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Shy.
As described by a quick Google search on his cellphone meant to be reserved, show nervousness, or be timid. It really was an adjective that failed, miserably too, to describe him.
He wasn’t shy. He was the opposite of shy.
Apo never felt particularly timid about anything. Not of himself, not of his friends, not of his beliefs, not of his partner. Yes, there was a time in his career that he felt conflicted about how to present himself: too manly, not manly enough, too effeminate, not sensitive enough; however, that was hesitation – not shyness. He never shied away from a challenge when presented to him, so it amused the hell out of him when he browsed pictures of himself or Mile only to see fan interpretations of them. He was the quiet one, the introverted of the MileApo duo, and it really was all for his personal comfort that he lived that way. Mile was this boisterous ball of sunshine and peppiness that added warmth to his life.
It was true. Mile did sprinkle him with sweetness, adoration, and adulation that Apo would go positively feral if it were to get jeopardized at any moment. That attributed to why he preferred a tranquil lifestyle of meditation, limited access to media, and not work himself up over something that didn’t exist.
Mile was his opposite. He always drove himself to insanity over the connection he had with his phone, sometimes Apo teased him and told the man to just date the phone instead of Apo as Mile spent more time staring at the device than paying him any mind. He’d get dutifully chided with the Mile Look, the one that was a tiny head nod of acknowledgement, a perked bushy brow, and a hum before Apo was ignored. Again. Like right now, Mile was having his hair and make-up worked on by the two artists that took their time, as usual, to cop an extra feel of Mile’s hair and face – he wanted to bite at their hands sometimes. But alas, he was an actor, not a painter, he’d make Mile look like a clown and that stilled Apo from his jealous reverie.
Apo was all set and waited, as patiently as he could, for his other half as the audience insisted on them appearing together. Apo was appreciative of the support for the both of them instead of singling one or the other out. But Mile was getting on his last nerve now and he was tempted to leave him behind in the shared dressing room.
It’d have been fine if Mile bothered to peel his gorgeous gaze from the screen of words and images from people who were not him. It was obvious how desired his lover was, incredibly so, and Apo felt like his competition came from the shadows with sneak attacks and he wrinkled his nose. Instead of looking at Apo, even for a moment, the elder preferred to smile emphatically at a little box.
What the fuck?
Was the fact that Apo moved his seat specifically to be in front of Mile, despite the exasperated looks he’d gotten from the staff at moving things around as he pleased, all for nothing? He’d tossed them an apologetic expression before his eyes narrowed to stare at Mile. Eerily almost.
Waited.
Nothing.
Waited.
Five minutes turned into ten, eventually, Apo gave up trying to get Mile to hoist his head from the screen and just mimicked the look with his own cellphone and an exaggerated sigh to burst from his lips that then popped into a pout. Even THAT didn’t get a reaction out of Mile! The man was impossible. It wasn’t that he wanted to restrict Mile from doing as he pleased but it was show day – if they dove too deeply into the rabbit hole that their fandom created, it was chaos.
Mile would get into his mind, be unable to feel relaxed and happy to be there and wonder endlessly if he was performing to the standards and expectations of their crowd, or he’d forget his movements, or their skits and feel awful afterwards. He’d been with Mile long enough to learn his lover’s ticks. Apo adored the people who came to support him, they were the reason for their existence; however, he disliked the way that Mile took everything they said as etched in stone and would forget sensibilities.
It was why he preferred to distract, to pull a smile from the elder, yet it seems that the mini computer did it for him. Apo rolled his eyes.
To alleviate his nerves from getting rattled, Apo scrolled himself on Twitter and noticed the airport pictures, snorted in delight at always being portrayed as the innocent of the two, mentally cackled as he knew that between him and Mile, he was definitely the bigger deviant. Apo just had more time in the industry to hide that concept away behind a painted smile, doting eyes, and a hunch of his shoulders to appear smaller than he was. Mile wore his heart on his sleeve, one that Apo cherished endlessly and wanted to covet from the naysayers and harshness of a cruel world, never let that smile to dull.
Sunshine and the sunshine protector. Honestly, it should have been the other way around: Mile was sunshine in human form and Apo protected him. It was interchangeable some days when he, himself, was feeling particularly low; however, that was how he felt in his heart, and no one could coax him otherwise.
