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Joss’s chest is pounding as he stands in his bedroom, freshly showered and shivering slightly as the air conditioning wafts over his bare skin. He bites his lip and stares at the clothing on his bed, wondering if he’s actually insane enough to do this.
It began as a joke, because of course it did. Everything insane he does, which he can count on one hand, has always begun as a joke.
They were in LA, having dinner with his older brother Boss and a few friends and family who made it in for the show. None of the staff had come with them, so they were feeling particularly free on the tail end of a suffocating month of travelling together -- airport to taxi to hotel to stage to bed, rinse and repeat.
Joss was three vodkas deep and feeling it, Gawin was nursing his fifth beer, and Boss was throwing back martinis like it was his fucking job. Everyone was having a good time, and Joss was exhausted, yawning so widely it was cracking his jaw, making his eyes water.
Natalie, Boss’s roommate and best friend, was scrolling through her phone, sipping on her own cocktail, as Gawin and Joss chatted to her about going to the basketball.
Her eyes went wide as whatever she was looking at was particularly shocking, and Gawin, ever the troublemaker, asked her what was wrong.
She looked at them. “Found Joss’s OnlyFans,” she grins, turning her phone toward them.
It was a video of some fitness model guy pulling on a pair of lacy stockings, while wearing a miniskirt, aimed from the neck down, impossible to tell anything about him, bar he had a hot body and was doing some kink shit.
Joss choked on his drink, and Gawin exploded into machine-gun laughter. “Holy shit, Joss, that’s hot as fuck,” Gawin said, grabbing for Natalie’s phone to get a closer look.
Joss, bright red and burning with it, fumbled terribly. “I--that’s not me--I--” he stammered, making them laugh even more, as he sank into his chair, hiding his face in his hat.
He went back to the hotel not long after that, citing exhaustion, but really he was embarrassed and ridiculously turned on, jerking off twice before he passed out to the visuals.
It’s the only justification he has for why he’s staring at a pair of lacy white stockings and a tiny denim skirt. And why he’s considering filming himself pulling them on to send to Gawin.
“This is insane. What the fuck am I doing?” Joss asks himself, staring at the mirror, watching his cock swell inside his briefs.
Gawin hadn’t seemed disgusted or upset by the idea that it was Joss. No, if anything, the hot flush on his cheeks, the way his eyes lingered, the parting of his lips -- all things Joss picked up on because he notices everything about Gawin. The quiet, the way he swallows his own happiness instead of pushing back -- and he’s always wanted to protect him
“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, moving forward to press Record on his phone, set up on a tripod.
He’s already checked the angle to make sure it doesn’t show his face, or anything specifically incriminating inside his room, in case this footage somehow gets out.
He doesn’t have any real distinguishing marks on his body, bar the scar on his forearm, but if he keeps his arm a certain way, he can avoid showing it.
Just another half-naked guy making kinky thirst trap content on the internet for likes.
One particular like.
He wonders if he should wear his briefs under the skirt -- the whole thing is overtly sexual, and sending it to Gawin is a call to come fuck, for sure, but… the no briefs thing, his cock will be hard, the skirt won’t sit flat, and he’ll definitely end up showing it. Maybe he’ll film two versions and decide which one is less gross to send.
So, he keeps the briefs on, smoothing down the skirt, and reaches for the stockings, pulling them on, one at a time. He watches the satin band at the top slide up past tanned muscle, sitting snug on his thigh, snapping against the skin. Joss shivers, hands shaking as he reaches for the second stocking, pointing his toes, silk rasping up his calves. He gets the second stocking settled, straightening up, watching his abs tense as he goes. His hands hang by his side, unsure of what to do now. The video stopped at this point, and Joss wonders what Gawin would like to see.
Maybe he should… he swallows, as he turns around, knowing the skirt barely clears his ass, his briefs slightly visible, and he bends over a little, checking the stockings, before he turns back around and stops recording.
“Fuck,” he says, a hand to his chest, squeezing, trying to get his heartbeat to calm down.
He takes off the stockings and puts them back on the bed, shucking off his boxers, his hardness aching underneath now. As expected, it makes the skirt tent, and he wonders if he can tuck his cock into the band, just to get through this. It’s uncomfortable, but it solves the issue, and he reaches out to start recording again.
