ways. Supply closets, airplane bathrooms, risky hotel balconies; Aran never told him no. That eagerness, that flexibility, it was fucking addictive. Just thinking about it now; Aran sweating beneath him, lips red and swollen, eyes glassy with lust, had Tawan painfully hard. He wanted him desperate, clinging, whispering his name like a damn prayer. He wanted him pliant and commanding at the same time, that fucked-up balance of begging and ordering that drove Tawan feral. 

So he kissed him. Just a ghost of a press against those parted lips, soft enough not to wake him. And then he moved lower. Because he knew exactly what he wanted to do next, what he needed to do. Get his mouth on that hole. The one made for his tongue, his fingers, his cock. Tawan shifted carefully and tugged the blanket down with one hand, exposing pale skin and pretty legs tangled in the sheets. Aran stirred faintly, a soft breath escaping his lips, but didn’t wake. Good. Tawan wanted him like this; unguarded, trusting. A body open for him to claim.

He pushed Aran onto his stomach, slow enough to pass as gentle but firm enough to keep control. The shirt rode up, bunching at his waist and baring the curve of his ass. Perfect. Naked and spread just enough to make Tawan’s cock ache. He palmed one cheek, squeezed hard, then parted them to get a full view of what belonged to him. Tight, soft, already twitching like it knew what was coming.

Tawan’s mouth watered. He licked his lips, leaning down, hungry. He didn’t waste time teasing himself with the sight. He dove in, tongue pressing hot and wet against him, dragging slow circles until he tasted nothing but Aran. The first lap always hit him like a drug. He groaned against the skin, the vibration rolling through Aran’s body. His boyfriend let out a sleepy whimper, his hips shifting, thighs rubbing together. Still half-dreaming, his body knew what Tawan’s mouth meant. His ass clenched, then relaxed, as if coaxing him deeper.

“Fuck,” Tawan muttered to himself, his words hot against slick skin. He spread him wider, tongue thrusting in shallow, deliberate strokes before pulling back. He spat once, messier now, saliva dripping down before he licked it up, fucking his tongue deeper into him. Aran gasped softly, his head turning against the pillow, breath coming faster. His ass pushed back on instinct, greedy even in sleep.

Tawan growled, gripping his hips, holding him steady as he ate him out. He went rougher, dragging his tongue out before plunging it back in, jaw working, lips sucking at the rim, leaving it wet and sloppy. He switched between long, broad licks and quick, relentless thrusts, drinking in every sound Aran made in slumber; every whimper, every hitched breath.

Aran stirred more now, caught somewhere between waking and dreaming. His thighs parted wider, ass arching, offering himself without thought. “T-Tawan…” His voice was wrecked, barely there, but enough to snap the last of Tawan’s restraint.

“That’s right, baby. Say my name,” Tawan rasped, pulling his tongue out of the sloppy hole, spreading it with his thumb before diving back in. Tawan had him spread out just the way he wanted, tongue working him open, lips sucking him hard. He was buried between Aran’s cheeks, eating him like a starving man, when he felt it; the subtle shift. Aran’s body jerked, a sharper sound tearing from his throat, not quite a dream anymore. His hips twitched, thighs trembling as he tried to lift his head, dazed.

“T-Tawan?” His voice was rough, broken with sleep, muffled against the pillow. He shifted again, confused, caught between waking and the overwhelming heat clawing through him.

Tawan pulled back just enough to rasp against his slick skin, “Yeah, baby. Mornin',” His tongue darted back in again, hard and hungry, cutting off whatever response Aran thought he had.

Aran’s fingers clenched at the sheets, knuckles white, as a moan spilled out of him; real this time, sharp and wrecked. “W-wha… fuck-” His protest fell apart, his ass pushing back on instinct, grinding against Tawan’s mouth. Tawan groaned loudly, gripping his hips tight enough to bruise. He spread him wider, tongue driving deeper, sloppy and relentless. 

Aran shuddered, his whole frame trembling, and there was no confusion in the way he pushed back now. No hesitation in the way his thighs fell open wider, offering himself fully. His face buried into the pillow, his muffled cry turning needy. Every thrust of his tongue had Aran keening, his hips rocking against the mattress, cock dragging against the sheets, leaving wet streaks. His moans broke into ragged gasps, breathless pleas he couldn’t hold back. 

“God- fuck- Tawan, please-”

“Please what?” Tawan demanded, shoving his tongue in deep, then pulling out and sucking the rim hard enough to make Aran cry out. “Tell me." Beg.