That was the key to success after all was to play to the standards dictated for him. It was better than it had been however, sometimes, Apo felt it easier to go along with the flow than to be unapologetically himself. It also was for Mile’s sake that he tried not to tarnish their image with his eccentricities. Instead, he saved them for moments when they were alone, discuss them, and be allowed to release his pent up energy with his beau.
Even Mile sometimes fell for it, the adorable imp that he was, and Apo could only behave on most days and not disrupt his lover’s calm and composed demeanor. Was it tempting to just agitate the hell out of Mile? Yes, it was.
Especially at the moment, when Mile was hitting him with an extra dose of delectable with that earring Apo wanted to tug between his teeth, let his tongue traced against the pale lobe to elicit shivers that would create goosebumps against snow-like skin. The hair that was perfectly coiffed back just cried out for Apo to let his golden fingers dive into the confines, twist the dark tresses and hold onto for a fun ride, ignorant of the mess it would become. The movement of Mile’s Adam’s apple as golden eyes watched him take a gulp of a nearby water bottle, Apo wanted to sink his teeth into the juicy fruit, bruise it to high heaven and be incredibly delighted at the indentations his teeth would leave behind.
Apo wanted to poke at the bear with a stick. He liked that Mile, completely wild and free Mile, he was fun. Actually, Apo loved all of him; it was just on certain days when he felt a little extra mischievous, a little needy perhaps, that he wanted to goad the man he knew had a kinky side into giving Apo what he wanted – attention.
It’d been a solid week and a half since they’d been intimate, not that it was odd in a relationship, but it was odd in THEIR relationship. They were always jumping one another and to have it suddenly halted just worried him.
Negative or positive, he wanted all of it and was willing to take it too. Sadly, it was dependent on Mile actually looking in his direction for any semblance of seduction to work.
As if to prove the words that were plastered all over the global platforms of ‘Apo Nattawin – the shy cat, the playful yet timid kitten, the soft baby’ wrong, Apo licked at his strawberry glossed lips, and hummed.
“Mile.”
He was done waiting. He needed action.
Mile gave a hum in acknowledgement, his hair already done since a while ago and now it was their down time; a half hour break before they’d be paraded like cattle onto the stage. Apo never understood why they couldn’t just walk there on their own, that was irksome. ‘Focus Apo,’ his mind returned him to the task at hand.
Apo paused, expected more, and when nothing came, he deadpanned. Repeated the call.
“Mile.”
“Hm?”
“Are you done with the phone?”
“Hm?”
“Is that all you know to say is ‘hmm’?”
Mile jerked his head up, ignored the little video he’d been watching of a fan-club project that he was tagged in. He sat on the high stool calmly, didn’t even notice when the staff had finished, too honed into the flattery that filled his form and heart over the consideration and work that all of them did for him. Also for Apo too. It was incredibly humbling and of course, he got distracted with TikToks and other videos that mindlessly turned him into a drone. Immune to the tug and pull of phantom hands of local staffing, he was just used to doing so.
“What is it, Po?”
“Seriously?”
“I was watching something.”
“While I’m sitting here?” Apo was in disbelief. Mile used to tell him that he could never keep his eyes off of him, that when Apo entered the room, he stopped breathing. Was he no longer desirable? Was he boring? A scowl downed his features, furrowed his brows, wrinkled his nose, “I was sitting here waiting for you to look at me.”
“I always look at you. I don’t understand what you’re referring to…?” Mile looked lost. What was Apo on? Didn’t they see each other on a daily basis? They lived together. Seeing one another was inevitable and improbable to miss unless one of them moved out…which would mean they broke up…and seeing the frown on Apo’s face was indicative of something Mile didn’t want to drift into. He clicked his phone, set it down on the counter near the water bottle and folded his hands in front of himself, in his lap, and hummed, fully facing his boyfriend now, “Hi.”
“Wow.”
“Come on, Po. I wasn’t that far gone.”
“You didn’t even feel when the make-up artist stabbed you in the eye.”
“No he didn’t?”
“He did! You didn’t even flinch!” Apo turned his phone to show the video he’d taken of Mile getting sorted, for posterity and to be able to gush about his sweetheart later one, being the biggest support of the man after all. He had been mid-recording when the man stabbed Mile with a brush, apologized but stopped when Mile had merely lifted his hand to rub at the injury, hum, and back to the phone. Even the guy peeked to Apo as if to say, ‘Is this guy for real?’ shrug and back to the task at hand.
Mile opened his mouth to rebuttal and deny the accusation of his total zone out before he shrugged, “It’s okay. No harm no foul.”
