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Tan doesn’t look up from the book in his lap as the air conditioner kicks on. He’s perfectly at ease, sitting cross-legged on the couch, his phone face down beside him to stop him from checking the time for the fifth time in the last ten minutes.
He knows it’s late, at least from the dark sky outside the window, dotted with city lights and other apartments with other people going about their lives. Blinking at the book, pages blurring, Tan shakes his head. The only reason he’s here and not hanging around outside the library waiting for Fang to finish his group project meeting is because he has an exam on Thursday that he needs to study for. That and Fang chastised him the last time he found him asleep on a bench after waiting too long. He thought Fang had reprimanded him more out of guilt than anything since Tan was perfectly happy to wait for him forever.
But he’s in his own apartment this time—not that he couldn’t have studied while waiting for Fang—shivering slightly at the chill air raising hairs on his arm. He could turn down the air conditioning, but as he glances around, his gaze falls on something that makes him smile.
A cardigan, one of Fang’s, is flung over a chair, left there carelessly at some point. Tan gets up before he thinks about it, grabbing the cardigan off the chair. It’s big and soft and it smells like Fang as he pulls it on and hugs it tight around him. It’s almost as good as having him there, Tan thinks, settling back on the couch and trying to concentrate on his textbook.
It would be better if Fang was actually there, but Tan is trying to be a good boyfriend and do what Fang asked. That being said, it had taken all his self-control to leave Fang at the library with just a kiss and a promise to see him later.
He knows everyone thinks he’s too clingy with Fang, that Fang must be annoyed with him all the time, but Fang has never said it. Even when other people bring it up, Fang just shrugs in that way he does, and Tan has always taken that as him being okay with it.
Burrowing into the cardigan, Tan gives up reading, leaning back on the couch instead. There are a million things he could do besides sit here and think about Fang. The apartment needs a good tidying up and there are dishes in the sink that need to be washed. He should do laundry before he runs out of underwear again. Or he could stare out the window and remember that time Fang came over and sucked Tan off right in front of the big window for the whole world to see. Fang always manages to surprise him.
Tan’s head whips around at the sound of the key in the door and the smile grows on his face before Fang can even step inside. He gave Fang a key months ago, but Fang rarely uses it, prefers to only be there if Tan is too.
“Teerak!” Tan greets him, tossing his book on the coffee table and beaming as Fang shuffles into the apartment, shoulders heavy, feet dragging as if carrying the weight of the world in the bag he drops by the door.
Concerned, Tan reaches for Fang when he gets close enough, tugging him onto the couch. Fang goes easily, curling into Tan’s side, as if he’s meant to fit there. Tan takes advantage to breathe him in deeply, giddy at how Fang rests his head on his shoulder.
“Was it a long meeting, babe?” he asks even though he already knows the answer. Fang’s not one to complain, but even he hasn’t been able to hide how much he dreads group projects.
Fang sighs, a hand resting lightly on Tan’s stomach, smoothing over the wrinkles in his tee shirt. “It was two hours of Shin and Pepsi arguing over where to put the windows.”
Tan doesn’t pretend to know anything about architecture except for what Fang tells him, but he nods as if he does understand. He at least understands the torture of working with other people, and Fang is far less outgoing than he is. These kinds of things drain him much faster than they do Tan.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Tan says, murmurs into Fang’s hair as his fingers stroke down his neck. “I missed you.”
“Mmm,” Fang only hums in reply, an acknowledgment that doesn’t point out how often Tan says that. Maybe it’s too much but it’s always true.
He wishes Fang was around all the time—when he woke up, when he went to sleep—but the only possible way would be if Fang moved in. Not that Tan hasn’t asked, but Fang needs his quiet time and Tan tries his hardest to understand. It’s not that Tan can’t be quiet if he needs to—he just doesn’t see the point of being quiet alone.
A comfortable silence falls over them now, with Tan gently petting Fang’s neck, and Fang breathing deeply where he leans against him. Tan can be quiet when it’s like this. He doesn’t need to fill every silence despite what their friends think.
He could even fall asleep like this, all cozy and warm, breathing in the soft scent of coconut and lemongrass from Fang’s hair. The one thing Tan has learned since getting together with Fang is that there’s beauty in the quiet too. He’d never understood how people weren’t bored out of their minds being alone, but Fang seems to prefer it. He needs that space and time and quiet to recharge. Fang is happy enough to let Tan ramble on forever about everything and nothing at the same time, and when he does offer up a thought, it’s usually well-thought-out in a way Tan’s usually aren’t.