Aran’s body was shaking violently now, his hole clenching around nothing when Tawan pulled back, desperate. His words tumbled out, slurred with need, “Want- want to cum, please, I’m- fuck, I’m close…”

One squeeze of that pretty and straining cock was all it took. Aran’s cry was hoarse, raw, as his back arched and he convulsed against the bed. He came hard, thick streams spilling over Tawan’s hand and the sheets, his body jerking helplessly at the force of his release. Tawan groaned at the sight, drinking in the view; Aran flushed, sweaty, wrecked, his shirt bunched high, his hole swollen and glistening. Awake now. A mess made fully conscious as Aran collapsed, boneless and trembling.

And Tawan was still painfully hard. His cock was about to fucking explode. He was trembling with it, with the need to bury himself deep inside Aran and not stop until he’d fucked him into the mattress. Into unconsciousness. The taste of him was still on Tawan's tongue, his hand sticky with Aran’s cum, and it only made him hungrier. He hauled himself up, caging Aran’s body beneath his own as he flipped him onto his back. Tawan grabbed his chin and kissed Aran, messy and wet, his tongue forcing its way past slack lips. Aran groaned faintly into it, still dazed, but let him. Tawan kissed him deeper, biting at his mouth like he wanted to eat him alive, his hips grinding down, cock rubbing hot against Aran’s stomach.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted against his lips, breaking the kiss only to mouth at his jaw, his neck, his collarbone; biting, sucking, marking everywhere he could. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Do you even know?” His voice broke rougher, desperate. He kissed harder, talking into his skin. “I need you. I need to get inside you right now or I’ll fucking lose it. Please, Aran- please, let me.”

His words weren’t smooth, not clever. Just raw hunger, need spilling out unfiltered. He ground his cock against Aran harder, parting those glorious thighs, groaning into the crook of his neck. “I’ll make you feel so good- fuck- just let me in.”

For a second, he thought it was working. Aran tilted his head, parted lips breathing unevenly, his body pliant under Tawan’s weight. But then, like ice poured down his spine, Aran’s hands came up. Not to pull him closer. To push him back.

“No.” His voice was hoarse, quiet but sharp enough to cut through Tawan’s haze. He turned his head away from the kiss, avoiding Tawan’s mouth, his body stiffening instead of softening. Tawan froze, his chest heaving, cock throbbing painfully against Aran’s skin. 

“What?”

Aran didn’t meet his eyes. He shifted, cool and controlled even when his body was still flushed and wrecked from orgasm. “I need a shower,” he muttered, slipping out from beneath Tawan’s body with a fluid, practiced evasiveness that made Tawan’s stomach knot. He sat up, tugged the hem of the shirt down over himself as if he hadn’t just been sprawled naked and cumming from Tawan’s tongue, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Tawan sat back on his heels, cock straining in his shorts, mouth open but useless. He could still taste him, smell him, feel him, but suddenly none of it mattered. Because Aran wasn’t giving him more. Cold. Distant. Like nothing had just happened. Tawan’s hands curled into fists in the sheets. His jaw ached from clenching. 

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he snapped, voice low and dangerous.

Aran didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him. He stood, shoulders straight, back elegant and unbothered, and padded toward the bathroom without another word. The sound of the shower starting a moment later was salt in the wound. Tawan sat there, cock hard enough to hurt, chest burning with frustration, with rejection, with the kind of fury only Aran could drag out of him. He wanted to break something. He wanted to drag Aran back into bed and fuck him until he couldn’t walk. He wanted to scream.

Instead, he stared at the closed bathroom door, pulse hammering in his ears, hands fisted by his sides.

-x-

As expected, the party was an absolute bore. Tawan knew it would be, because they always were. Too many people wearing stuffy suits and fake smiles. Too many lights glaring down from chandeliers that looked like they belonged in a palace rather than a hotel ballroom. Lousy drinks in thin glasses, all fizz and no bite. Pointless small talk about the same damn things: upcoming projects, brand deals, fan meets, gossip dressed up as industry chatter. It was a circus, glittering and shallow, and Tawan hated every second of it. The added frustration still clawing under his skin from the morning made everything worse. 

Aran had been just as cold after his shower as he was before it; quiet, distant, dodging any chance of conversation. He’d eaten breakfast like it was a chore, eyes down on his plate, and then left without much of an explanation, muttering something about an errand he couldn’t fully explain. Barely spared Tawan a second glance before walking out the door. Tawan had spent the rest of the day stuck in his own irritation; annoyed at himself for letting him go, annoyed at his boyfriend for acting like a stranger, annoyed that he had to drag himself to this useless party and play dress-up when all he wanted was answers.

The ballroom was suffocating him as soon as he'd arrived. Every corner overstuffed with stars and business tycoons, glittering in their designer best. Men in tailored suits that were either too stiff or too flashy. Women in gowns that dripped sequins, feathers, or silk like they were competing for who could shine brightest under the hot lights. Expensive perfume clung to the air so thick it made his head ache. Flowers with no substance, he thought bitterly. Pretty, fragrant, delicate; but wilted inside.