It’s somehow even more sensual, the slide of the stockings up his legs, knowing he’s got nothing underneath, and that Gawin will see his ass and balls when he bends over at the end. Should he even bend?
This is so overt and disgusting, but his brain keeps throwing up the way Gawin had blushed, the interest in his eyes, when he watched that video.
It spurs him on to get the second stocking and then turn around and bend over, just enough, before turning back and finishing the recording.
He sits down heavily on his bed, hands fumbling with his phone, as he plays back the recordings.
The first video is okay; he looks hot, the afternoon sunlight making his skin turn golden as a few beams make their way past his curtains. The backdrop is bland and unremarkable, and Joss can’t see the scar on his arm, nor any higher than above his neck, even when he bends over slightly, his briefs peeking out from underneath the skirt.
The second video… Jesus.
Joss almost drops his phone when it starts, the skirt somehow sitting even higher.
When he turns and bends, his asscheeks are there, the skirt rucking up high enough to show everything, even a hint of his balls as he smooths down the stockings. He turns at the waist, the slightest amount, which adds even more to the video, and then he’s leaning forward to stop recording, and Joss disassociates for a good three minutes before he calms down enough to come back to himself.
“What the fuck. What the fuck.”
He’s sweating now, heart racing, and it feels like he’s drunk fifteen shots of espresso. He can’t send this to Gawin. He can’t.
So why are his traitorous fingers opening his Line chat with Gawin, eyes moving to see that Gawin’s active now, the green ring glowing around his display picture, which is a cartoon picture of Guinzly, the first piece of fan art either of them saw of their baby.
He navigates to ‘attach a file’ and finds the second video, clicking it, and he feels like he’s going to throw up.
Sent, his phone says, as the video file hurtles across the messenger.
On the other side of the city, in Lat Phrao, Gawin’s phone buzzes. He’s lying on his bed, bored and tired, wondering whether he should film another cover, when he gets a notification.
(1) New message from JWR
He opens their chat absentmindedly, assuming Joss is going to ask when they can play ball next. It’s been a while, and with 3Fight3 coming up early next year, they need to start training again more regularly. Gawin’s a lot bigger from prepping for the Replay trailer and Starlympics, and as much as he hates the gym, it’ll be easier to keep his momentum now.
He’s sent a video.
“Okay…” Gawin frowns, yawning as he opens it.
He blinks as the video starts playing, a half-naked body springing into vision, one he’s seen countless times by now. He knows each dip of muscle, the hard-won grind of those abs, and sweet pebbled nipples begging to be sucked.
This is Joss.
Gawin chokes, sitting upright, gripping his phone so tightly he almost hears it creak.
“Joss?” he squeaks, as he watches an arm reach for something offscreen, slowly sliding a silken stocking up a smooth, tanned leg. His heart begins to race, swallowing around the saliva pooling in his mouth, as the other stocking comes up, the visuals of a ripped chest and huge thigh muscles devastating against the softness of the lingerie and the skirt.
Then, he turns around and smooths down the stockings, bending enough that the swell of his ass can be seen, and a hint of-- balls?-- Jesus fuck.
Gawin clings to his phone, watching Joss turn just slightly, the skirt hitching up even higher, and then it cuts off.
Gawin blinks, pressing replay before he can stop himself.
On the fifteenth repeat, Gawin puts his phone down and stares at his wall. Mind racing, ears burning, pulse frantic.
The fact that Joss recorded this and sent it to Gawin, the confidence and vulnerability, the risk that comes with this… Gawin is speechless.
It was the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen in his life. And he knows Joss will be terrified and panicking every second that ticks by until Gawin acknowledges it. Reaching for his phone, he scrolls to Joss’s number and hits Call.
Joss’s phone vibrates in his hand.
Incoming call: Gawin
His stomach drops. He answers before he can think.
“Hello?”
There’s silence. Just breathing. Too close to the mic.
“Gawin?” Joss asks.
A soft exhale. Then-- “…was that meant for me?”
Joss squeezes his eyes shut. “Yeah. Yeah. It was.”
Another breath. A tiny sound like Gawin biting his lip. Then quietly, “I don’t… I don’t know how to fucking deal with how that makes me feel.”