But he could stay in a moment like this forever, his eyes closed, a calm washing over him with Fang leaned against him, as if he doesn’t have to say anything to know they’re both happy.
“Is this my sweater?”
Tan’s eyes open at the question, glancing down to Fang’s fingers plucking at the edge of the cardigan.
“Yeah. It was cold and you left it here the other day.”
Fang wears this particular cardigan all the time, the soft, brown and white one that’s oversized on Fang and even more so on Tan. Tan always wonders how Fang isn’t hot all the time in his sweaters, but he doesn’t complain because they look so good.
Fang backs up a little so he can take in the full picture, and Tan isn’t sure what to make of it. He’s never worn Fang’s clothes before, hadn’t thought it would be a big deal since Fang is not exactly possessive over his things.
“Do you want me to take it off?” he asks, worried Fang might be annoyed that he didn’t ask first. Reaching for Fang’s arm, Tan widens his eyes, concerned. “Babe, are you upset? Because I can—”
“No,” Fang interrupts him, surprising Tan, eyes flicking to his face, and Tan’s breath catches at the sudden sharpness in his gaze.
“No what?” Tan asks, eager but confused as Fang’s fingers slide down the hem of the cardigan, and he licks his lips when Fang’s gaze drops to them.
Tan supposes they’ve been lucky, a thrill running through his stomach as Fang’s fingers clench around the sweater, a rush of something hotter when Fang pulls his bottom lip in by his teeth. The first time hadn’t been awkward, at least not by Tan’s standards. No one had fallen off the bed or gotten a knee to the stomach. They had come together so naturally, even if Fang had been shy, blushed cherry red when Tan had crawled on top of him and skimmed his shirt off.
The embarrassment of those first few times is long gone now, but Tan still swallows the jittery excitement that surges through him when Fang finally says, “Leave it on.”
It doesn’t mean he’s not surprised when Fang swings over his lap and settles over him, but his heart does a little pitter-pat as he stares up at Fang.
“Teeraaaak,” he says, only somewhat in awe of Fang hovering over him, willing his dick to stay down at least until Fang indicates this is what he wants. The pulse he feels down there with Fang’s eyes intent on him says he’s not doing a good job. “Do you like me wearing your clothes?”
They’re not touching, not really, not yet. Fang’s hands are on the cardigan, anchored in the fabric as he wets his lips and glances down Tan’s chest. Tan could touch, could reach up and place a hand over Fang’s heart to feel if it’s beating as fast as his own. He could slide his fingers up Fang’s beautifully long neck and brush reverently over his jaw. He could pull Fang’s mouth to his for a kiss that would lead to so much more.
It takes a second, but Fang’s quiet answer of, “Yes,” is all Tan needs to reach for him.
He wouldn’t have expected this to be a turn-on for Fang, but as their mouths come together, he’s so fucking glad it is.
Tan’s hands clasp around Fang’s neck as he pushes up, smiles into the kiss where he feels Fang’s lips, his tongue, the wet slide that makes him shiver. Fang is up on his knees, their hips not touching, but Tan’s getting hard anyway, heat rising on his skin as he captures Fang’s mouth in another slightly sloppy, far too desperate considering it’s only been a few days since they’ve done this, kiss. But he’s swept away in the way Fang presses against him, Fang’s hands tight on both shoulders, the beat of his heart loud in his ears.
Fang’s hands slip, away from his shoulders, one winding its way into Tan’s hair and tugging just the way Tan likes, the way that makes him moan despite himself. Fang’s not really a tease, doesn’t do things just because they’ll get Tan all riled up. He’s methodical and thoughtful, and sometimes he thinks too much, but that’s why Tan is there.
Tan is also there to press kisses to Fang’s bottom lip, his chin, brush over his jaw as Fang leans into him. Fang stretches for him, in a way that makes Tan’s dick twitch harder, exposes the soft expanse of his neck to Tan’s lips, soft, open-mouthed kisses he presses there as Fang’s eyes flutter.
But Tan’s not in charge, not tonight, and he’s both surprised and aroused, smile growing when Fang pins his shoulders back against the couch.