And he himself wasn’t much better. He felt like a fucking decoration, another flower in the arrangement. Boiling in a dark suit that fit too perfectly to be comfortable, bowtie choking him, hair slicked and styled until his scalp pulled. His face locked into the same tired smile he’d been wearing since he walked in. Sandy clung to his side, polished and sultry in a midnight-blue dress that looked painted onto her body. Too low at the chest, too high at the thigh, her hair pulled into a sleek bun that left her neck long and bare. She looked like she belonged here, perfectly tailored for the spotlight, and she knew it.

He did his bit, mingled, shook hands, answered the same questions over and over. But when the posing and polite laughter fizzled enough, Tawan slipped away, retreating toward a standing table tucked in the corner near one of the gilded walls. He planted himself there like a man catching his breath after a long run, taking one sip of his watered-down drink and letting the buzz of the room fade into white noise. His thoughts, as usual, drifted home. Aran still hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. 

His jaw clenched around another sip of his drink. Aran had been given a rare day off, a clear schedule handed to him on a silver platter. Normally that would’ve been something to celebrate, but instead, it burned that it fell on a night when Tawan couldn’t be with him. Couldn’t keep him company. Couldn’t keep him from shutting himself in his head. Aran hadn’t mentioned plans with friends. Not even a passing comment. Tawan hated that. He hated when Aran was alone. The model had a way of sinking into destructive thoughts when no one was there to pull him back, and it made Tawan restless. Uneasy. 

And now, standing in this cavernous ballroom surrounded by too many fake laughs and flashing cameras, Tawan’s chest ached with the kind of feeling that wasn’t just about the morning, or the bowtie, or the small talk. It was the ache of wanting to be somewhere else. With someone else. But the party buzzed on, a blur of laughter and clinking glasses and empty chatter. Tawan had nearly finished his drink when Sandy reappeared, gliding toward him with that predator’s smile she wore so well, her perfume trailing sharp and sweet behind her.

“You’ve been hiding,” she teased, her voice lilting as she slipped up beside him. “You always were good at vanishing when things got dull.”

Tawan gave a short huff that might’ve passed for a laugh, but he didn’t bother dressing it up further. The actress leaned closer, her shoulder brushing his, lips curving with something sharper than just charm. 

“You know,” she said, lowering her voice just enough, “I still don’t get why turned down my offer. I thought we had fun.” 

Her fingers trailed along his forearm, feather-light but deliberate, like she was testing the boundaries of his patience. He stiffened, jaw ticking. She wasn’t coy about it; never had been. Always straightforward in her pursuit, always convinced she could wear people down with that easy, sultry laugh and those sharpened eyes. 

“We had some good nights, didn’t we? You can’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

Tawan drew in a breath, forcing himself to stay civil, even as his irritation spiked. “I remember,” he said carefully, voice even. “But I told you before, that was in the past. Let's leave it there.”

Sandy’s painted mouth curved into something between amusement and challenge. “Mmm. When did you get so polite?” 

Her hand slid higher, brushing near his wrist before he gently, but firmly, pulled away. He didn’t look at her when he spoke again. 

“Sandy. Don’t.”

For a moment, she studied him, head tilting, eyes narrowing just slightly. Then she sighed, feigning woundedness that didn’t quite reach her smirk. 

“Fine, fine. No need to bite.” She lingered at his side though, sipping her drink before lowering it again. “So what’s wrong with you tonight, then? You’ve been in a foul mood since you walked in. Well, fouler. Don’t tell me it’s just the weak champagne.”

Tawan opened his mouth, ready to brush her off with something dismissive, when the atmosphere around them shifted. Heads turned. Conversations paused.

And then he saw him.

Aran walked in through the wide double doors, accompanied by the CEO of his modeling agency. His presence wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be; he commanded the space with the ease of someone who didn’t even realize how exquisite he looked. His outfit was sharp, tailored to perfection: a dark blazer with just enough sheen to catch the light, slim trousers that elongated his already endless frame, a silk shirt cut low at the collar that teased skin and bone with understated elegance. His hair, styled back in soft waves, shone under the chandelier, and a single silver chain glinted against his throat.

Tawan froze, every muscle tight, the breath in his chest snagging. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t blink. Didn't care why he was here without telling Tawan. Aran was a vision, and Tawan; irritation, frustration, anger and all, was utterly undone. Sandy noticed, of course. She followed the line of his gaze, her lips curling slowly into something knowing.

"Ah. So that’s the reason.”

His head snapped toward her, but Sandy was already watching him with smug satisfaction, eyes glittering with mischief.

“You really do gawk,” she said, amused. “I thought it was just rumors, but… you and the pretty model, Tawan?”