“The phone is your crutch Mile.”
The heaviest sigh that came from Mile was met with Apo’s look of indignation, “Are you trying to make me mad Apo?”
“What the hell? I’m not doing anything! I’m just sitting here, waiting for you to grace the world, your world, with your presence. Apparently I’m not as cool as that thing…”
“It’s not like you’re not on the phone all the time,” He wouldn’t deny that at times, he was drawn to the phone like an addict that needed his fix; it was impossible to not enjoy the transparency between himself and his fans. It also elated him to know he’d made someone smile today. Even if that person wasn’t necessarily Apo. Mile knew that jealousy prickled his lover sometimes, it was cute, but to be chided over something childish was not.
Apo tossed his hands up in the air with a mini-flail. This was not what he meant by courtesy he wanted from Mile. Well, he did say negative or positive, but he retracted that thought immediately as the dark look from Mile’s face as it transformed from his endearingly soft man to one of irritation at being interrupted, “That’s different.”
“How exactly?”
“You are just pulled into things that upset you half the time. Why do that to yourself? To us?”
Both clearly avoided the bait of admitting wrongdoing, tiptoed around it, instead preferred to keep going and digging with their respective shovels, throw metaphorical dirt on one another.
“The fans did something FOR us, I was showing my appreciation for all of it. It wasn’t anything terrible.”
“And it can’t wait? They’re going to see us in a minute.”
“It’s not like I’m doing anything important right now,” Mile retorted, saw Apo’s ears turn red slightly as if barely containing his anger, he could tell from the tense jaw and the glint of those eyes that he was in trouble. Why not just go the whole way at this point? They shared a hotel room, they shared a home together, he couldn’t be all about Apo all the time. Not that it wasn’t an absolute dream to have his love reciprocated; however, when he thought that Apo was being unreasonable, he’d call him out on it.
Mile looked off to the side instead, didn’t maintain the eye contact as if interested in ending the conversation before they get into it over nothing. It was just edge. He knew they’d been edgy over situations not of their control, unable to directly express any opinion and their livelihoods jeopardized, it also lead to the inability to perform. In the bedroom, generated a bit of a dry spell the past week and a half, he mentally sighed. He was an overthinker, it came with having an analytical mind that whirled in five different scenarios with ten different outcomes. Mile couldn’t help but think of their future where Apo liked to play in the present.
They’d had a small tiff over it a day before they got on the plane, Apo did as he always did and just assured that everything would be fine, that they were fine, and that sex wasn’t important in the relationship. That they had to get over the hurdle of the rest of their life to get back into the mojo. He noticed it; he wasn’t blind. The look of discouragement from Apo, the quick glances instead of slow ones that took their time to absorb the visual in front of them, and his jaw clenched.
It was as if they’d gotten comfortable with each other to the point of being domestically…dare he think it…boring? Mile would come out of the shower, undressed and naked, Apo didn’t flinch from the book he’d been reading and vice versa. Apo would dress up in a pair of Mile’s favorite shorts, ask how he looked, and Mile would nod but not really look up from his phone. He swallowed. The ability to hide away, even painfully, into the web, it gave him an ironic peace of mind – at least the positive stuff did.
“You’re right. You’re not.”
The voice pulled Mile from his momentary reverie as he watched Apo gather to his feet promptly after agreeing with Mile in a condescending way, toss a casual, off-handed glare in his direction before the younger turned to trail out of the room and left Mile to stare at the back, the presence now gone.
He hadn’t even noticed when they’d been left alone by the crew.
The temptation to give chase settled into his bones which he resisted, his very core just churned at the thought of fighting with Apo and was disrupted from his good vibes mantra. This was what he wanted to avoid. A fight, a disagreement. They were about to perform; couldn’t Apo just wait to talk about any grievance after the show? Retreating back to the days he felt inadequate to the acting standards of others on the KinnPorsche project, Mile sagged his shoulders and tossed his head back to stare up to the ceiling.
“Am I wrong?”
“You won’t get the answer sitting like that, Mile.”
“Jeff?!”
“That’s me.”
“Did you…did you hear all of that?”
“…Yes. I was sent here to get my hair done and the two of you were just having that lovely tit for tat, so I told the staff to come back in couple of minutes.”
“Thanks…”
“No, thank YOU for the view of that meltdown.”
Mile’s brows furrowed, “We didn’t have a meltdown.”
