Chapter Text
Namping Napatsakorn Pingmuang. He never really himself expected to be in this place. Not now. Not like this. Don't get him wrong…he dreamt of having this. Almost all his life. He spent years illustrating how he wanted the morning of his wedding to be. A wedding with his P’Keng. Keng Harit Buayoi, the man of Namping’s dreams. The love of his life.
But shit went downhill. Guns fired, ambushes happening, lives are lost and there's the world burning by the man he loves.
But one thing was constant, and that was the man who promised to marry him was fulfilling it in the worst way possible.
So before you wonder, who the hell won't be excited to get married to the love of their life? Let's get to the mess that started all of this.
Namping Napatsakorn, the only heir of the Pinmuang family. One of the most influential elite families within the premises of Bangkok itself.
He was not just a name. He was a trophy. With glittering diamonds adorning his frame. He knew that a family like his, a face like his, a figure like his and a fucking name like that was worth millions a glance.
Now one would expect Namping to be the angel that he appears to be. Calm, pretty, elegant. Someone you will want to remember when they ask you about their dream spouse…a fucking fantasy.
Namping did not care about all of that.
So if you ever get lucky enough to step inside his circle, you should already consider yourself a winner by then, you'll know how much of a bitch he is.
condescending was one word his friends might use to describe him. Conceited would be another. But there's one word he would use to describe himself.
Concealed.
For most people the quality of their life depends on luck. From the moment you’re born you’re either rich or not.
Some people had the fortune of having a loving family and support system despite living below the poverty line. They could be secure in their lives because they were rich in happiness.
Some people were rich in materials but sat through suffocating family dinners and cried themselves to sleep each night. They couldn’t be considered entirely unlucky when they could always buy a holiday house as consolation for bad parenting.
Namping considered himself the mild unlucky category.
He could easily buy anything that brings pleasure to him but in the end it was the same cycle of going to bed crying.
No one can really see him behind the mask of his arrogance and cockiness. No one can see the invisible leash on his neck. Or the iron brand of his family's name in the shape of his family ring. Namping was owned. By his family. By his father. He got nothing when he got home. Not even his own voice. So he screams as loud as he can when he gets outside…because this Namping does not care about his beauty, he doesn't care about looking appealing on the couch as a bunch of men over 50 think that what a perfect bride he'd make. He could care less to give a fuck about his father functioning him in an auction in return for some gold dimes or shit.
This....when he works…he feels alive. He feels appreciated. The cameras, the flashlights, the paparazzi..they were his element.
His family made sure that Namping shouldn't work as a professional…but there are friends that he made along the way who just won't give a fuck about Khun Gun Pinmuang.
Namping’s asshole of a father.
Kongpob Jirojmontri, or just his best friend Kong…he knows Namping from the inside out. They went to high school together and then later on pursued their fancy fashion degrees abroad. In some Ivy league university, sharing one dorm room. Although size wise it was like an apartment. But if you live for 4 years in one confined space away from a maniacal family, without any restrictions…that includes living on expired ramen during final semester and returning blacked out drunk from the freshman Orientation. You develop a very valuable kind of trust for each other.
So when Namping was restricted from actually getting a use of his fashion degree and auditing to be a model for a small brand…Kong decided to give his friend an exclusive employment and hire him as a model for his own clothing brand.
And there could nothing be done about it now…
Nothing serious happened.
Except Namping Napatsakorn Pinmuang got the title of the nation's sweetheart.
Oh, who would not believe it? He got the looks, the charm, and the sheer absurd audacity to appear gentle on the surface knowing very well he might put poison in your drink the next minute.
And someone like Namping needed someone like Kong as his confidant.
Kong never really cared about profits and money. He was blind rich. Not richer than Namping's family. But still rich enough to lose a million fucking dollars and not feel a dent in his bank account kind of rich.
It was not an exaggeration. Kong literally delivered chicken nuggets to his seniors in college once wearing his Balmain varsity pjs, alongside his pink delvaux sling bag while driving a Lamborghini…
The fashion thing is just a hobby for the love of the game…and since the past two years Kong has been in a very steady, very stable relationship with his fiancè Thomas. A rising star racer and this year's winner of the TSS. He could care less about the money.
So Namping thanked the gods if there were any, for a friend like Kong. Not only did he gives Namping a safe space but also understands him in ways no one else does. When the world gets too heavy or loud outside. It's like coming home from a stormy night and someone just put a warm blanket over you near the fireplace.
It was one of those high end fashion events. The one that invites businessmen and politicians for an annual flaunt of money. Raise charity money that goes back to the pockets of those said politicians in one way or the other. Namping could not bring himself to care about that. If he could he would have walked out of this space this instant minute…but it was Kong’s launch for his fall collection. And Namping was one of the leading models. So now he sat while eating a salad as he watched his best friend pace around the private dressing room like a Chihuahua on meth…his fiancè trying his absolute best to calm him down.
“Baby can we please stop pacing, I'm afraid it will drain you out even before you step on that stage.”
Thomas voiced out, sorry laced in his voice.
“Who asked you to pace behind me? You can go and sit. I'm having jitters all over myself. There are fucking businessmen and their wives out there who would think that my work is a piece of crap.”
Kong said in a high pitched voice.
“Hey don't say this about your work. You put so much effort. Who knows, they might think your work is art and buy it instantly.”
Thomas assured hugging him.
“Yeah and even if they don't, Thomas would have pity on you and buy them all himself.”
Namping said while his mouth was full. Kong threw a make-up brush right on his best friend's face.
“Not helping Napatsakorn.”
Thomas said sternly. As he caressed Kong's hair softly brushing his bangs on his forehead.
“Gosh, can't you both fuck and come back calmer. Have some pity on me and get a room for your exaggerated display of affection.”
“Namping!”
Both Thomas and Kong yelled at the same time.
“Jesus fine! I'm leaving.”
Namping said, rolling his eyes. Not before yelling from the door.
“Make it quick and don't forget to use protection.”
Namping was sure he heard Kong swear to strangle him.
When Namping stood with the other models graciously gossiping about something. And getting the last touch ups done…He was interrupted by the staff beside him.
“I can't believe they're here! Do you think they are here for the event or the after party?”
The girl who was in-charge of the sound said…she was almost giggling.
“The younger might be the face of the event. But the eldest would definitely be there for the after party.”
“God! Both the brothers are smoking ho-”
“Uhm, excuse me for my interruption, but are we really oogling over some high school fantasy right now? When the show is about to begin and the sounds are yet to be checked.”