Tawan just stared back, expression blank, though his grip on the glass betrayed him; fingers tightening, veins pressing hard against skin, the stem threatening to snap between his knuckles. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught it; Aran, standing across the room, gaze flicking in his direction just as Sandy leaned in again, voice low and just a little bit mean. 

“No wonder poor thing got all deer in headlights when I mentioned you.”

Tawan’s eyes narrowed, his free hand shooting out to catch her wrist instinctively as she tried to turn away. He spun her back toward him with a sharpness that made her laugh under her breath, far too entertained.

“What did you say to him?” His tone was calm, but the steel in it was unmistakable.

She stared, feigning innocence, her smile widening as she caught the crack in his mask. “Just facts. You know how subtle I am about who I’ve fucked. Who I plan to fuck again.”

His jaw flexed as he let her go, gaze turning cool, deliberately detached.

Sandy looked even more amused, clearly pleased with herself. “I would’ve been less subtle if I knew the model was already aware of what a good lay you were.”

She didn’t linger; her job here was done, and she knew it. She left with a sway in her step, satisfied, leaving Tawan's thoughts swimming in her wake. He didn’t really care to be angry at her. Not when Aran was here, looking like he’d stepped out of some perfect daydream. Not when he had to explain to his boyfriend Sandy was full of bullshit and he would never look at her twice.

And he was about to stalk over and do just that when he realized he wasn’t the only one who noticed Aran’s entrance. Across the ballroom, a familiar face cut through the crowd; Mark. The actor playing the antagonist in Tawan's movie. Broader than most in the room, tattoos peeking from beneath his crisp white shirt, muscles stretching the fabric like it was a size too small. The kind of guy who never had to try too hard, confidence built into the way he carried himself. And right now, he was carrying a drink in each hand as he made a beeline straight for Aran.

Tawan’s chest tightened as he watched the exchange unfold. Mark smiled wide, the kind of smile that always read a little too intimate, a little too sure of itself. He leaned in close as he handed Aran the glass, his tattooed hand brushing deliberately against the small of Aran’s back in an easy, claiming gesture. And Aran, fuck, Aran didn’t push him away. Didn’t even shift back. Instead, he smiled. A soft, polite curve of his lips at first, but it lingered, warm enough to sting. He tilted his head as Mark spoke, responding with a few words of his own, his expression open in a way that twisted something ugly in Tawan’s gut.

The sight of it hit hard. That smile wasn’t his. That attention wasn’t his. And every second that Mark’s hand hovered at the base of Aran’s spine made Tawan’s blood boil hotter. When Aran’s lips parted on a quiet laugh at something Mark said, his shoulders easing, Tawan’s jealousy roared up like fire in his throat. He stared, glass biting into his palm, unable to look away. Aran looked beautiful, radiant even, standing there with his drink, hair falling just right under the ballroom lights. And Mark was eating it up, drawing closer with every second, his broad chest angled toward Aran like the whole room had fallen away.

Tawan couldn’t stand it.

Aran lifted his drink for a slow sip and then, just for a split second, his eyes flicked across the ballroom. Found Tawan. His pretty smile fell a fraction. The glance was quick, unreadable, and gone just as fast, but it left Tawan standing rigid, pulse hammering in his throat. And then Aran turned, smiling again, murmured something low to Mark, and slipped away from the crowd. Out the side door, drink abandoned. Tawan’s eyes tracked him until he vanished. He was already moving before he thought twice about it, weaving through clusters of laughing sponsors and over-scented actresses, ignoring the hands that tried to stop him for a word or a photo. 

He didn’t give a shit about any of them. He only cared about where Aran had gone, and about the fact that Mark had exited the same way seconds later. Tawan’s stride lengthened, his blood boiling hotter with each step until he made it to the large doors and out. A long and abandoned hallway waited outside, all velvet carpet, yellow lighting and fancy wallpaper. He cleared the corner, towards the bathrooms at the west end of the floor, hoping that was what Aran was intending for. Sure enough, Mark was there, leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door, casual as ever. Waiting. For Aran.

“Cute,” Tawan muttered as he closed the distance, voice sharp enough to cut as Mark looked up at him. “Waiting outside like a desperate mutt. He doesn’t need you to fetch for him.”

Mark’s head tilted, disdain flickering in his dark eyes. “Tawan. What's a bigshot like you doing back here?” 

Tawan stepped a little closer, his bowtie strangling him tighter with every heartbeat. He'd never liked the guy; too smug despite not having an ounce of talent.

“Not everyone can be like you," Tawan's voice was low, steady, but his knuckles were already twitching. "Getting half your roles because of the dicks you’re sucking in the production team.” His lip curled as his gaze swept over Mark like dirt. “You’re not good enough to even stand near Aran."

Mark scoffed, ears red. “What's it to you?"