“Mile. If you can’t read Apo’s cues by now, then you need glasses bro. He was tossing things down that he wanted you to pick up,” Jeff would make motions with his hands as if to give the hint. He stared at Mile, who returned the look expectantly as if he waited to get a sketch at what he was talking about. Sometimes Jeff couldn’t believe they were so close in age. Was Mile just naturally unaware? Ignorance was bliss he supposed – except in this moment since Apo looked pissed to the pissed as he stormed out. Apologized for nearly mowing down Barcode who scampered away, and he sighed. It was a lie, he didn’t need his hair done, he’d just pressed his ear to the door after Barcode said the two of them were fighting and to check.
Jeff opened the door, stepped in to get the tail end of the conversation, side-stepped to avoid Apo running him over (poor Barcode didn’t have the same reflex) and left Mile in a foggy cloud of confusion.
“I don’t get it.”
“Clearly. How do I put this delicately and not TMI myself…have you two…you know?”
“What?”
“Uh…done the do? Rode the waves of passion? Horn-dogged it?”
“Jeff…what shit are you spewing?”
“Have you two—” Jeff looked around to make sure Barcode wasn’t around, they always were conscious of the younger brother of the clan, and then spoke, “Fucked lately?”
Mile took the wrong moment to take a swig of water, almost die on it before his face turned fifty shades of red as he sputtered at Jeff, “Fu—ucked?”
“Fucked. Had sex. Done the do. Bang and rattle tables—”
“Okay! Okay, I get it!” The elder got to his feet to grab tissues to dry himself of the dribble, hand to his chest as he tried to calm his heart. Of course Apo would mention their physical woos to Jeff, they were best friends, and as much as he wanted to be offended, he kind of needed that wake up call.
Apo HAD come to sit and looked for him a minute ago, he’d also waited for him at the hotel, on the plane, in the car; everywhere.
And what had Mile done?
Mile HAD been stuck on his phone videoing their arrival for the fans, commented and posted all of his steps…for the fans. Even in the hotel room, where they were allotted privacy and had some time for even a quickie, Mile HAD walked to the balcony for more pictures and videos of the view. Apo had just gone to sleep, curled up on his side, and Mile figured he was tired. None the wiser.
Now it all made sense. The younger’s expression of frustration, those eyes that looked at him almost betrayed that Mile opted for social media over giving attention to the one in front of him, and he smacked his forehead.
“I’m an idiot.”
“I’m going to be nice and let that one slide.”
“So what now?”
“Don’t look at me. I’m NOT getting in the middle of that,” Jeff let out a shudder of disgust at the very idea of getting in between the two men – they were notorious once they let loose. He’d seen it accidentally, he managed to save Barcode from seeing it once in Phuket, and all he could say was that he didn’t need Apo’s late night phone calls to vent about the fact he and Mile were having a dry spell to plague his brain again.
Mile rubbed at his chin, looked over to the outfit that he’d have to put on to play Kinn on stage. Kinn. What would Kinn do?
He’d take charge and show Porsche exactly how much he cared about him. Fuck everyone else.. The smirk that came on his lips made Jeff dry gag before they both trailed out. It was then he noticed that Jeff hadn’t gotten his hair done after all, made a mental note to get a gift basket or something for his friend, and hummed to himself.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
The bewitching quirk of that head in his direction, the carefully placed smile on those lips as if ‘drunk’, all of it brought back memories for Mile as Kinn. The feeling Kinn had in that moment of looking over the intoxicated cutie that took him for spiraled loops, he was feeling it.
A step closer of those Converse clad feet, the light sway, doting caramel eyes that veiled any contempt they held for him earlier, a true professional and the pull of plump lips colored with the gloss. Mile swallowed as his own body shifted like a magnet to get closer, breath taken, exhaled and the lean.
The infamous lean that roared the crowd of primarily women that were hungry to watch them kiss. But that privilege, that action, was reserved for just the two of them. It was near impossible to avoid doing by accident though. Mile could feel those eyes searing burns onto his lips that wanted to be ravished, bitten, and tugged by a playful tiger. The tint of darkness in Apo’s eyes wasn’t over the dimming of the lights, they were just looking at the closeness of Mile’s face.
It’d been a long time since he’d undistractedly looked at Apo’s features also. The long lashes that fluttered to him like a peacock flashing its feathers to its mate, a peek of a teasing tongue to lick at the gloss, and Apo’s body language just screamed tension. Sexual tension.