Joss almost laughs, except it comes out closer to a broken noise. “Then we’re the same. I'm kind of freaking out.”
Gawin inhales slowly like he’s steadying himself. “If it was a joke,” Gawin says, voice fragile, “tell me now. Please. Because it felt like you maybe meant something by it… and I need to know.”
Joss’s heart thunders. “It wasn’t a joke. I meant it. Every second of it.”
Silence again sits between them. Joss imagines him lying there, hand over his face, processing.
“Okay,” Gawin murmurs, voice softer now. “Okay.”
He exhales. Then, “I’ve wanted you for so long, Joss. And I never let myself say it out loud. Not even in my own head. So now I--” He stops, laughing at himself. “I don’t know how to talk. You’ve broken my brain.”
Joss lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re not mad? Or disgusted with me?”
“Mad? Disgusted?” Gawin says. “I’m trying not to fucking fall apart, dude.”
Joss bows his head, pressing the heel of his hand to his eye. “You don’t hate me for… this?”
“No,” Gawin says immediately, fiercely gentle. “I’m grateful. You trusted me. With… that. With you. Risked it.”
“I didn’t just want you to see me,” Joss admits. “I wanted you. Full stop. I just didn’t know how to ask. And I thought… the way you reacted to that video from Natalie… maybe this was a good way to test it…”
Gawin lets out a soft laugh. “That was one way to do it. Fucking hell.”
They both laugh, and then it dissolves into silence again. Calmer this time. Closer.
Gawin speaks first. “Can I come over?”
Joss freezes with the knowledge of what’s probably going to happen next. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Gawin says, steadier now. “If this is real, I don’t wanna do this through a phone. I want to look at you and talk properly. Be in the same room. Figure out what this is. Together.”
Joss’s chest aches in the best way. “Okay,” he agrees. “I want to. I really, really want to.”
“Good,” Gawin says. Relief threads through his voice. “Then I’ll come over.”
Joss nods. “Okay.”
“Joss?” Gawin asks.
“Yeah?”
A sigh. “Thank you… for wanting me.”
Joss closes his eyes again. “Same back at you.”
Then a raspy, “…hurry. Please.”
Gawin hums in agreement, and the call ends, leaving Joss staring out at the darkening Bangkok horizon from his bedroom window, still in the stockings and skirt, his heartbeat raging for an entirely different reason now.
He flops back on his bed, stunned laughter bursting out of him.
Gawin doesn’t text when he arrives.
He just knocks.
It’s a small sound, knuckles against wood -- but it lands like thunder in Joss’s chest. He stands there for a second with his hand on the doorknob, heart punching up against his ribs like it’s trying to break free.
He opens the door.
Gawin stands in the hallway, hoodie thrown on over something soft, hair slightly messy, like he’d kept running his hands through it on the drive over.
They just stare at each other, Gawin’s eyes roaming Joss’s face.
Joss tries to speak. “Hey…” His voice cracks.
Gawin smiles, bright and wide. “Hi.”
They don’t move for a moment. There’s too much to see. Too much to understand. Joss suddenly feels shy in his own doorway, bare legs, skirt brushing his thighs, stockings hugging muscle, the ridiculousness of it suddenly fragile in the light of someone else’s presence.
“I can change,” Joss blurts, nerves tripping him up. “If it’s weird. Or too much. Or if it’s stupid in real life. I’ll just--”
“Joss.”
Gawin says his name so gently it stops him mid-sentence.
He steps forward, crosses the space, and Joss steps back instinctively to let him in. The door clicks shut behind them, soft and final.
Silence settles -- different now. Thick, warm and intentional.
Gawin’s hand lifts slowly, fingers hovering near Joss’s hip but not touching. “Can I?”
Joss nods. “Yeah.”
Gawin’s hand lands, and because he can’t help himself, his gaze lowers.
He really looks at Joss this time -- not through pixels, but here, centimeters away. The skirt. The bare skin between denim and satin. The stockings stretched tight and perfect across his strength. The tremor in Joss’s thighs is from standing there and letting himself be seen.
Gawin’s fingers drift down, brush the silky material at the top of the stockings, as if confirming it exists.