Namping stepped in cutting her off. Fun and games are fine but he does not play when something concerns his work. Especially something that his best friend has lost sleep and meal over.
“Khun…we're sorry-”
“Oh you better be. Don't forget that you're not getting a paycheck for oiling some sick fantasy in your brain, or your pay checks might savour the costs.”
It was about damn time when Namping acknowledged the little crowd forming. Apparently his first instinct would be to be as away as possible…but as much as he was a good sensible and no nonsense person. He was also a firm follower of the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat.’
And kitten was probably one of his favourite names to be called.
So when he saw his best friend and his tall as fuck fiancé standing together with all smiles…he just had to.
An action that changed the trajectory of his life.
They stood, hands in their pockets, while they smiled all charming…the Buyoi Brothers.
Namping knew who they were. Hell he even did a detailed study on them. Apparently everyone has to do it before casting their votes. A pureblood political family. They've been running the political structure of Bangkok for generations.
“Swadee Khap Khun King, Khun Keng.”
Namping said his greetings to both the brothers. Both of them greet each other immediately afterwards.
“You must be-”
Asked the elder one.
“Namping Napatsakorn Pinmuang.”
King nodded. Khun King or King Harit Buyoi. The eldest son of the Buyoi family. Known for having a reputation within the ladies and gentlemen. Some say that he has a loose cannon in his head and is the blade of the Buyoi family.
Recently he got married to an adult film star turned professional actor himself. He was an icon on the race tracks. A personal favourite of Thomas and his mentor that earned him an exclusive vvip seat of Kong’s launch. With a plus one of course.
“I'm sorry, but Uea has been complaining about an upset stomach since we came back from Vegas. He couldn't make it to the show but he sent some love and cookies for my favourite nong and his fiancè.”
The eldest was once known for having a reputation…but now he's a married man of honour or so. Namping once heard that his husband has him on a leash like a dog…Namping would meet this Uea someday. He aspires to be like him.
“Well to make up for it. I brought my very capable, very bachelor brother.”
King said pointing towards Keng who didn't even care to smile awkwardly.
On the other hand Keng Harit Buyoi, was the picture of perfection. The next in line to run for the governor and the current face of the empire. Single with no scandals. But Namping had known the stories and tell-tales that passed in the underskirts of the high security clubs.
“If rich sex was a person, it would have been him.”
“He's a freak in the sheets.”
“The governor has an possession kink.”
“God he has an insatiable appetite.”
But Namping would have to explain himself if he said that out loud. You see some information comes at some prices. Namping does not want to afford it right now.
“It's an honour to finally meet you Sir Keng."
Namping said trying to sound like the man in front of him was not analyzing him.
“The pleasure is all mine. You're beautiful.”
This caught Namping off guard.
These were probably the first functioning words he heard from the man. And it was debauched flattery. Namping couldn't help but blush at that.
.
.
.
So when the show went on to be successful. Miraculously without Kong fainting…Namping felt the need to over perform. Not too much. Just a show.
Because there was a man sitting on the front rows who was following him a little too close for entertainment. He could feel the eyes linger. Namping could dissect that gaze with precision. And he was no one but a whore for attention.
It was strangely odd how he could not find a trace of Keng during the after party. King, who took a leave early, excused himself because his husband's stomach was getting worse…but he did not see Keng leaving with his brother…neither did he see him leaving with them to the hotel for the after party.
Sucks for a while…but soon Namping let loose. With a drink in his one hand and the other in the air, grooving to the music alongside his best friend Namping was sure this was how his night would end. Until he went to the bartender for a glass of sparkling water.
The bartender handed him a keycard with a very neatly written note.
Room 301. K.H
It was more than enough for him to find himself outside the door. A quick message to Kong.
If you don't get a text back from me within two hours. I'm in room 301.
And so Namping took a deep breath as he entered the fancy en suite of the hotel room.
Keng stood facing the window. The city lights illuminating the room which was not inherently dak…but wasn't lightened up either. A bottle of wine in his hand. His blazer was tossed on the bed while the first 2 buttons of his crispy ironed linen shirt were open. If Namping could squint enough he could see a tattoo peeking. But that would feel highly inappropriate. Namping would leave that imagination for some other time.
“You are here.”
Keng said. Voice soft. Almost laden with honey.
“Wasn't it supposed to be me? I think the bartender got confused-”
“No it was supposed to be you.”
Keng said immediately.
“I just…did not really think that you'd come.”
Namping smirked internally. He loved playing the deer. Loved being innocent. Acting that he was just clueless until it drives them mad. Then they don't take you as a threat or a challenge.
They see you as a prized possession. Something fragile. Namping loves the attention it brings.
“I mean technically I shouldn't follow strangers…”
Namping joked. Keng chuckled. It was that rich old money kind of chuckle.
“Would you like some wine Khun Napatsakorn?”
Keng asked.
“Only if it's exclusive, Khun Harit.”
“Exclusive?”
“I mean I don't want it if you invite every model you like to drink.”
“I'm afraid…you degrade yourself too much if you think you are just a model.”
“And I'm afraid that your flirting is laced with flattery.”
Keng bit back a soft laugh as he handed a glass of red.
“So…”
Namping began,
“If you're thinking of kidnapping me…I already texted my friend.”
“It's funny if you think your friend could scare me Namping.”
God! His name sounds so sexy on Keng’s tongue.
“Are you really going to kidnap me? Or are you really going to hurt me, Mr kidnapper.”
Keng smirked…
“It depends. Would you like it if I hurt you Namping? Would you like it if I let you bleed?”
Namping swallowed a gulp of saliva. He couldn't form words. Keng was so close. His expensive cologne could seep to his brain and turn it into a mush.
“Don't worry. Not today.”
Keng said before patting his hair.
“I just called you here to congratulate you…and your friend. It's his first launch right now.”
Namping pretends to believe that.
“But if you feel free, I would appreciate it if you could call.”
“How would I reach you?”
“The only son of Pinmuang, an elite prodigy in your college. Not to forget a premium frequent at the Blue Haven club. I won't doubt you if you find my contact, Pingstar.”
Namping's eyes widened.
Pingstar was his alias in the underground clubs of Changmai.
It was the identity he uses to avoid damage and keep shut in control when infiltrating his intel.
That mf knew.
He knew what Namping thought he was hiding.
And he fucking played along!