Tawan didn't have the time or the patience to play with him. "Just saving you the trouble. He's not interested."

"Is that so?" Mark's brows raised, intrigued. "Funny, he didn't seem to mind. Smiled at me just fine. Easy laugh. Easy body language.” He leaned forward slightly, lowering his tone, deliberately dirty. “Wouldn’t take much to find out if he’s just as easy in bed.”

Tawan’s hand shot out immediately, grabbing Mark by the front of his shirt and slamming him back against the wall with a force that rattled a picture frame hanging nearby. His other fist curled, knuckles drawn back, the promise of violence hovering a breath away. Mark's smug facade faltered, his eyes darting to Tawan’s raised fist.

“Say that again,” Tawan growled, voice rough, chest heaving, “and I’ll make sure no one in this industry recognizes your face ever again.”

For a beat, silence. Then Mark chuckled, a little less sure, holding his hands up in mock surrender. 

“Relax, man. Just some harmless fun.”

Tawan shoved him once more, hard, before letting go, stepping back but never taking his eyes off him. “Stay the fuck away from Aran. He’s mine.”

Mark straightened his shirt, still trying to play it cool, but the edge in his smirk was gone. He pushed off the wall and strolled away without answering, pretending not to care. But Tawan saw the flicker of wariness in his eyes before he turned. Good. He better fucking be afraid. Tawan pushed open the bathroom door and stepped inside, ballroom noises muting, replaced by the hush of running water.

The bathroom was larger than most apartments in Bangkok. Marble floors polished to a shine, mirrors running the length of the wall, each sink lined with too-bright lights that made everything look sharper, cleaner. A chandelier hung overhead, because apparently even a fucking bathroom had to look rich in this hotel. And there was Aran. Standing at one of the sinks, fingers braced against the edge of the counter, head lowered like he’d been gathering himself. When he lifted his gaze, their eyes met in the mirror. That cold, unreadable mask was there again, but his lips were parted, the tips of his ears flushed pink. Tawan’s steps echoed on the marble as he closed the distance, calm on the outside though his chest was a furnace inside. His voice came out accusing. 

“What are you doing here?”

Aran didn’t flinch. He never did. His reflection held steady, though his knuckles whitened where they pressed the counter. “Whatever I want,” he said flatly. “Go back to your actress.”

Tawan’s jaw ticked, a muscle flexing hard. “Why?” He tilted his head, gaze sharp as he came up behind Aran. “So you can go back to Mark?”

That made Aran’s eyes cut sideways, sharp, the words landing just right. “Unlike Sandy, he's not after sex.”

That was laughable. So Tawan laughed. But it came out humorless and mean. 

"Aw baby, of course he is," Tawan told him, eyes raking over the expanse of skin Aran's unbuttoned silk shirt revealed. "Look at you. How could he not be?"

Aran sighed. "You should go back to the party, Tawan. They're probably waiting for you."

The mirror caught the way Tawan’s lips thinned. “The party's boring."

Aran watched him closely in the mirror. Looking for something. "And Sandy?"

"Sandy isn’t shit to me," Tawan said, words slow and deliberate. "Never was. I don't give a fuck what she wants or what lies she's spewing. I don’t want her. Don’t want anyone else.” His voice dropped lower, rougher, every word meant to burn into Aran. “I only want you.”

He reached out, fingers brushing along Aran’s arm, and he froze. The reaction was unexpected. Aran shivered, his reflection biting down on his lower lip before he could stop it. His body leaned subtly into the touch, hungry in a way that shot straight through Tawan’s spine just as much as it confused him. Like Aran was already wound up. Tawan turned him around, slow, his hands firm on Aran’s hips, pulling him close until there was barely a breath between them. Up close, it was obvious. Aran’s face was flushed, his skin warm, eyes glossy like heat had gotten the better of him even though Tawan was yet to touch him.

"Wha-?"

Aran surged up, kissing him like he’d been drowning for hours, swallowing his question. Messy, open-mouthed, tongue desperate. His hands fisted into Tawan’s jacket, pulling him closer, pulling him down, kissing him like he was starving for it. Tawan groaned into his mouth, the sound rough, hungry, eating up every needy whimper Aran let slip. When Aran finally pulled back for breath, his words tumbled out, low and urgent against Tawan’s lips. 

“I'm sorry. I was jealous. Of her. Of all of it. I listened to her bullshit, punished you for it even though I knew it was bullshit."

Tawan stared back with furrowed brows, transfixed. Aran looked like he was about to cry.

"I came to show her, show everyone, who you belong to.” His voice cracked on a soft gasp as Tawan’s hand slid down his back, gripping hard. “And to apologize. For this morning. For being cruel. For being cold.”