“Babe—” he starts to say, not sure whether it’s going to be a question or a request, but he cuts himself off as Fang finally lowers himself onto his lap, making sure to settle his weight against the rise in Tan’s dick. Tan barely holds back his groan, but he lets his hands land on Fang’s hips and any words die on his lips.
God, he’s beautiful is all Tan can think as his gaze travels up Fang’s face, over the sweet curve of his lips, the soft roundness of his eyes. Sometimes he still can’t believe Fang actually agreed to date him, that he’s still dating him so many months later.
“Ah! Fang,” Tan gasps at the sudden surge of Fang’s hips against his, a sharp roll that leaves him dizzy and grabbing at Fang, tugging at the loose hem of his shirt to get it over his head.
The second the shirt clears Fang’s head, leaves his hair a mussed mess, Fang pulls Tan to him—a heated kiss that Tan swoons into as his hands cling to Fang’s bare back.
Fang’s not usually like this, but Tan likes it. He can’t suppress his smile as he presses kiss after kiss to Fang’s lips, chasing the slide of his tongue, the heat of his mouth that makes his chest burn, his dick throb where it’s pressed tight against his zipper.
Tan moves with Fang, trying to catch the rhythm of his hips as Fang does his best to work him over. Not that it takes much where Fang is concerned. Tan could get hard just thinking about Fang sliding a hand to his thigh underneath the lunch table, is always two seconds away from stealing a kiss even when they’re in public. And Fang never stops him despite how he sometimes wrinkles his nose or pretends to be annoyed despite the upturn to the corner of his mouth.
But they’re alone now, the only sound in the apartment the pants of their breath, the soft sounds of their kisses, the rustle of clothes as Fang grinds his hips down and Tan breaks the kiss to whine against his throat. His hands catch Fang, one pressed to the sharp rise of his shoulder blade, the other buried deep in his hair as Tan follows the line of Fang’s collarbone with his mouth.
Fang arches into the tongue Tan trails down his sternum—hot, open-mouthed kisses left along flushed skin, lips closing over a hard nipple and sucking. Fang reacts, clutching at Tan, fingernails digging into the back of his neck, and Tan wishes he wasn’t wearing jeans, that there weren’t two whole layers of fabric between him and Fang still.
He can feel how hard Fang is, feel the outline of his dick as it rocks against him, always gets a thrill knowing it’s because of him. He’s never asked about past partners, doesn’t really want to know who he’s being compared to, but he hopes he’s the only one who gets Fang this hard, who knows how much he likes the bruises Tan leaves where no one can see, the only one who gets to see Fang as vulnerable as when he’s on his back, asking Tan to fuck him.
Fang’s not vulnerable now, not on top of Tan, even with the pretty pink flush on his chest that Tan just wants to lick all over. He’s in control, guiding Tan’s mouth where he wants it, letting Tan’s hands circle around his back and edge under his waistband. Tan just wants to touch, get his hands on the smooth, soft flesh of his ass, keep Fang right here where there’s no space between them, grip the backs of his thighs as he pushes deep inside Fang and feels every inch.
“Baby,” Tan pants because he wants to tell Fang how much he wants this, how much he likes this even if his dick is straining to be touched, to be freed from the confines of his pants. But he doesn’t get the words out as Fang reaches for his hands, untwines them from where they press to the small of his back, pin them to the couch as he pulls back.
Fang sometimes says that the only time Tan isn’t talking is when they’re having sex. Which isn’t entirely true, but it is when Tan can only stare at the beauty that is before him, taking quick breaths as he tries to focus on why Fang has stopped him from touching.
“Stay right here,” Fang says, and at least he’s out of breath too, dark eyes catching the light as he gazes at Tan, and Tan couldn’t argue if he wanted to. He’ll do anything Fang says, glancing down as Fang runs his fingers down the drape of the cardigan Tan is still wearing. “Don’t move a muscle.”
Tan’s confusion turns to longing as Fang slides off his lap. No, where is he going? He can’t leave Tan like this. But Tan does as he’s told, digging his hands into the couch cushions and watching Fang head in the direction of the bedroom. He can stand a few seconds, he tells himself firmly, glancing down at the bulge in his pants. He waited much longer than that to get Fang in the first place. A few seconds won’t kill him.
Still, it feels like torture, waiting for Fang to come back, biting his lip and trying not to move. Twitchy and hot, too hard to focus on anything but the blood throbbing in his dick.