“Don't be so surprised. I love the fire in you. Keep it up. It burns me the right way.”
Keng handed him a flower bouquet. Madonna lilies. His favourite flowers. Namping won't run his brain to think how he knew that.
“I will wait for a call nong.”
Namping groaned. He plopped down on the bed. His eyes rolling in frustration. It feels ugly to be outsmarted. He sat up looking at the flowers. Trying to click a picture when a card fell down.
“X**********”
It was the contact information.
Namping did the only rational thing he could. He called. His best friend.
“Bitch I thought you died!”
Kong almost shouted.
“I think I fucked up.”
That was all Namping could say.
.
.
.
“You mean to say that the Keng Harit called you in his hotel room, offered you wine, gave you a bouquet of your favourite flowers, which had his contact no and then left? Without touching your single strand of hair?!”
Kong and Firstone repeated each and every detail word after word.
Namping nodded, taking a sip from his mojito.
“Babe this is supposed to be borderline concerning.” Firstone said “you've not attracted a single Good person in your life. Your entire dating history looks like a prison attendance list.”
“God come on babe…it was not my fault.”
“Not your fault?! Namping you are a trouble magnet.” Kong added. You know what this would mean right.
“I think it's better if you don't contact him…he's a politician. Your dad hates their kind.” Firstone said.
Too late. Namping thought as he checked the notification on his phone.
K.H
Are your friends warning you about me?
Namping choked on his drink.
You.
You're a fucking menace. You know that right.
K.H
Are you up for a ride?
You.
Depends. What car would you be bringing?
K.H
Beamer??
You.
Tacky af but I'd bear with it if you bring me snacks. I don't eat fried btw.
K.H
Peachy. Noted.
“Ping! Ping! Namping Napatsakorn!” Kong shouted his name “Did you suffer hearing loss? where tf are you?”
“I'm sorry…got a text from…dad. He needs me home.”
“You good? Do you need us to drop you off? You did not bring your car right?”
“Ah no…uhmm…I'll be fine. Actually he's sending a car! Yeah a Chauffeur is coming to pick me up.”
“That's…great.” Kong said. Clearly not buying it.
One thing about Namping you know is that he hates keeping drivers. Part of it solely belongs to the reason named as Gun Pinmuang. Who used to trace every move of Namping with the help of his bodyguards that he disguised as Namping chauffeurs. It went so far that Namping had to take out an illegal driving licence only to escape the shit his father pulled everytime Namping went out with someone.
So now it entirely confuses Kong why he is so eager to have a Chauffeur now?
“You're behaving odd, you know that?”
“You're thinking too much Kong. I'll talk to you once I get home.”
“You better or I'm sending Thomas’s mens after you.”
“Oh I'm so scared.”
“Ping!”
“Fine mama.”
Namping made sure no one saw him get into the heavily tinted BMW. Very out of place, very suspicious…but he can't be too careful. Kong saw him. So now he stood beside an equally confused firstone
“A Chauffeur huh?”
.
.
.
The date was fine. It was what Keng insisted on calling the joyride across the town.
More than fine actually. Keng was super nice. Namping was oddly behaving for once. Although he was still a brat. But a tamed brat.
They talked. A lot. Namping did not feel the pressure he usually does. No awkward introductions. No, what's your favourite colour?
Keng apparently somehow knew. All of it. Namping won't fuss over how.
So it was more real. More intense. More raw. The conversations did not run out. It felt natural. With a few tongue slips of sweetheart and darling or little one. Namping won't admit it but he felt like purring.
“So why can't I drop you to your house?” Keng said when they finally reached the deserved destination Namping choose for him to drop him off.
“Are you so eager to meet my family Mr Buyoi?”
“If you insist…”
“Shut up. My dad would literally shoot you. He hates assholes like you.”
“Very unethical.” Keng said joking “and you? Do you hate them as well?”
“Well I don't have a very valid reason to love them. But I'd do anything that pisses my darling daddy so…i vote every election even though my father doesn't believe in voting. Said that it won't affect us anyways.”
“I'm sorry to say this sweetheart. But your daddy is a fool. I'm glad that you're not.”
“Well my daddy is not wrong tho…politics might work for common people. But the elites? It barely scratches them…”
“Politics is poison Namping. And your dad thinks of himself as an immune. But he's not. He's foolish.”
“Khap phi. But don't think I support you. I know the blood on your hands that you've got to reach up here.”
“It's great. At least you are aware of what I'm capable of.”
“Trust me. I've seen worse.”
“You talk like you've killed Namping. But I've seen kids like you. Pampered all their lives. You'd shriek and faint at the slightest hint of blood.”
“Is it so…are you sure you're not speculative?” Namping's fingers traced the line of Keng's collars. Finger nails that are perfectly manicure. Like a piece of marble brushing on that tanned skin. Until Namping dig those nails straight on the skin of Keng’s throat…not enough to bleed but enough to scratch, to leave marks…to dig in the shape of crescents.
“Listen here and listen very carefully…I'm not fucking damsel that you need to see and I don't give two flying fucks whether you think I was spoiled or not. My life was not unicorn farted rainbows as you assume. And I take no pleasure in proving it. I have the same blood on my last season pradas that you have on the seat of your Rolls Royce…we're both built on the same blood. So the next time you meet me you treat me as an equal or I promise the next thing I scratch won't just be your neck.”
Keng didn't realize but he choked an amusing gasp. Half laugh, half excitement and half arousal.
If this goes on…by the end of the month either this kid would be dead or he might end up being actually in love this time.
.
.
.
.
.
Namping thought that it was a normal fucking dinner.
It was almost five months after his first date with Keng. Five months of being spoiled by the man everyone wants a taste of…five months of pure bliss.
Namping should have known it has something coming…
His father had respectfully asked him to come home by 7…and said that it's ‘family time’.
Namping should have doubted then…would save him a hell load of hassle.
Because the minute his father came in…a sharp, stinging, bruising slap marked on his cheek.
Namping's face fell sideways and he could feel the heat crawl up to his brain because of the slap…
“Did you not feel ashamed…sharing laughs with people who have ruined our family!”
His father's voice was filled with rage and it was not coming down anytime soon…
Namping knew it must have been something that is related to Keng.
He was proven right.
Pictures.
A lot of them.
Not intimate. Not private.
Pictures from the race track events and fashion runways…
Pictures that included him with his P’Keng.
He was smiling at him.
Genuinely smiling. Namping looked happy.