Joss sucks in a shaky breath. Gawin feels it move through him, like an electric current.
“It’s not stupid,” Gawin says softly. “It’s… fuck, I don’t even know the word. In Thai or English.”
He traces the top seam reverently, feeling where fabric meets skin like the line itself is something sacred.
“You kept them on,” he murmurs. “Even after sending the video.” There’s wonder in it. Gratitude. A little desperation.
“I… mm, I wanted you to see,” Joss says.
That seems to break something open in Gawin. His other hand comes up, settling at Joss’s waist. He steps closer, chest brushing Joss’s. He bows his head slightly, pressing his forehead briefly against Joss’s collarbone like he needs grounding.
“Thank you,” Gawin says.
Joss laughs, a little thing, the nerves sinking into him. “It’s embarrassing.”
“No. It’s beautiful,” Gawin says immediately. “You’re beautiful.”
Joss’s inhale stutters.
Gawin lowers further, kneeling just enough to be eye-level with the curve of Joss’s thigh. His hand cups gently around the side of it, thumb brushing the thin satin band, learning how it sits, how it gives under his pressure, how Joss shivers every time his fingers move.
He presses his lips there, just once.
Joss’s hand flies to Gawin’s shoulder, gripping tightly.
Gawin lingers, lips against it for a heartbeat longer, before lifting his head, eyes reverent and unbelievably gentle.
“I don’t want to rush this,” he says, thumb brushing against it again. “I want to know what it means for you. I want to take my time with you.”
Joss nods, blinking fast, overwhelmed by how seen he feels.
“Okay,” he says. “Take your time.”
Gawin stands, hands still anchored tenderly to Joss’s body like he doesn’t want to lose contact. Their faces are suddenly close, warmth shared, something settling between them.
Then Gawin leans in, kissing him, slow and deep, without being greedy.
Joss melts into it, and his body beneath Gawin’s hands feels like the beginning of something.
They move backwards into Joss’s bedroom, Gawin stumbling a little as he goes, Joss laughing into his mouth, wrapping his arms around Gawin’s shoulders. Hoodie and t-shirt, and jeans are stripped on the way, socks too, and Joss’s hands can’t stop touching, feeling, roaming. Gawin is just as bad.
His hands have made a home underneath Joss’s skirt, cupping his ass, squeezing and kneading, fingertips dancing to the top of the stockings occasionally, his moans getting eaten by Joss.
“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Gawin says, dazed with it as Joss pulls back, now they’ve made it to his bed.
“Really?” Joss asks. He feels so fucking shy with it, with Gawin’s everything. Gawin’s height and strength are enough that he feels like he can be small, and that scares the shit out of him. His whole life, he’s been the biggest, toughest, strongest -- and now … now he’s standing in front of a boy he likes way too much, dressed in girl clothes, about to get fucked.
Fuck. Is he going to get fucked? How is this going to go?
“Really. Really really. I’m so fucking lucky I get paid to kiss you,” Gawin says, pulling Joss in again.
Joss laughs. “I’m not paying you this time,” he says, and Gawin kisses him, holding him close, licking into his mouth.
“Nope. This is all for free, baby. All for you,” Gawin says, voice low, making Joss’s knees weak. He can feel Gawin’s hardness pressing against his, the skirt doing barely nothing to hide his pleasure, and he feels Gawin’s hand move to rub against his front, Joss’s eyes fluttering as his palm runs up his length.
“Uh, G-- fuck, I--” Joss says, and Gawin nods, pressing kisses along his neck.
“What do you wanna do?” Gawin asks, and Joss has no idea. He has no fucking idea where they go next or what this looks like.
“I… I’m not sure,” Joss says, and Gawin nods.
“That’s okay. How about we start slow?” Gawin says.
Relieved, Joss nods and kisses Gawin again, fingers tucking into the band of his briefs, pushing them down, wanting Gawin’s skin against his.
Gawin’s hand squeezes at Joss’s pec, sliding along it, pressing his face into Joss’s neck, breathing him in. “God, I need to calm down, otherwise I’m gonna come way too fast,” he huffs, and Joss rubs a hand up and down his back.
“Me too,” he says, and Gawin pulls back.
“Get on the bed… on your knees?”