It’s not more than a minute before Fang steps out from the hallway, but the air in the room shifts as Tan’s gaze snaps to him.
The pants are gone, leaving Fang naked as he stops before him, only a condom and lube clutched in his hand. Fang had been shy the first time Tan had gotten him naked, laughed like he was embarrassed when Tan had taken the time to press kisses to every single perfect inch, but he isn’t shy now. Now, he lets Tan look, just for a minute, and Tan isn’t afraid to.
He loves the way Fang looks, whether he’s in his cozy grandpa sweaters or wearing a string of pearls or just in an old pair of boxers and a tee shirt. But he looks especially good with nothing on. He isn’t insanely well-cut or lean with muscle, and neither is Tan, who’s always been called gangly and mouse-like, but they fit perfectly together anyway.
“You’re so pretty,” he breathes before he can really think about it, staring at Fang.
Fang’s mouth quirks into half a smile, as though he doesn’t quite believe the compliment, or maybe he’s embarrassed by it, but Tan won’t take it back. He especially won’t take it back when Fang drops to his knees and reaches for the zipper on his pants.
“The first time I saw you, I knew you were pretty,” he says, staring down at Fang as he gets the button undone, the zipper pulled apart. “I just didn’t know everything else.” He reaches for Fang’s hair to stroke gently and lifts his hips for Fang to tug at his pants. “That you’re smart and sweet and protective of the people you love.” Licking his lips, he pauses as Fang gets the pants over his hips along with his boxers. Fang doesn’t respond except to glance up at him. “But you’re still sharp, and I like that. I like all of you.”
Fang gets Tan’s pants off before he finishes, shoving them away before he climbs on top of him again and covers his mouth with a hand.
“Tan,” he says gently, and Tan widens his eyes. “Quiet.”
Tan isn’t sure Fang believes everything he’s said, but some day he will. Because Tan will never stop telling him. But maybe not today with a naked Fang in his lap, and he closes his eyes as their dicks come together for the first time, and a ripple of heat curls in his stomach.
Pulling Fang’s hand from his mouth, he kisses Fang instead, surging into him and biting at his lip, sucking and licking as he gets his hands on Fang’s body, pulling his hips down to meet the rush of heat between them. There’s lube somewhere—Fang had dropped it on the couch a second ago—and Tan gropes for it, fingers knocking into the bottle before he snatches it up.
He can’t really see what he’s doing, flipping open the cap and squeezing it into his hand. Too caught up in Fang’s mouth, his tongue, the way he licks and pulls at his lower lip.
“Up,” he says, nudging at Fang with his nose, not keen on letting him get too far from kissing range, but he needs some space to make this happen. “Up, up, babe.”
Fang pulls back just enough so that Tan can get his hand in the right position to open him up. He keeps his eyes on Fang’s face the whole time as he works his fingers in. He loves this part, feeling all of Fang, as if only he knows how to play him the right way so that he’s straining and trying not to grind down on his fingers, as if Tan could make him come just from this. They’ve never tried, but Tan bets he could. He bets he could when he catches the twitch of the muscle in Fang’s cheek as he strokes his fingers over the ridges inside him and draws out a moan Fang usually holds back.
Fang’s hand grips Tan’s shoulder, bunched in the soft fabric of the cardigan as he pushes his hips against Tan’s stomach, cock leaving a wet spot that Tan can feel through his tee shirt, but he doesn’t care, wants Fang closer if he can get it.
But Fang is reaching for something beside him, the condom that he tears open and plucks from the wrapper. He sucks in a breath when Fang’s hand finally grips him, a quick pump as if he isn’t hard enough already, as if he’s not going to come the minute Fang sinks down on top of him. But he holds on as Fang rolls on the condom and spreads the lube over his aching dick with a firm sweep of his palm that nearly send Tan over the edge on its own.
“Baby,” he whines instead, opening his eyes to Fang’s flushed face, red-bitten lips, and he reaches for him. It’s too fucking hot in this sweater, especially with Fang so close to lowering himself onto Tan, but he can’t take it off. He won’t take it off if Fang likes it. “Please, I want to feel you. I want to be inside you. I want to make you come.”
He hears Fang’s sharp breath at his words, too close to his ear as Fang adjusts his position and Tan slides down a little to make it easier.