He looked in love.
“I gave you the permission to go around and parade yourself in the disguise of the filth you and that Jirojmontri boy call as work…and is this how you pay me gratitude…”
“Father, it's not anything…”
Namping lied in a heartbeat. It was not betrayal. It was survival.
His father's hand gripped around his neck in a bruising hold…
“Don't lie to me, Napatsakorn. You are a scourge to this family…people like his kind took your uncle away from us…your mom died because of them.”
You killed mom.
Namping wanted to say this.
But he couldn't.
Not right now. Not when his father holds the leash of his life around his neck. Not when he doesn't know that this thing with Keng even has a future or not.
“I'm sorry father.”
“Your apologies could do nothing. I don't want to see any next times Namping.”
Namping nodded his neck aching because of the strain. He knew his skin might bruise, his lips were already bleeding. He could taste them. But he couldn't do anything.
Namping Napatsakorn Pinmuang was a coward.
He was a coward when his father came in.
He was a coward when his father blamed the death of his uncle on his mother.
He was a coward when his mother drowned herself because of it.
Because he couldn't do anything to help it.
He watched.
And let things be.
Too afraid to lose his freedom.
Too afraid to lose his friends.
Too afraid to lose his life.
Namping sat on the floor and watched as the blood tripped down in droplets on the marble tiles floor.
The blood of a coward.
The blood of his mother.
The blood that would take his P'Keng away from him one day.
And the worst part was-
He deserves it.
.
.
.
.
.
The Buyoi estate was not a house, definitely not a cozy little soap opera home…it was a fucking mansion.
A kind of place that was built as a reminder to someone with a blue collar job to sit and lament over how unfair life can be to them. A place that buries ambitions within the casket and then seals it with a signed contract.
Keng walked inside.
Into a place where every wall, every hallway, every shadow belongs to him. Or soon will.
Not as an heirloom or fortune.
But as a responsibility. As a throne with iron pricks.
The Buyoi estate-
God.
Even thinking about this place sends a shiver skittering down the spine of a commoner.
That mansion is a legend.
A fortress.
A kingdom wrapped in marble and security glass and silent men with guns clipped to their belts.
People joke that even the tiles on the floor report back to the head of the Buyoi family.
The crisp air of Amber and teakwood and faint metallic hint of gunpowder.
The car rolled its way inside the mansion and as soon as Keng stepped out of it he was greeted with the abnormal enthusiasm of his bodyguards to bow themselves down. An act of utter loyalty as his brother states. Keng found this bullshit. Incompetence expression of extravaganza of loyalty may lead to the building of unnecessary trust eventually.
Trusting too much on anyone may lead to a hassle in future.
He headed his way inside to the entrance. It was the last weekend before the elections…might as well be the only time of the month where he can come to this house and not feel the need to combust because of the constant presence of ministers and police. The day Keng stepped on that chair of the governor he'd ban the entrance of these low lives from his home.
It seems like his brother in law seems to share the same virtues as him.
Uea is the best decision of his brother’s life.
Probably the only decision Keng gladly approves of.
That guy is built of steel with a delicate wrapping of uranium in his veins.
He reminds Keng so much of someone although he won't admit it yet.
In contrast to his brother's chatterbox of a character Uea is quite the opposite. Won't speak until it's necessary.
Will chose selective mutism if needed.
And the best part? He keeps King completely in his place.
On the floor with a leash on his neck.
“It's so good to see you bro?” King’s voice almost startled Uea who was being held by him as he helped himself on the kitchen counter.
“Does the concept of space exist in your useless piece of crap dictionary brother?”
Keng said back.
“Haha NO.” King said, kissing his husband's palms.
“You see…my house…my choice…my hands…and my husband.”
Uea pretended to be annoyed, but Keng would bet it on his life that he loves it as much as his brother. These two were sickly, very codependent creatures.
“King, did you take a shower after coming from the race tracks?”
“Uhm…no”
“Then go please.”
“But baby-”
“Shower.”
King sighed like a defeated puppy.
“You're disgusting.”
Keng whispered. That earned a middle finger from his brother. He loved it by the way.
“Where's dad?”
Keng asked Uea.
“Had to run errands. Took Micheal with him.”
Keng didn't ask further. Micheal was not a bodyguard. Neither their dog. Or some car they assume.
It was his dad's beloved revolver.
A Korth German.
A classic lethal tool.
That makes death feel like a premium membership to the roadway to hell.
And with elections this close Keng already assumed what kind of errands his dad needed to run. It might involve some vanishing of a few people. Maybe journalists that were scratching the wrong itch. Or an opposition that had too much dirt on them. Something that would make its way to the headline of the morning newspaper as an ‘accident’ or ‘mysteriously’. Keng knew it all too well.
Keng groaned. It means that he has plenty of time to change and shower until his dad reaches home.
“What's for dinner?”
“The chef is on temporary leave. No fancy cuisine.”
“Are we starving?”
“I promised King to make him his favourite pasta for dinner.”
Keng mentally facepalmed. King likes to eat that too spicy too tangy something with those fancy baby tomatoes kind of pasta. Keng hates those things with a passion.
“Can I ask for options?”
“I promised my husband something. So it's either you eat that or you starve to death.”
“Fuck you.”
“King does that plenty.”
“God! Miserable married people.”
Keng groaned.
“Dinner would be done in an hour btw.”
Uea called out. Sometimes he really underestimated who his brother married.
.
.
.
So by the time dinner was done. Keng saw his father already sitting at the head of the table. King sat on his left with Uea on his side. Keng joined them too. Sitting at the right side table to his father. An oddly specific seating arrangement that very well displayed the power dynamic in their family.
Mangkorn Harit Buyoi.
The patriarch of the family.
The name that stills the blood of many.
This man was carved out of obsidian. Sharp, dangerous, and downright lethal. He was nearing his late fifty. And the mark of time etched on his face in ways people like him would be proud of. The cut on his eyebrow, the scar on his cheek. The cane on his hand that asserted some very old money kind of dominance.
If Keng was the lord that runs the empire and King was the blade that spills blood then their father was the monarch that sat on a throne and watched the chaos he instructed unfold. He has ruled Thailand’s politics with an iron fist. Someone with that kind of power doesn't bear incompetence, he eliminates them.
“About time you came back home.”
His father said. Keng knew that tone. He was in trouble.
“You know you were supposed to help our ministers in the next campaign.”
“I've been…busy.”