Tawan gritted his teeth, his chest a storm. The apology should’ve soothed him, but all it did was fuel his hunger. Because Aran looked wrecked already, eyes hazy, mouth swollen, and Tawan wanted to ruin him further. His thumb brushed Aran’s flushed cheek, catching on the damp heat of his skin. Aran trembled at the touch, pupils dilated, body taut like a bowstring. Tawan leaned in closer.

“Why are you shaking, Aran?” 

Aran gasped, his breath stuttering. He angled his mouth toward Tawan’s ear, lips brushing the edge as he whispered, “I came prepared.” His tone dripped with something dark and deliberate. “Been walking around all evening with them inside me…”

Tawan froze. His breath hitched when Aran guided his hand back, around to the swell of his ass. The heat of his body made Tawan’s muscles jerk. Aran pressed him there, a wicked smirk trembling on his lips. “So you could fuck me quick. Anytime you wanted.”

Tawan nearly lost control right there. He wasn’t entirely sure what Aran meant, but he was sure as hell about to find out. His cock strained painfully against his trousers, throbbing, aching for release. A guttural growl broke from his throat as he pressed Aran harder against the counter, caging him in with his weight.

“Fuck, Aran. What…?”

The thought of his flawless, untouchable model boyfriend strutting into the ballroom with something stretching his hole, just for Tawan, was madness. A madness that nearly broke him. His hand shot down, grabbing Aran’s wrist. Without another word, he dragged him across the marble floor, their footsteps scuffing sharp in the silence, until Tawan shoved open a stall and forced him inside. The lock clicked behind them, the sound final.

And now, nothing could stop him.

Tawan’s hands were on Aran before the stall door fully shut, pulling him flush against his chest. Their mouths crashed together, lips bruising, teeth clashing. Tongues tangled in a mess of hunger, frustration, and raw need. Aran gasped into him, clutching at his jacket like a lifeline. Tawan pressed forward, grinding against him, making him feel every hard line of his body. His hands were everywhere; skimming over shoulders, gripping his back, sliding across his chest as if memorizing Aran’s body anew.

“I’ve been frustrated all fucking day,” Tawan growled against his lips, then dragged his teeth down the curve of Aran’s ear, biting before latching onto his neck. “You hurt me this morning, Aran, rejecting me like that. And these months of you freezing me out, fuck, it was tearing me apart.” 

His words vibrated hot against damp skin. Aran trembled, nails digging into Tawan’s shoulders. His breath hitched, broken. “I’m sorry. I never… I’ve never-” His voice cracked between kisses, desperate and uneven. “I’d never felt like that before. When Sandy… I wanted- I wanted to kill her. That scared me.”

But it made Tawan's heart soar.

“And you…” Aran continued, tone sharpening, his hand shooting up to the nape of Tawan’s neck, tugging until pain sparked across his skin. His dark gaze was burning, almost feral. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

A low growl ripped from Tawan as he sank his teeth into the soft spot below Aran’s jaw, not gentle, marking. After taking off his own jacket, Tawan stripped the model quickly; jacket sliding to the floor, silk shirt following after. Tawan’s gaze lingered on the flush creeping over Aran’s chest, the thin sheen of sweat pearling on his skin. His hands traveled lower, fingers tracing ribs, then dipping down until they cupped the curve of Aran’s ass, slipping into his underwear.

Aran gasped sharply, legs buckling under the grip. His voice was high, needy, raw. A savage grin cut across Tawan’s face as his fingers caught on something; the thin cord, the slick ring. His heart thundered.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” His words were a rasp, disbelief and hunger tangled together.

Tawan spun Aran roughly, shoving him against the stall door before dropping to his knees. He yanked pants and underwear down in one brutal tug until Aran was bared.

“Fuck…”

The small ring jutted out of Aran’s swollen, flushed hole, smooth and glistening. Tawan’s hand trembled as he hooked a finger through the plastic, tugging. The cord attached to it went taut, and Aran arched off the wall with a strangled moan, his whole body shivering. A harder pull, and the first bead popped free with a wet, obscene sound; slick, round, crimson red. Tawan’s throat went dry.

“Ta-Tawan…” Aran whimpered, voice breaking. His knuckles scraped the wall as he clawed at it, body arching, trembling. Every shiver, every moan snapped something in Tawan. He kissed the dip of Aran’s spine, biting and sucking as he wrapped the cord around his finger and tugged again. The beads slipped free one by one, each sound wetter, filthier than the last. Aran writhed, his cries echoing in the small stall until the final bead slipped out with a lewd pop, the toy clattering to the floor.