“Ohhh,” Tan moans the second he feels the stretch of Fang around him, the weight of his body as he sinks down and takes every inch. He’s in heaven, his head is swimming, he can only feel the heat enveloping him as Fang moves first and drags him back to the present.
Tilting his chin up, Tan meets Fang for a kiss, off-kilter as they move, finding that right rhythm as Tan thrusts and Fang slides. But Tan doesn’t care, holding Fang steady by the neck, opening his mouth to push his tongue deeper, kissing away the breathy sighs, the muffled gasp as they find that perfect place where everything moves together.
Tan is going to come. He’s going to come and it’s going to be embarrassingly fast with Fang riding him like this. He looks so absolutely gorgeous as he pants against Tan—cheeks flushed pink, eyes closed, mouth dropped open. Tan reaches up, stroking Fang’s hair as he presses a kiss to Fang’s chin and thrusts in harder. Fang’s noise is unmistakable. Sharp but desperate, hot and heavy and needy as he fucks himself, as if he needs every second of this.
Tan’s hand slides down Fang’s back, over the tight ridges of his spine, splaying over his lower back as his whole body tightens, his dick throbbing where it’s buried inside Fang, as far as it can go. His fingers dig into Fang’s ass as he gets his hand on it, pulling him in harder as they move together in a hot, hurried way that flares in Tan’s chest.
“Fang,” Tan says because he has to warn him, even with how fast Fang is moving, how hard he’s rocking down against him. He won’t make it much longer, the heat coursing through his body as he clenches his jaw and tries to hold on. For Fang’s sake. For his own. For the way Fang’s dick rubs against his stomach with every thrust and he reaches for it as the tension bursts inside him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, Tan repeats to himself as he comes, everything unraveling as he pushes inside Fang and rides out the orgasm crashing through him. White hot heat, glorious relief, chest unwinding as he thrusts again and feels Fang’s body clench around him.
“Oh, teerak, you feel so good,” Tan mumbles blindly against Fang’s bare chest, leaving a kiss square in the middle as Fang only sighs in return, still moving despite how Tan’s dick is softening, still needing to get off with his cock aching in Tan’s hand.
Tan pulls him closer, sucking a mark where no one will see, listening for the way Fang’s breath changes when he gets close, how he grips Tan’s hair and gasps, hips thrusting into the circle of his fist.
“My boyfriend is so beautiful,” Tan says, dragging his gaze up to watch Fang’s face, his head thrown back, biting his lip as Tan strokes him quickly. “Are you gonna come, babe? You can come, right here, right on me. I don’t care. You can make a mess. It’s okay.”
Fang just groans in reply, pushing Tan’s face against his chest, and Tan grants him a lick, a nip to the flushed skin. But he wants to watch, to watch Fang come apart, how he shudders a second before spilling his release all over Tan’s hand, smeared across his shirt. Tan can feel it, feel everything from Fang, and he watches in awe as Fang pants for breath, hairline sweaty when he tilts his head down to look at Tan.
Lifting his chin, Tan doesn’t even have to ask for the kiss Fang leans in for—soft and lingering as Fang slides back into his lap.
They don’t need to move, despite the fact that they’re both a mess, but Tan wouldn’t have it any other way. He doesn’t want anything other than Fang leaning against him, hair tickling his nose, Tan’s hands looping around his back to hold him close.
He’s not sure how long they stay like that, but it’s long enough that his dick twitches when Fang shifts finally. Tan can hear the hum of the air conditioner again, feel the cold air on his legs. It’s still set too high, but he’s comfortable with Fang’s body covering him, the cardigan wrinkled and caught on the cushions behind him.
Fang does shiver, though, just a quick, minute movement that Tan notices as he brings his hands to Fang’s arms.
“Are you cold?” Tan asks, brushing his fingers over the hair on Fang’s arms.
“Mmm,” Fang hums, and Tan takes that as a yes. Sitting up slightly, he tugs at the cardigan, pulling it off his shoulders and reaching around to drape it over Fang’s shoulders. Fang just smiles at him, warmly, and Tan grins in return.
“You should leave your stuff here more often, babe,” Tan says as he gathers Fang back to him. “So I can give it back to you.”
“Or you could keep it,” Fang murmurs, pushing his hands around Tan’s waist and holding on. Tan’s grin just widens as his heart squeezes in his chest.
Or he could keep it, like he’ll keep Fang.
*
FIN.