King choked. Exaggerated of course.
“What could have been more important than our upcoming elections?”
Keng rolled his eyes.
“How was your little day out with Micheal?”
Keng asked. Taking a bite from his plate. He mentally cursed his brother.
“Much to do about nothing…these peasants can't do shit. Safe to say…no dirty politics would be played during our campaigns.’
Something that Keng knows about his father is that he was an insane politician. And this was one of his first teachings…play dirty before they throw dirt on you. Politics can turn a saint into a sinner in a matter of minutes.
“Only if someone won't ditch the next meeting with the lieutenant.”
“Fine dad, I'll be on time. With a shit suit and a fucking tie. Check.”
“Oh you better be, boy. That's your only redemption after the stunt you pulled last week.”
“I told you I was busy.”
“Doing what?” His father asked, raising his eyebrow…
“Like being a personal Chauffeur?”
Keng choked, he raised an accusatory finger at King in the most sibling manner.
“You snitched on me?”
“Come on boy, how are you supposed to hide it from me…that you're playing home with someone you shouldn't be. I don't need to know when my son is making a fool of himself in a scandalous manner.”
His father said
“What I need to know is whether you are careful about it or not.”
“Yes dad.”
“A she or a he?”
“The son of Pinmuangs.”
His father nodded before taking another bite.
“Is it consensual?”
“He seems interested…”
“Oh he better be. The Buyois don't tarnish their name by something that does not involve blood and gain.”
“I don't want to scare him. And with the elections on the head. I'm just being careful.”
“By avoiding informing me?”
“I thought…you won't like him…his family.”
“Your brother married someone with a reputation. Did you see me object? No offence Uea, I love you son.”
His dad said casually.
“None taken dad.” Uea said back. Sometimes he believes that Uea was their dad's favourite son now.
“So…how long exactly?”
“Seven months.”
“Great. Seven months and not a single word to me. What debauchery were you planning behind my back Keng?”
“I think I want to marry him.”
“And does he want to marry you?”
“I don't know. I'm not sure. We haven't talked about this really…”
“You know the consequences if any of you are not serious right?”
“We are in fact serious dad.”
“His father has a reputation with politicians…do you want me to ambush his family-”
“Wtf no! I don't want…I can't do this to him.”
“Look son. It's not that simple as you see. I won't bow down my pride for your stupid love affair.”
“This was the reason I did not want to inform you. You'll scare him away.”
“Scare him? This is what you are, are you telling me that you'll hide yourself and play angel forever. Won't he ever know how devious your background and you yourself are.”
“I don't know dad. I want to marry him. But I don't want to force him as well. I want to do this properly. With his family and mine. With traditions and everything.”
“I wish. I really wish that it happens. But if it does not happen that way. The Pinmuangs might lose a lot more than they have. And that won't be my call. It would be yours.”
“I know. I just hope it doesn't escalate that way.”
.
.
.
.
.
Namping knew something was off when Keng cancelled their plan for their date. This was supposed to be their last date before elections which would lead to a month of not seeing each other and Keng suddenly decided to text him that he won't be able to make it.
The restaurant had been chosen weeks ago.
Not because it was fashionable or discreet…though it was both…but because it was safe. No press, no donors, no men with hidden agendas slipping into booths nearby. Just dim lighting, soft music, and the kind of quiet that let two people pretend the world wasn’t always watching.
Namping arrived early.
He told himself it was nothing. Just a habit. Still, he checked his phone more than once, adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, smoothed a crease that wasn’t there. This wasn’t a casual night. He knew it, and so did Keng. After tonight, the campaign would swallow everything. Long days, longer nights, meetings stacked on meetings, promises made and broken in rooms Namping would never be allowed into.
This date mattered because it was finite.
A last pause before the storm.
The chair across from him stayed empty.
Minutes passed. Then more. The waiter offered water, then wine. Namping declined both. He didn’t want anything to dull the edge of his awareness, the growing tightness in his chest that told him something had shifted.
The message came at last.
Apology first. Always the apology first.
Then the excuse.
I'm sorry sweetheart. Dad arranged an important meeting. Can't skip this one. P’ will make it up to you.
Namping read it twice, then a third time, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something kinder. They didn’t.
Namping did something foolish.
He tracked his boyfriend’s location.
Something they decided to share all the fucking tkme.
More like Keng insisted for safety reasons.
But Namping knew that it was because his boyfriend was a skeptical psychopath with his masked manipulation tendencies.
It was a mistake.
He was at a club.
A high end club.
The kind of clubs that frequents powerful men and indulge in respectful orgies.
The name of the club sat there, unmistakable. He’d heard of it before…not in conversation, but in whispers. The kind of place people pretended not to know, unless they were powerful enough not to care.
It was like a cloud of black smog hovering over his head. His mood was sour. He tried calling the elder man only to be sent to voicemail.
He typed a reply. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that too.
Keng promised he’d explain later. Promised he’d make it up to him. Promised a future where this kind of thing wouldn’t happen as often.
Namping didn’t answer.
Frankly speaking, he won't care to answer. Namping doesn't do explanations. He does revenge.
So now Namping sat at their dinner table with a grim looking expression. A glass of complementary Champaign sat in front of him mocking at the unavailability of his boyfriend.
And he called the only ever person he could in his life. His very judgemental, very sassy, best friend.
“Got stood up.”
Kong asked the second he picked up the phone.
“Are you spying on me?
“Come on Ping, you're calling me in the middle of your date, you're supposed to suck the soul out of your P’Keng. If you're not busy doing that, it means that you got stood up.”
“Jeez you're filthy.”
“Seems rich coming from you.”
This is it. This was his best friend. Namping could walk in the pit of hellfire and the one person who would jump to walk beside him without thinking even for a second would be Kong. His best friend.
Kong found out about Namping and Keng within the first two months of their relationship. It was a miracle Namping was able to hide it for that long. Kong and him were like two peas in the same pod. It was impossible to hide anything from him, especially something as important as a dedicated love affair.
At first he grew suspicious of one of Namping’s exes coming back. Namping only ever dated a very specific type of person. That includes them being handsome, well known, dominant with a filthy rich personality. Someone who can allow Namping to be in his natural element.
That was to be a brat.
Their studio was greeted by gifts and flowers addressed to Namping’s name almost everyday…there's suspiciously a very persistent ‘Chauffeur’ that Namping has assisted that comes in suspicious tinted glass cars to pick Namping up.