Aran sagged, whining at the sudden emptiness, his body quivering. Tawan was on his feet again in seconds, pressing into him from behind, trapping him against the stall door. His hands fumbled with his own belt, zipper tearing down in haste as his cock sprang free, flushed and heavy. He buried his face into the curve of Aran’s neck, breathing in his perfume and sweat like a drug. He quickly shoved Aran’s waist down, bending him forward against the door, and then he was inside, slamming in to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

Aran’s moan broke against the door, strangled and raw. Tawan held him pinned, his grip bruising, and set a merciless pace. Each thrust was rough, fast, unforgiving; shaking the stall with their force. Sweat slicked their bodies, their groans and gasps filling the air. Aran’s walls clamped down around him, squeezing so tight it bordered on pain, milking him for everything.

“Shit, Aran,” Tawan ground out, forehead pressed to his shoulder blade, his voice wrecked. “You feel- fuck, so good. So fucking perfect.”

His hand tangled in Aran’s hair, yanking his head back so he could hear every ragged breath, every moan spilling from swollen lips. And that’s when the bathroom door creaked open. Tawan's hand flew up immediately to clamp over Aran’s mouth. The model stiffened a heartbeat later, eyes going wide, panic dilating his pupils. His muffled breath came in quick bursts against Tawan’s palm as voices drifted into the bathroom. Footsteps echoed across the marble, heavy and careless, and Tawan stilled, his cock buried deep inside Aran’s trembling body. The voices came next; two men, their tones casual, oblivious.

“Can you believe Mark’s still trying to charm her? The woman’s engaged.” An echoing laugh. “He’ll never learn.” 

Aran whimpered low in his throat, eyes squeezing shut, Tawan's hand still clasped over his mouth. His whole body shook, and Tawan felt every shiver ripple through him, every desperate clench of his hole, Aran's slutty body uncaring they could get caught. It was unbearable. Tawan’s jaw locked, chest heaving, sweat dripping down the side of his temple. He should’ve stayed still. Waited them out. But Aran’s body seemed to be dragging him deeper with every flutter of muscle. It was torture.

“Fuck,” Tawan hissed quietly, his lips grazing Aran’s ear. “Stay quiet.”

Aran shook his head violently, eyes begging, tears glassing his lashes. But Tawan couldn’t hold back. He drew his hips back, just an inch, and slid forward again, slow, teasing, every vein of his cock dragging through Aran’s tight heat. Aran jerked, a choked cry muffled against Tawan’s palm.

“Shhh,” Tawan murmured wickedly, voice low and shaking with hunger. 

The men’s voices were closer now, at the sinks, running water, chatting about the stock market, about the party. Every shift of their shoes across the tiles was a reminder of how thin the stall walls were. And still, Tawan rolled his hips; slow, deep thrusts that made Aran twitch helplessly. His cock pulsed inside him, the rhythm deliberate, punishing. Aran’s face screwed up, cheeks streaked with hot tears as he tried to hold in the noises crawling up his throat.

When he ground down a little harder, Tawan felt Aran bite down on the hand covering his mouth. The sting made Tawan’s vision spark, but he only grinned, teeth bared, chest vibrating with a low growl. Aran’s body convulsed, his legs threatening to give out. Tawan wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him up, pressing him tighter to the stall door. Every slow thrust was calculated, dragging out the torment.

One of the men laughed again, the sound bouncing off the walls. “Come on, we’ll be late for the toast.” Their footsteps shifted, retreating toward the exit. The bathroom door swung shut with a hollow thud, and silence filled the space. Tawan finally released the breath he’d been holding. His hand slid from Aran’s mouth, damp with spit and teeth marks, and he rested his forehead against the back of Aran’s neck, chest heaving.

“You’re insane,” he heard Aran whisper, voice breaking, raw with both relief and arousal.

Tawan chuckled darkly, hips grinding forward again. “No, baby,” he whispered against his sweat-slick skin. “I’m just fucking obsessed.”

He pulled out, turning Aran around to face him so he could drink in that ruined, luminous expression properly; cheeks flushed, lashes glued by tears, mouth parted and glossy. Aran’s chin trembled; the dazed wonder in his eyes sent a hot, possessive ache straight through Tawan. Without hesitating, Tawan hooked Aran's leg over his hip and shoved himself back into that wet warmth, the friction sharp and immediate.

Aran’s body folded around him, obscenely open and exposed, leg pushing up higher, over Tawan’s shoulder, while the other foot barely found the tile. The angle left Aran vulnerable and stretched; Tawan loved the sight of him like this; every tendon flexing, every gasp and sob visible in the way his throat bobbed. He held him there a heartbeat, then began to drive in hard and merciless, each thrust brutal enough to rattle the thin metal stall door. They slammed together in a frantic rhythm, hips colliding, breaths snapping into one another’s mouths.

Sweat tracked down Tawan’s spine, soaking his shirt, but he didn’t notice the stick of fabric against his skin. Aran’s hands were everywhere; clawing at Tawan’s shoulders, fingers digging in, anchoring himself. Tears streaked down his cheeks but his hips answered back with the same ferocity, pushing into Tawan as if to meet every brutal pull. He sounded scattered and small and impossibly loud, sobbing pleas that turned into little, broken prayers.