Closer still, it’d be so easy.
Mile could close the distance, glue their mouths together, and the rest would fade into obscurity. All of it, the crowd, the show, just them left behind in the spotlight. He was so close now that he felt the hot exhalation from Apo’s nostrils waft against his nose.
And darkness.
They stood there still. Mile waited for Apo to move first, and Apo waited for Mile to move first.
Neither did immediately.
Their microphones cut off after the signal to get off the stage for the next act, they were frozen. Unable to process anything other than this urge that settled over them like when Kinn pushed forward, bravely, to mingle lips with Porsche. It was a click to Mile also that there was something more to his feelings for Apo than just amicable admiration for his costar.
This man was beautiful. This man was radiant. And fuck if this man wasn’t his.
Chests rose quickly, hearts drummed louder than any music they played with their hands did; and Mile spoke first.
“Please Apo…please…”
“Mile…”
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Hands flew in every direction that Mile couldn’t tell whose was whose in the dim light of the bathroom they’d rushed to in a flurry of chaos.
They had 20 minutes before they had to return to do their Kinn and Porsche skit on the beach. Plenty of time if foreplay was forsaken.
Mile came back to the present when the buttons of his blue shirt were a casualty in the war that was Apo’s grip on the fabric to open it to the attack that followed, allowed the other’s head to dive to twirl his tongue against one of Mile’s dusty nipples, trace a line of saliva over to the other to give it similar treatment, consistent. A groan escaped his lips, satisfied to the heat; however, the clock clicked each minute in his mind.
19 minutes.
“Can’t bite, Po. Don’t have time.”
“I know…it’s your fault for bruising so easily Mile.”
“Mm. I could say the same about you.”
“I do not bruise—hey!”
Mile had dug his fingers into the chocolate brown tresses of that velvet textured hair, twisted Apo to face over to the sink of the individual stall, forcefully made his golden treasure twirl about in an about-face since the grip was painful.
“Hands on the sink,” The guitarist snarled to the defiant gaze he’d see reflected in the mirror from Apo at the treatment to his person. Mile pulled the head to the side, hovered so his front was pressed to Apo’s back, long tongue came out to catch a bead of sweat the dripped from Apo’s temple down into the groove of that cinnamon tasting skin, he sniffed at the pulse to feel it heighten. “Now.”
Pale palms came to caress the denim adorning lean hips that met at the slender waist that deserved a body chain to be worn every day, deftly undid the zipper, button and a shove downward of fabric. Apo’s white underwear, the pants, both just at his knees to keep him trapped to the torture Mile had in mind to deliver after the fight they’d hate. Punishment was merited after all.
17 minutes.
Apo didn’t object, he wouldn’t. He enjoyed being man-handled from time to time. The sentiment was returned when he felt like tossing Mile onto their bed or the nearest hard surface to ride the man till they were both sore, aching, and just took ten minutes to recover before round two came.
His tanned fingers curled against the porcelain sink’s rim as a devil’s tongue came to trace the edges of HIS rim, poked and prodded at tight skin and coaxed it to relax as best as it would allow. It would be quick, it would hurt a little, but fuck if they stopped. Apo would throw a fit, mope in his dressing room for the remainder of the time and come back out right as rain to finish the show all the while shunning Mile the rest of their time in Hong Kong.
They’d been in a rut, plain and simple. Apo was too tired most days to do more than a quick hand job on himself, a finger or two for added stimulation, and sagged dejectedly in bed, alone. He’d peek to his lover as if to help too, only to see Mile would be working on some new piece for the show or on his fucking phone, reviewing unnecessary content that made him in even less of the mood for sex.
He complained to Jeff those nights, got bitched at for being gross, and felt jilted at Mile’s indifference to the problem.
Then there was the physical separation. The lull of normality that translated into dreary. All of it plagued Apo that they were getting into a territory he was fearful of.
Paris was hard. Social media was hard. Life was hard.
15 minutes.
The press of Mile’s cock on his ass was hard.
Apparently in Apo’s mental musings, Mile had felt him sufficiently slicked with just his mouth and tongue to the point that Mile stood back from where he’d been crouched on his knees, reached over Apo’s shoulder to pump the liquid soap into his hand. He groaned out at the obscene way Mile wiggled his fingers in front of his face with the substance. It was white, creamy and looked too similarly like semen that it made Apo’s cock jerk; drip pre-come onto the bathroom floor.