And there has been an upgrade of interest from his friend into politics, even after knowing how much his dad hates it. Well it wasn't a big deal. Namping would absolutely do anything that would piss his father off so yeah…but along with that Namping has been really eager to go to Thomas’s races. Namping is probably the least athletic kind of person to ever step on earth. His best friend was a baby girl who was born to be a bougie all his life and therefore won't participate in anything that results from adrenaline by pure physical labour.
Adrenaline rushes from killing someone with his hair pin is a topic for another day to discuss…
So it really scratches Kong's brain when his best friend would insist on tagging along with him to Thomas's games. Knowing that Namping hates being the third wheel with a passion. And very surprisingly, at almost every game, P’King’s very busy politician of a brother would be persistently present. And at every after party these two would suspiciously vanish until Namping would text him at midnight saying that he somehow reached his home safely.
So it did not take very long for Kong to connect two and two together and come up with the drastic epiphany that his best friend was in fact dating the youngest politician in the country!
“Holy mother of God, you're dating Keng fucking Harit!”
Kong screamed at the top of his lungs at the confirmation from his best friend.
“Scream that to the world, would you?”
“Ping! You're involved with one of the most, if not most, admirable bachelors of the country. How do you expect me to stay calm?!”
“Well, we tried to keep it lowkey…”
“Oh i bet you fucking did. But I won't appreciate you hiding things from me next time Ping.”
Kong said as he punched his ears.
“What about your father? Have you decided what method of suicide you would opt for once he finds out you dating a politician.”
“I don't understand why it presses him so much. It's not like we live in some pre Victorian Bridgerton era, He needs to grow tf up.”
“Look, your daddy dearest does not care how much you have fantasized over love all your life. Once he gets a hold of your treacherous heart. He will prepare consequences for you, Namping. And as much as I have known him, it won't look beautiful on you.”
Namping so badly wanted his friend to be proven wrong but deep down Namping knew that was not. That the kind of calamity He was indulging in, would only end up in thunderstorms and disasters.
…
Back to the present.
Their conversation was cut short when Kong heard a dinner call from Thomas. He did not want to let go of the call but he did not feel like being a living breathing interruption in his best friend’s love and apparently sex life.
Right now he is mad. Real mad. Namping Napatsakorn Pinmuang has never been ever rejected, even for once in his life, and to assume that he got stood up by his boyfriend on a date that was supposed to be important for them. It was a matter of great concern for him. Hell it was even maddening.
He left the restaurant without looking back.
Now if it would have been some normal person, he would have bought a can of cheap beer, drove his way to his apartment and called his best friend as he cried about his insolent fool of a boyfriend. Took his everything shower and applied a charcoal face mask as he watched season two of the simple life tv series, while munching on the crispy corns Firstone bought him from Jamaica.
Bougie and shit.
That would have been something he should have done.
He should have gone home.
That was the reasonable choice.
The safe one.
But reason had never been the thing that kept him with Keng all this time.
It was trust.
And tonight, that trust felt thin, frayed by silence and half-truths.
If Keng could walk into that world so easily
If he could cancel this night without explanation…then Namping needs to have the front row seat to this whole ass shit show.
Namping was broken out of tha trance when he found himself right in front of the club. He doesn't even remember the ride he drove all the way here from the restaurant.
The club loomed like a living thing, pulsing with light and sound. Music bled through the walls, heavy bass shaking the pavement beneath his feet. Security was tight but not impossible.
Money opened doors here.
Confidence opened the rest.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and perfume and something darker. Deals being made. Alliances shifting. Men who smiled too easily and watched too closely.
Namping felt it immediately…the sense of being out of place.
And yet, no one stopped him.
He moved toward the bar, blending in as best he could, eyes scanning faces without knowing what he was looking for.
A couple of strangers brushung their fingers accidentally while he ignored. Eyes focused on his way to the VIP section.
It took him a while…
When he finally saw Keng, it was like a punch to the chest.
He looked composed.
Controlled.
At ease.
This wasn’t a man pulled unwillingly into danger.
This was a man who knew the rules and played them well.
Their eyes met only briefly.
It could have been the passing of the moment. Just unnecessary. Judging by Keng's unaffected reaction…one would think that h did not even noticed Namping.
But Namping knew him.
Namping knew his man.
Better than a lot of people.
He Noticed the shift in the way he speaks, or how his posture changed.
Eyes still glue to the person he was talking but his breath…it hitched for a second.
It was enough.
For Namping,
Something broke…
Not loudly, not all at once, but quietly.
Like a fault line shifting deep underground.
For Keng,
something else took its place-fear.
Sharp and sudden.
Not for himself.
For the man who was never supposed to be here.
Little did Keng knew…his sweetheart has planned entirely something different for him.
The night was nowhere ending soon.
It started with some old man. Little above 40 maybe. He was the first man to approach his boyfriend. Keng quickly typed a message. He needed to make sure to remember the faces.
The first man approached Namping as if it were accidental.
A brush of a shoulder.
A shared glance at the bartender.
A smile that lingered just a second too long.
He was well-dressed, confident, the kind of man who knew exactly where he stood in rooms like this.
Namping noticed him immediately.
He also noticed Keng’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
Keng didn’t move.
Didn’t react.
Didn’t look.
And that, more than anything, told Namping the truth.
So he stayed.
When the man spoke, Namping answered. Lightly. Casually. As if this was just another night, another club, another stranger. He laughed when expected, leaned in when the music demanded it. He let himself be seen.
From the corner of his eye, he watched Keng continue his meeting…posture now relaxed, expression unreadable. A politician’s face. The kind trained to betray nothing.
“Good”Namping thought.
“Let’s see how far that discipline goes.”
Another man joined them.
Then another.
A trouble magnet.
That's what Kong would say if he was here.
Conversations overlapped.
Drinks appeared without being ordered. Someone asked what he did, who he was with, whether he came here often.
Namping gave them half-answers. Safe ones.
The kind that invited curiosity without offering truth.
He felt it then…the shift.
Eyes lingering too long.
Interest sharpening. Not all of it harmless.
Still, Keng didn’t intervene.
He didn’t glance over.
Didn’t send anyone.
Didn’t react at all.
Not because he couldn't. But because he won't.
He simply refuses to do so.
Keng was seated among men who funded elections and destroyed reputations with the same casual ease.
Any acknowledgment…any visible concern…would be noted.
Interpreted.
Twisted.