Joss blinks, and Gawin pecks him, hand on his neck, thumbing along under his lip. “I won’t put anything in you without asking first. I just… wanna eat you out a little.”
Joss’s jaw drops. “E-excuse me? You want to do what to me?”
“You in a skirt and stockings and I’m not eating you out? C’mon dude.” Gawin steps back and pats the bed.
“I… I’ve never…” words fail him, and Gawin smiles softly at him.
“Didn’t think I’d get any of your firsts at this grown age. That makes me happy,” he says.
Joss groans, face burning red, but he kneels on his bed, away from Gawin, looking over his shoulder. Exposed. A live wire. Skin hot, thighs tight.
Gawin gets behind him, dropping a kiss on the dip of his lower back, hands kneading at Joss’s thighs. “Your body is like a gift from God,” he sighs, kissing his way down, teeth scraping along the material of the stockings, making Joss jump a little.
“Just tell me if you want me to stop. I won’t play games. We can negotiate weird shit later,” Gawin says. Joss nods, and the first hot, wet stripe along his hole makes him collapse, fisting at his duvet, face pressing against it.
“Oh my fucking god.”
Gawin hums something, hands holding Joss’s cheeks apart, and the licking continues, following with a long suck, making Joss gasp. His cock is so fucking hard, and wet, leaking pre-come, feeling the drips hitting his leg occasionally with each movement.
Gawin reduces him to a drooling idiot, his tongue pressing inside, wet heat meeting wet heat, Joss pushing back against him, unable to help himself. “G-- fuck, more--” Joss begs.
Gawin pulls back after a while, and Joss looks over his shoulder, Gawin’s cheeks and mouth slick with spit.
“Sit on my face,” he says, pulling Joss up, so he can lie down. Joss does as he’s told, desperate for more, and straddles Gawin’s face.
“Are you… won’t I be too heavy?” he asks, and Gawin shakes his head, pushing his skirt up higher, Joss holding it around his ribs, looking down as Gawin settles underneath, moving Joss so his hole is lined up with Gawin’s mouth. It means his cock sits up above his nose, and Gawin’s free hand strokes him, while his tongue and mouth send Joss to heaven.
The noises spilling out of him are pornographic, no two ways around it. He’s not the most vocal normally when fucking, but there’s something about Gawin doing this to him, like this, that he can’t stop, can’t be quiet, can’t hold it inside him any longer.
Gawin gets a finger inside him, along with his tongue, and Joss’s back bows as he hits something inside him, sending a lightning bolt of white hot pleasure shooting up his spine.
“Ah, fuck, G--” Joss shouts, grabbing at his headboard.
“Did I find it?” Gawin asks, voice muffled. Joss looks down at him, chest heaving.
“Find what? What the fuck was that?” he demands. Gawin grins, licking a stripe up along his cock, suckling on the tip for a moment.
“Your g spot. Prostate. It’s why guys love getting fucked in the ass. Hit the fun button over and over until you come from it. Totally different orgasm as well.”
Joss blinks down at him, suddenly very on board with getting fucked. “I--” he starts, and Gawin raises an eyebrow.
“You what?”
Joss reaches into his bedside drawer instead, emerging with a tube of lube. “You should finish opening me up and get inside me.”
Gawin takes the lube and squeezes his thigh. “Are you sure? It’s… it’ll be uncomfortable to start.”
“I don’t care. I want you inside him. I want to feel that again,” Joss demands.
“Alright,” Gawin says, pushing Joss back down so he can get his cock in his mouth, and then he’s pushing back inside with a lubed finger this time, Joss clutching at the bedhead as the pleasure bounces back and forth on both sides.
“G, please--” he begs, voice breaking, and Gawin sucks harder, tongue swirling along the length, and adds another finger, the stretch delicious, like a workout. Joss feels his hips begin to move, instinctually, and he tries not to thrust too hard and choke Gawin, needing this to see an end.
Gawin wriggles out from underneath him and keeps Joss on all fours as he gets a third finger in, free hand wrapped around his cock now, stroking him through the burn, Joss panting, trying to focus on his breathing, his cock feeling so full, wanting to come.
“G, you gotta get in me soon, I’m not gonna last,” Joss says.