“Say it,” Tawan growled, teeth grazing the soft curve of Aran’s neck as he buried his face there. His voice was gravel and command, a challenge as much as a demand. “Tell me who you belong to.”

Aran’s laugh was a raw, choked thing. “You, fuck- Tawan, I belong to you,” he managed, voice cracking on the last syllables. He fell forward, pressing his forehead to Tawan’s, then lifted his face, glare sharpening into something tender and dangerous all at once. “And you belong to me.”

That was all it took. Tawan’s rhythm faltered, becoming ragged, erratic. His vision blurred, breath catching in his throat. Aran’s body squeezed around him like a vice, and then Aran broke with a cry, spilling between them untouched, his orgasm tearing through him. The sudden clamp of his muscles dragged Tawan over the edge too, his hips jerking in one last bruising thrust before he spilled deep inside, groaning Aran’s name against his skin.

The world narrowed to their ragged breathing, the faint echo of their cries fading in the tiled room. For a long moment, they stayed there, slumped against the stall door, clinging to each other. Tawan pressed kisses; open mouthed and sloppy, along Aran’s neck, up his jaw, finally finding his swollen mouth. Their lips slid together, slow and messy, more breathing than kissing.

“I love you,” Aran whispered between breaths, eyes glassy and voice wrecked.

Tawan kissed him again, tasting sweat and tears, and whispered it back, firm and certain. “I love you, Aran. Fuck, I love you.”

When Aran sagged completely against him, boneless with exhaustion, Tawan pulled out carefully, steadying him when his knees buckled. Aran whimpered at the loss, head lolling into Tawan’s shoulder.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” the actor murmured, soft now, almost reverent. He pulled tissues from the dispenser, cleaning Aran gently, his hands sure even as they trembled faintly from the aftershocks. Aran leaned against the stall wall, dazed, letting Tawan fix him; pants tugged up, shirt smoothed down, jacket slipped over limp shoulders. Finally, when Aran was decent again, Tawan tucked himself back into his slacks, stuffing the sex toy into his suit pocket. He wiped away tear stains and brushed sweaty strands of hair from Aran’s forehead, pressing one last kiss there before unlocking the stall.

“Ready?” he whispered.

Aran nodded, eyes heavy-lidded, lips curved in the faintest smile. Together, they stepped out into the empty bathroom, neither eager to see their messy reflections. Not that it mattered, Tawan was taking Aran home, party be damned. It was pretty obvious that his boyfriend had been thoroughly fucked and his blissed out face was something Tawan wanted all to himself. So he tugged Aran along by the hand, leading him out into the quiet hallway, already thinking about the elevator, the car park, the fastest route back to Aran’s place. They barely made it three steps before Tawan was yanked back, stumbling as Aran spun him around and dragged him down into a kiss.

Tawan gasped, caught off guard, nearly losing his footing. But instinct took over, his hands snapping to Aran’s hips, hauling him closer, kissing back. Aran’s lips tasted of sweat, heat, and something victorious. The press of his body screamed possession. When they broke apart for air, Tawan realized they weren’t alone.

Sandy stood just a few feet away, phone forgotten against her ear, eyes wide and frozen in shock. Tawan glanced down at Aran, who stared flatly at her. His voice came lazy, smooth as silk.

“Sorry,” he muttered, though there wasn’t a hint of apology in his tone. He clung tighter to Tawan’s waist, leaning into him like he was proud of the display. “Didn’t see you there.”

Sandy scoffed, lips curling, her usual sultry, knowing poise stripped away, leaving only irritation and disbelief. Aran turned his gaze back up to Tawan, lashes fluttering, mouth pouty.

“Take me home, baby,” he murmured, voice laced in honey. “My back hurts.”

Tawan’s chest shook with the effort of holding back a smile. He nodded, brushing his thumb over Aran’s bottom lip before flicking his gaze back to Sandy.

“Tell the party I had an emergency and had to leave.” 

The actress blinked, still processing, and finally gave a slow nod. The two of them turned toward the elevators and left her standing there, Aran glued to Tawan’s side, refusing to let go. The model's low chuckle echoed down the corridor when they reached the end, warm and mischievous.

“Good job,” he muttered, giving Tawan's hip a squeeze as they waited. The actor tilted his head, smiling because Aran was. 

“Yeah? Where’s my reward?”

Aran leaned in until his lips brushed Tawan’s ear, voice dropping low and sultry. “Take me back to my place, and I’ll show you what else I bought besides the beads.”

Tawan’s breath caught, his whole body sparking with hunger all over again.

He was about to break every speeding law in the city.