A politician’s weakness was never just personal…it was ammunition.
And Keng knew this better than anyone.
He has been frequenting these places with people like these even before Namping graduated highschool. He knew things that his reckless boyfriend could never comprehend.
Don't get him wrong, Keng love Namping and the fire that he harbour.
But sometimes his darling can go a bit out of hand. Just like today.
Namping is very reckless.
It was his young blood.
He doesn't care for the consequences.
He was a brat.
And Keng refuses to indulge in his shenanigans tonight.
Or so he thought.
Namping took another sip of his drink, letting the bitterness settle. This wasn’t about jealousy anymore. This was about confirmation.
He leaned closer to one of the men, letting the proximity suggest something it didn’t have to fulfill. Laughter brushed his lips again…easy, practiced.
The kind that looked natural from a distance.
From across the room, Keng finally looked.
Just once.
It was brief. Controlled. Empty of expression. If anyone noticed, it meant nothing.
And that was the answer.
Namping understood then-
Keng wouldn’t come for him.
Wouldn’t stop this.
Wouldn’t risk the image he had spent years constructing.
Not tonight. Not ever.
The realization didn’t shatter him. It hardened something instead.
Anger fueled inside him.
And something darker as well.
Realisation.
That he has been somewhat, rejected.
Public men don't look back.
Keng repeated the chant like a matra in his head. Because right now. The only thing that was stopping him from bending his boyfriend over the middle of the club and taking him infront of everyone, like a pervy voyeur…was his crafty and very much constructed public image.
When one of the men offered to take him upstairs, Namping didn’t agree…but he didn’t refuse outright either.
He smiled, tilted his head, let the moment hang.
A test.
Keng knew what was happening and it was maddening him.
The man on the table with Namping, slowly put his lips on the back of Namping’s hands. All while Namping zeroed his gaze right at Keng's face.
The man took him in his arms, as if leading the way to the polished staircase of the club.
Keng have had enough.
He rang the no one his speed dial. The call hanging up. A smirk on his lips. As Keng finally relaxed in his seat.
Namping was internally cursing.
This man right here was heavily drunk.
He was reeling of some fancy brandy.
And he was determined to sleep with Namping.
And Namping willingly landed himself in this shit.
So he played along.
Hoping that once he reach the deserted hallway Namping would clearly knock him out.
But before his master of a plan could escalate.
Two bouncers approached them.
One of them asking Namping to follow him under special orders.
The other taking the drunken man away from his stupor.
Namping quickly shit a glance towards Keng. Eyes lingering long enough to meet his. There was assurance, calmness and worst of all hunger that was contained very carefully.
Keng rose from his seat…not abruptly, not urgently. Just enough to excuse himself, to murmur something about sealed negotiations, and lovely alliances.
He walked past Namping without slowing.
No touch.
No warning.
No claim.
A stranger, in a room full of strangers.
Only when he was gone did Namping exhale…
Whatever this night had been meant to prove, it had succeeded.
Love was private.
Power was public.
And public men did not look back.
.
.
.
.
.
Keng doesn’t raise his voice.
That alone tells Namping how angry he is.
The door shuts behind them with a soft click…a private room, neutral space, soundproofed for men who can’t afford to be overheard.
The music from the club fades into a distant thrum, like a pulse under the skin.
Keng loosens his cufflinks first.
Slowly.
Precisely.
“You think you’re clever,” he says at last, not looking at Namping. “Playing games in a room full of men who trade in leverage.”
Namping doesn’t answer right away. He leans back against the wall instead, arms folded, posture deliberately relaxed.
Provocative not in movement, but in defiance.
“I didn’t realize talking was illegal,” he says. “Or is it only illegal when it embarrasses you?”
That gets Keng’s attention.
He turns then, expression sharp, controlled to the point of cruelty. This is the face the public knows…the one that never cracks, never pleads. The stoic face of a politician.
“You humiliated me,” Keng says. “Do you have any idea what that would’ve cost if someone made the connection?”
Namping laughs once, short and humorless. Then his face turned expressionless.
“I waited at that restaurant for forty minutes.”
Silence.
A very pregnant pause.
That lands harder than shouting ever could.
Keng steps closer.
Not rushed.
Measured.
Every inch of space between them feels deliberate, calculated…like a negotiation narrowing to a breaking point.
“I told you I had to be in this meeting. It was extremely important.”
“And I was not?”
Namping interrupted. Keng bit his cheek. Not the good kind of…
“And I decided,” Namping replies quietly, “that I wanted to see what mattered more.”
Keng stops an arm’s length away.
Up close, the control falters…not enough to be visible to the world, but enough for Namping to feel.
Anger.
Frustration.
Something darker underneath it.
“You don’t get to test me,” Keng says.
Namping tilts his head. “I already did.”
For a moment, it looks like Keng might walk away. That would be the sensible move. The political one.
Distance is safer than desire.
Instead, Keng reaches out.
Not gentle. Not rough.
Just firm enough to make a point…fingers curling around Namping’s wrist, pressing it back against the wall.
It’s not a threat.
It’s a warning.
“Do you know what I saw?” Keng asks softly. “I saw a liability.”
Namping meets his gaze without flinching. “And yet you followed me in here.”
Their breathing syncs without permission.
The fight doesn’t disappear…it transforms.
Words sharpen into proximity.
Anger bleeds into something hotter, more dangerous, because neither of them is used to losing control.
Keng releases Namping’s wrist only to brace his hand beside him, trapping him without touching again. A deliberate restraint.
A reminder of who has power…and who refuses to yield it.
“You don’t belong in that world,” Keng murmurs.
Namping smiles, slow and knowing. “If I don't, then neither do you.”
That’s when Keng’s composure finally slips…not publicly, not completely, but enough. His forehead dips, just briefly, close enough that Namping can feel his breath.
“This,” Keng says, voice low, tight, “is exactly why I can’t afford you.”
“Isn’t it too late to back off now Mr governor?” Namping whispers, not moving away, “you keep coming back.”
Keng couldn't hold it inside him further. He yanked Namping towards himself as he kissed him.
Hard.
It was not the soft kind of kiss. It was the kind, that leaves you breathless. That turn your functioning knees into jelly. And leaves you insufferably hard and aching in your pants.
Namping gasped saliva drooling down his chin as Keng pushed him against the wall.
His perfectly manicured fingers tried to dig inside his boyfriend's tuxedo. Keng caught his wrist midway as Namping squeezes in Keng's pecs because of his reflexes.