“Alright, let me just get one more finger,” Gawin says, letting go of his cock and adding more lube as he presses a fourth in. This time, the pain overrides the pleasure, and he presses his face against his shoulder, biting down on the muscle.
“Okay, I think you’re ready. You sure about this?” Gawin says, pulling his fingers out slowly, Joss gasping at the sudden loss, the emptiness.
“Yes, please, just get inside me,” Joss says.
“I got you,” Gawin says, dropping a kiss on his shoulder, shuffling in between his legs. He uncaps the lube and squeezes more of it on his cock, before tossing it up near Joss’s hands and holding his hips.
Joss exhales as he feels something pressing against his hole, and the breach is unlike the fingers, unlike the tongue, something hotter and more solid, harder, demanding entry.
Joss whines as Gawin begins to push inside, gasping through it, until he feels Gawin’s hips pressed snug against his ass.
He’s in. I have Gawin completely inside me. Holy fucking shit.
“How does it feel?” Gawin asks, voice strained. Joss nods, looking over his shoulder, Gawin smiling at him.
“You feel big. And right.”
“Good,” Gawin says, and slowly begins to thrust, letting Joss acclimatise. But soon enough, both of them demand more, and Gawin holds onto the belt of the skirt, using it as leverage to fuck Joss, while Joss holds onto the bed, back bowed, overwhelmed as Gawin’s cock hits his prostate more often than not.
How the hell is he ever supposed to go back to fucking anyone, knowing how good this feels? How is he ever supposed to let anyone who isn’t Gawin touch him ever again?
“Fuck--fuck--fuck--” Joss grits out, as Gawin’s thrusts pick up in speed, his own moans and pants joining Joss’s in some kind of sexual symphony.
“Your stockings… fuck, they feel so good…” Gawin huffs out, gripping Joss’s thigh, where the material meets skin.
Joss completely forgot about them, reduced to his hole, his prostate, and the feel of Gawin’s cock splitting him wide open, over and over.
He’s ruined forever. Forever.
“G--” Joss begs, and Gawin groans, thrusting that little bit harder, his angle perfect.
“I’m gonna-- I’m close, I’m gonna--” Joss says, feeling it building deep in his gut, similar to normal but somehow so much more intense, like an ocean wave rolling on the beach front instead of a gunshot.
“Me too,” Gawin says, and keeps the pace punishing, not changing a damn thing.
Joss comes a handful of strokes later, unable to stop for love nor money, completely untouched, cock swinging wildly between his legs. He flutters around Gawin, making Gawin choke out a, “F-fuck, Joss--” and then he stills, emptying deep inside Joss, somewhere he’ll stay.
Joss collapses, hands stiff from holding the bed for so long, wheezing like he’s run a marathon, instead of just having sex. He winces as Gawin pulls out, and flops on the bed next to him.
He moans, stretching his legs out, and they lie there, coming down from it.
“Holy shit,” Joss says, once he’s caught his breath. Gawin laughs next to him, rubbing his face.
“Yeah. What did you think?” he asks.
Joss stares at him. “I think I’m gonna be fighting you to take it, sometimes,” he says, and Gawin properly laughs at that one, the one that makes the laugh lines appear on his cheeks, his eyes crinkling up. Joss laughs as well.
“And what about the stockings and skirt?” Gawin asks, running a finger along his leg. Joss shivers.
“I can… wear them again, sometimes,” he concedes.
“Good,” Gawin says, rolling into him to kiss him, holding his face still.
Joss sighs and drops his face into Gawin’s shoulder once they’re done. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Worth it,” Gawin says, pulling him closer like he has no intention of ever letting go.
They fall quiet after that, just existing together. Joss can feel his heartbeat slowly settling, syncing with the steady thrum beneath Gawin’s ribs. Something inside him settles too, in a way he didn’t know it needed.
“Stay with me tonight,” Joss hears himself say.
“I’m already here.”
He takes a breath.
“I don’t think I could leave you right now, even if I wanted to,” Gawin says, shy with it, like he’s surprised at how much truth slipped out.
Joss leans in and kisses him again, holding him close.
The emotions between them are big enough to be frightening, but neither of them pulls back. They meet in the middle anyway.