“Mile…hurry…”
“I know…we have 15 minutes…”
“And it takes you 5 just to get in so—ah!”
A slap to his ass that sent the sting all the way to his toes to curl them in a masochistic delight, Apo tossed his head back as best he could to stare back at his reflection in the smudged glass. Mile refused to release his head, probably afraid of him biting back or some shit. Apo couldn’t care less.
Back to focusing on what was important; Mile, his cock, and his own body that just wanted to be plowed into mercilessly, without abandon. The itch scratched and sufficient to last him for another couple of hours.
The out of order sign outside was a blessing in disguise and he pondered if it was just destiny trying to help them along.
“Mile—”
“I’m prepping you. End of story. We tried dry once and it was miserable.”
“But—” Apo was insistent. The wiggle of his hips as he rolled to try to catch those soap covered demons that nestled at his puckered hole but didn’t actually move in anyway to fill him, he sighed out in frustration as he held onto the sink to push back down. The tips brushed a spot Mile’s mouth had been on, growled, “We don’t have time.”
Mile noticed the hungry, slutty way the younger was pressing back, like a cat in heat that only focused on physical pleasure as opposed to the reality, delirious to the want. He peeked to his watch to check the time. That was his first mistake. Apo apparently was dead serious that he just was going to control if Mile didn’t as golden fingers gripped Mile’s wrist, the one with the glop of soap, kept it still as he wriggled to press fingertips into his body.
A groan escaped Apo’s spread lips that Mile observed via the glass as his two fingers were wiggled, manipulated, and managed to be used as instruments of pleasure for his erotic lover. In and out, Mile snuck a glance down to the connection, stared as the two digits spread the tight muscle that would give way to his cock.
“Hungry…slutty thing…”
“That’s what I’ve been TRYING to tell you…fuck...” Apo gave a wince at the initial penetration of the two appendages attached to Mile’s hand, pushed past any discomfort to roll down fully. The way they were buried to the knuckles, he kept his hold of Mile’s wrist as he rode the fingers backwards. Blindly. Shit it felt amazing.
And Apo knew that Mile would feel even better. The weight of his girth, the throb it resonated inside of his body, the emptiness it filled; fuck if he didn’t sound like a cockwhore. Oh well. His pride be fucked as his body wanted to feel all of his lover, to be assured this moment was theirs, their rut over.
The hand still on the sink, lifted to press to the glass in front of himself, the sweaty outline of a hand as Apo opened his mouth to narrate further, “Mile…your fingers aren’t enough…”
“You sure baby? You seem really content to ride them.”
Fingertips brushed a prostate, a mewl that was sinfully delicious, rushed blood to his already hard cock, and Mile felt lost to the battle.
13 minutes.
Fuck it.
As much as Mile wanted to prolong the situation, finger fuck Apo in the bathroom till he came five times over, he’d much preferred something else. The hand buried in Apo’s hair released it, noticed how it stuck up all over the place it became, shook his head to focus.
“Let my wrist go.”
“No.”
“Apo…”
“I thought you wanted to watch me ride your fingers since apparently your cock doesn’t want—holy shit—Phakphum!”
The air was punched out of Apo’s lungs, his body quivered something awful as his mind spun in circles to catch up. Mile, the asshole, had removed his fingers from inside of Apo at the distraction of talking threats, followed through on his.
Out went the long digits, in slid something harder, thicker, and didn’t bother to let him adjust to the motion as he felt Mile’s sac smack against his ass. To bottom out completely. Trust Mile to do the one thrust and go. It sent hard shivers down his spine. The two of them fully connected, the burning stretch just had him leak harder. Much better than the fingers, Apo knew he’d pay for it in a few minutes when he was supposed to jump around on the stage.
All he’d be able to remember was how perfect Mile’s cock felt inside of his ass, the way those hands curled into his waist to yank Apo’s lower half that was still confined in the jean trap backwards to keep their connection as Mile’s hips jerked back.
“Mnnn…you’re so good baby…”
10 minutes.
“10 minutes, Mile.”
“I doubt I can last that long anyway. Just hang on.”
Apo scrambled to press both his hands against the glass, leaned forward as the fabric of his burgundy t-shirt rode up against the middle of his abdomen and the angle allowed him to see everything in the mirror. Mile behind him, look of lust, predatory passion, and himself, debauched as he waited for the first set of thrusts.
