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Pran can control his emotions well, and Pat is sometimes jealous of that. His Pran always smiles so sweetly, even though Pat knows his day goes quite badly. His Pran takes his hand and kisses his knuckles softly and teases him playfully, sweetly, like Pat is made to be loved and adored. His Pran is his anchor. His home.
But on rare occasions, like this night, Pat really knew what to do with this version of Pran.
Pran loves to be pampered.
Pat knew today was the presentation day for Pran. He had been working on the blueprint design for the new gallery for this rather famous client for weeks. Months, even. Sweat and tears and lots of shoulder massages from Pat.
Pran texted him that afternoon, “Ugh. This client sucks. Tell me again why I have to work this hard just to get a single nod from him?”
Pat grinned, thumbs dancing on his phone screen, “My poor baby, I’ll come home early from work to make you those banana cookies that you love so much. Tell me more about how it went when you’re home, okay?”
Pat could imagine Pran’s smile in the reply, “God, you know me too well, it’s frightening, Napat.”
Pat quickly replied with, “Yeah, I love you too, Parakul.”
It’s almost eight when Pran stepped inside their apartment that night, crumpled shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, hair sticky and messy.
Still adorable, still Pran, still tenderly Pat’s.
And yet, Pran still planted a soft kiss on Pat’s temple, smiling and hugging him from behind, standing in front of their mini oven where Pat’s scrumptious banana cookies were baked inside.
“Hey, baby,” Pat greeted him.
Pran didn’t answer; he rested his head on Pat’s shoulder, like he was recharging.
“Tired?” Pat asked.
“Yeah, no, business as usual,” Pran replied stiffly. “I’ll take a shower,” he continued.
Pat turned so he faced Pran, “I can wash your hair,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, trying to act nonchalantly.
“Oh, really? You can wash my hair?”
Pat giggled, “Yeah, Your Majesty, please, oh please let this handsome peasant wash your beautiful strands of silky hair.”
Pran just bumped his nose to Pat’s and nodded gracefully, “Since you begged so politely, yes, you can wash my hair.”
When Pat entered the bathroom ten minutes later, he saw Pran relaxed already inside the tub, warm water covered him, naked and gorgeous, and achingly, beautifully Pat’s.
Head leaned back on the tub, and when Pat walked in, Pran gave him a little smile, the one that swooped Pat off of his feet, the one that Pat had sworn he would treasure forever.
“Hi,” Pran said simply, and yet Pat found himself peeling his clothes one by one, entranced by his boyfriend of years.
He sat on the little wooden stool beside the tub, and Pran shifted, without words, surrendering his hair to Pat’s hands.
“Your Majesty, thank you for allowing me to touch your magnificent hair,” Pat said, kissing Pran’s hair.
“Yeah, yeah, do go on, please,” Pran played along, waving his hand lazily, which elicited a small laugh from Pat.
Pat proceeded to wash Pran’s hair, showering his hair with warm water and squeezing Pran’s favorite shampoo onto his hand before lathering it on Pran’s hair. Massaging it slowly, rubbing it until he could hear Pran’s soft sigh.
“I hate this client,” Pran said.
“Hmm,” Pat commented, asking Pran to elaborate further.
And Pran did elaborate his story after that. Pouring the day’s stress into words, all while Pat and his magical touches worked their way to Pran’s shoulder.
Pat liked this, being the one that Pran trusted the most. Being the one that Pran felt he could safely be himself. Pliant and tender.
Because Pran had the same effect on him.
When the sigh had turned into a moan because Pat’s lips now perched on Pran’s nape, enjoying the beautiful scent. Lavender. Bergamot. Pran.
“Pat..” said Pran, reaching for Pat’s hair while tilting his head, basically giving Pat broader access to his neck.
Pran turned his head, facing Pat. Thumb on Pat’s jaw and pulling him in, kissing him softly, “Thank you.”
Pran's thumb traveled to Pat’s bottom lip, tracing softly, and Pat couldn’t help it, he kissed it, capturing it with his mouth, another digits of Pran's slender fingers now grazing his tongue through Pat’s own invitation and he licked them thoroughly, eliciting sated lewd sighs from his boyfriend's lips.
And just like that, Pat got into the tub, leaned his back and with his hand on Pran’s waist, tugging him softly, placing Pran on his lap, caressing his stomach and traveling down, traversing soft skin underneath his belly button, down, down, until he could grab Pran’s shaft.
There was another sigh. Another moan. Definitely some of Pat’s favorite sounds in the world. Competing fiercely with Pran’s laugh and Pran’s exasperated “baby”, only for Pat. Reserved exclusively.
Pran’s swaying his back on Pat’s chest, up and down, his arse resting restlessly on Pat’s hardening cock. Making Pat yearn to be inside Pran already, to feel his warmth, grounding him.
But tonight was for Pran; he had promised himself that. With his fingers, he did things that he knew Pran loved. Hard strokes, whispers in ears, telling Pran that he did great, he was fucking awesome, and Pat was so extremely lucky to be his. That every day he made Pat so insanely happy, sometimes Pat felt that it was not real.
But it’s real. They’re real.
“Shit, babe,” Pat muttered when Pran palmed Pat’s cock, panting, trailing kisses on Pran’s shoulder while his hand worked relentlessly, up and down, occasionally swiping the slit of the head.
“You’re so perfect, let me take care of you, let me love you,” he continued, and Pran’s face went a beautiful pink, lips searching for Pat’s, biting him tenderly.
“I’m close,” Pran said, breathing unevenly with his eyes closed.
“Let go, I got you, baby. I got you,” Pat fastened his strokes, knowing that Pran loved it when he got a little rougher near the end.
With a muffled scream, he placed his mouth on Pat’s neck vein – he did let go.
And Pat kissed his face, his hair, his pretty fingers while letting Pran down from his high with a little laugh.
“Feeling better?” Pat asked playfully, smirking smugly.
Pran rolled his eyes. “You’re so annoying,” he answered weakly.
“I know,” Pat grinned.
Draining the water, they got up and showered together, washing each other, stealing kisses and menacing touches.
Pat sometimes couldn’t believe that it was his life now.
That he got to spend his life with Pran, that he got to love Pran loudly, proudly, and be Pran’s home. Safe. Treasured.
“Tell me what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours,” Pat nudged Pran’s knee under the dining table. He had finished his dinner, and now he’s staring at Pran unashamedly.
Pran smiled softly, shaking his head, “You,” he said.
“Ohoo, Parakul, you big softie,” Pat delightfully laughed.
Then Pat pushed the banana cookies that he had made earlier closer to Pran, and Pran happily put one of those warm cookies in his mouth.
“Only because you love me like this, Napat.”