“I have an appearance to make downstairs.”
Keng said.
“Although you….?”
Namping's chest was heaving, He was breathing very hard. His gaze met Keng's. And there was nothing innocent between them.
“Do you have any idea how bad you've been tonight sweetheart?”
Keng said in the kind of voice that demands authority.
Namping couldn't help it.
Even though he tried to ignore it, but the twitch in his dick was the clear indication of how much he liked it. But The younger would rather die than admit it.
“Didn't I ask you something Namping?”
Keng asked…his fingers unbuckling his pants.
Namping gulped. The outline of the older man's cock was delicious…
Hey come on…Namping was allowed to bea but pervy…that's his fucking boyfriend afterall.
“Go back…to your…acquaintances-”
“You could do so many pretty things with that mouth of yours, than just riling me sweetheart…you know that right.”
Namping smirked. He had his man exactly where he wanted him.
A beat.
Then Keng's grip tightens almost painfully as he drags Namping's lips down against the straining fabric of his pants…just so he can feel exactly what this is doing to him.
“Open.”
*He groans softly at the sight of Namping's lips parted and waiting for him, eyes dark and trusting. He's a man who has a reputation for being in control at all times, but right now, it's taking every ounce of his not to just take what he wants. He's barely holding back now, hands shaking as he slides two fingers past Namping's lips, pressing against the younger boy's tongue.
“Keep your mouth open for me…”
he whispers raggedly, his other hand grasping the back of Namping's head, holding him steady but not yet doing anything more.
He lets out a rough, shuddering breath as he watches him, lips parting so obediently around his fingers, eyes flicking up to look at him.
Namping looks so perfect, so innocent like this, and it's driving him crazy. But he needs to know he's not the only one affected by this.
“Good. Good boy.”
He murmurs, voice hoarse and thick with lust. His eyes rove over Namping’s face, taking in every detail, before he adds…
“Can I put it in your mouth now, baby?”
Namping couldn't form words…as if his throat was straining…
“Ye…yeah…fuck…just do something…”
A low, animalistic sound rumbles out of his chest at Namping's response, his grip on the back of Namping's head tightening ever so slightly.
He's hanging on by a thin thread now…all his carefully held-together control slipping away because of his damn sweetheart…
“God, you're perfect,”
He murmurs before he's gently pushing his fingers in and out of Namping's mouth, replacing them with his thumb…stroking his lower lip as his eyes lock on his baby
“Sweetheart, would you do that again?”
“Do…do what…?”
The second the word leaves Namping's lips, something primal snaps in him. His hands move with a roughness that borders on desperate—one tangling in Namping's hair to yank him forward while the other unzips his pants and shoves them down just enough.
“Oh you don't know…how you almost acted like an escort tonight…just to make me feel bad…”
He growls, voice wrecked as he presses against your tongue without warning.
“You must take it Namping…all of it…that's the least of your atonement."
*His hips jerk up instinctively when Namping gives in and obeys…chasing that wet heat like a man starved.
He lets out a strangled curse, half praise, half filthy encouragement as Namping takes him so deep. His fingers tighten in his hair, holding Namping exactly where he wants while his hips twitch up into the wet heat of Namping's mouth.
“Fuck…just like that,”
He grits out between clenched teeth.
"My baby. Taking me so fucking perfect.”
His free hand tried to grip the wall hard enough to leave imprints turning his knuckles white as he fought not to thrust too roughly.
His breath leaves him in a sharp, punched-out groan at the demand…like Namping just flipped some final switch inside him. His hands drop to Namping's shoulders, hauling him up off his cock only to slam him back down onto it with a growl.
“All of it?” he rasps, “You want every fucking drop? I'll give you all of it…”
His hips snap up into Namping’s mouth without warning…deep and relentless now as he watches tears bead at the corners of Namping's eyes with something close to reverence.
Namping has taken cocks.
He was no new to this. He has been involved in relationships with men…especially his university life…Keng's was not some book ‘exaggerated’ kind of long. He was better than average but not really long…
But oh boy does he have the girth!
Namping couldn't literally choke on his cock if it was not for his trained gag reflex.
His P’Keng was loaded…and right when he was all worked up…it felt stuffed in his mouth.
Heaven and sin all together…
He watches the tears fall down Namping's cheeks…tracing them with a reverent touch before they roll off his baby's chin and soak his clothes. He looks absolutely wrecked right now…like he's caught somewhere between heaven and hell, and Keng has to force himself to find a plausible word to speak.
He hisses, voice barely a whisper, almost strangled with need.
“So messy. So pretty. My baby. My heart. God, you have no idea how much I want to keep you like this.”
Namping's entire body tenses at the observation, a sharp inhale catching in his throat as Keng's words hit him like a physical blow.
Namping rolled his eyes…a bit exaggerated…just so he could pull out the exact reaction from his boyfriend.
Keng's grip on Namping's hair tightens reflexively…pulling just enough to make him feel it. His thrusts were rough now. He was close…
“Yeah?” he growls, voice ragged and wrecked.
“You want me to come down that pretty little throat? Want me to ruin you for anyone else?”
His hips jerk up uncontrollably now…chasing the friction as his breath comes in short, harsh pants.
He doesn't give Namping any warning this time…his eyes locked on Namping's face, his hands still tangled in his hair as he pulls.
“Go on,” he murmurs roughly. “Take me.”
There's a note of command in his voice that wasn't there before, and it's as clear as day that he expects…no, needs Namping to do exactly as he says.
Keng lets out a choked, guttural sound…something between a snarl and a prayer…as Namping takes him deeper, harder.
“Fuck! Just like that,”
He cradles his ears,
“Gonna come down that perfect fucking throat.”
His entire body locks up for one suspended second before he spills into Namping with ragged groans…holding him right where he wants until every last drop is gone.
He's trembling as he releases Namping's hair, letting him pull off and take a shuddering breath as he struggles to come down from the high. His eyes are still dark with possessive need in a way that borders on feral, but his hand is almost gentle as it cups his baby's face…tracing the outline of Namping's mouth with a touch that's more tenderness than anything else.
“My heart…you're beautiful,”
He whispers, voice raspy and rough.
“You're so fucking beautiful, and you're mine…Mine.”
Namping should have not liked it the way he did. It was borderline concerning and psychotic. Keng's obsession with him was not healthy, it could be traumatic…but he has never been more in love.
Because what is he, if not obsessive himself.