His body swayed like a tangled dance of heat as Apo panted out, made to roll back onto that throbbing dick currently buried, punishing the spot that twitched from being abused. And the pounding he’d wanted was being delivered, exceptionally so, he’d have to tip the delivery boy later.
Fuck if the litany of words that escaped him in praises all for Mile as he followed Mile’s lead, always did. Like when they went on stage, his eyes always looked over to his boyfriend’s to be assured, to have a shoulder to lean his weary head on or to hide behind, and he moaned.
“Mile—”
“8 minutes…”
Mile loved Apo’s waist. The slender feel to it just accentuated the bronzed god’s already amazing attributes he was lucky to tangle with. He licked his dry lips as he shifted Apo forward, his own hips back before a tug and snap, bottomed out and felt the walls clench around him.
“Ugh...Mile…you can’t inside…”
The echo of their skin, the slickness of the soap he’d used to also lubricate his cock in the process of Apo teasing him and pushing his buttons eased their union, he dipped his nose to the back of that neck, “I want to bite you.”
“You can’t…”
“I…know…fuck…”
“Hold my hand and look at me…”
Mile jerked his head back when he heard the demand, looked into honey eyes clouded over with pleasure as he could see they resisted trying to close the entire time Mile’s hips created the brutal pace of obliterating the younger man’s body, carved his cock inside so Apo wouldn’t feel needy for a bit. He panted as he, too, obeyed.
One hand came to lace with one of Apo’s against the glass, kept their gazes steady and not look away as Mile had done earlier or Apo walking away, no. They were here, together, in the bathroom of the concert venue – finally physically complete.
Mile’s hand on that waist caressed the front of Apo’s thigh, curled at the base of his lover’s cock to find it hard and pumped in time with his invasive prodding of his own heady cock that wanted to come, fill, and claim. He knew it would be uncomfortable for Apo and they had to go back to the show.
“Together, baby…”
“Always, Mile…”
In unison, like a guitarist with his singer that took signals from one another, Mile squeezed Apo till he felt his hand coated with his boyfriend’s ejaculate while he pulled out of that body with a grunt from himself, a whine from Apo and came against that back instead.
Panting, tried to get his bearings, Mile nudged his nose to Apo’s cheek, “Kiss me…”
“Mmm. No.”
“Aw, Apo…you were being demanding, I want to be demanding too.”
“How demanding can you get? I let you fuck me in a bathroom stall…”
“Not the first time…”
“Mmm…yeah…Singapore.”
A shared chagrined grin as Apo turned his face to allow his lips to be lazily tasted, tongues twined in a heated yet comfortable manner, like smoking a cigarette after sex. Their mouths were just taking the draw of the scented addiction that was one another.
Apo nuzzled their noses together, not wanting to pull away from being the center of Mile’s attention, being his world, then pouted.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“I said I was your world earlier and you didn’t answer…”
Mile just laughed as Apo’s attention was impeccable as always. He moved peck another firm kiss to pouting lips, went to wash his hands, reach for paper towels to wet and clean Apo’s soft cock that shuddered in his grasp, his own cock, and made sure to tuck them both into their trousers again.
Apo just let the movement happen, too fucked out and contently so, to bother to help Mile. He let himself be spoiled a little bit as he waited for the other to be done to turn around, cup his hands to tug into another firm, loving kiss.
“Mile…don’t be mean…”
“I had to think about it for a minute.”
“Phakphum Romsaithong, I will leave your sorry ass in here and tell everyone you’re an awful man…”
“No one would believe you. I’m pretty popular.”
“That’s not helping your case Mile but…you’re right. I wouldn’t believe me either,” A wrinkle of his nose was soon abated with arms that looped around his waist, supported his weight that was not leaning on the sink they’d just bent him over to fuck, Apo hummed at the feeling. He missed this most of all. Just Mile holding him, allowing himself to be held.
“You are my world, Po.”
“And you’re mine, Mile.”
5 minutes.
5 MINUTES!
Mile and Apo pulled apart, Apo more gingerly with a wince at the movement before Mile pressed a kiss of apology to the tip of that nose with the promise of a massage when they got back to the hotel, to which Apo griped for a round two instead.
The smile that came to the elder’s lips as they laced fingers together, ran out of the bathroom to head to get dressed for their beach scene. It was their favorite and Mile would take a little extra satisfaction in watching Apo wiggle on his stool a little uncomfortably.
His kitten, his love.
-Done-