phumpeem college au where they meet at some house party and basically fall in love at first sight. or something like that.
honestly i don't know what this is. it's been sitting with me too long. it's essentially too many fucking words of just one fucking scene. it might also be the longest make out scene ever...but also not really making out. just so much fucking touching. and so so so much feelings. and yeah. making out. that too.
The music pounds. Crawling up the wall, making it shake. Up to where Peem’s spine is pressed to it. Peem can feel it, the way he shakes too.
He can’t remember how it all happened.
Just that the hallway is as dark as it is loud.
Just that Phum is standing in front of him, leaning in as he speaks to Peem with that smile, a hand props up next to Peem’s head on the wall, the other curls over the jut of Peem’s hip, hot palm pressing into the bone, thumb teasing under his shirt at his skin. Like he always knows. How to touch Peem. Where to put his hands. How to make Peem shake.
Just that the dim hallway light is falling over the slope of Phum’s neck, making his tanned skin look slightly tanner. Like Phum has been out in the sun instead of a nasty drunk college party.
Just that it wasn’t the music making Peem shake. Just that it was Phum, thumb landing exactly over Peem’s sensitive spot, that tiny inch of skin. The one on his hip that always makes Peem shiver. His hips arch. Usually Peem has to shove boys’ hands in the right direction so they’ll touch him. There. And yet, Phum has found it.
And maybe it was just Phum’s touch tripping in the low light.
And maybe it’s just something some guys are good at. Knowing how to touch someone. Guys like Phum.
And maybe it’s just Phum.
Just that Phum is touching Peem.
Just that Peem wants to know if Phum’s skin feels as warm as it looks.
Just that Peem gets kind of mouthy when he gets touched like this. By certain kinds of boys. By guys like this one. By this one.
Phum’s throat vibrates as he speaks, Peem feels it against his lips. Against his mouth from where he’s got it pressed right over Phum’s skin, under that strong jaw. The one Peem wants to draw. Slightly tacky with party sweat, Peem kisses the hinge of his jaw, sucks lightly, digs his teeth in a little.
Then he does it alot when Phum makes a noise, a groan unsticking from his chest, both his hands shoving up Peem’s shirt, finger hot and insistent grabbing at Peem’s waist. Impatient hands. Peem’s mouth drops open on a moan, all breathy, sighing against Phum’s neck.
Phum clenches his grip, digging into the curve under Peem’s ribs. The heat bursts in Peem’s belly. His hips instinctively kicks against Phum’s and he wants to be embarrassed at how kind of desperate he already feels, already is, his cheeks are blooming with it, but Phum’s hands are big and so hot on Peem. And Peem should be embarrassed, he should be, but he isn’t.
Because Phum is stroking his thumbs over the cut of Peem’s stomach, fingers speaking over the small of his back. Because Phum is pulling him closer. Because Phum has his face pressed to Peem’s hair, lips skimming his temple, the shell of his ear like he wants to kiss too but he’s letting Peem have this, have him. Because their hips are touching. Because they are touching everywhere.
Because Phum is shaking too.
Phum drags his pinkies just above the dimples in Peem’s lower back, lingering there. It makes Peem jolt, scraping his teeth over the jut of Phum’s collarbone, skin feels hot and so incredibly soft under his lips. Phum jerks, yanking Peem’s hips against his, pushes Peem farther into the wall, hot breath fanning over Peem’s ear, and fuck, Peem wants to dig his nails into those toned shoulders, hook his knees over them, press his heels into the muscle, feel the breadth of them shaking between Peem’s trembling thighs.
“Fuck,” Phum breathes under his breath, dropping a wet kiss to the shell of Peem’s ear. “You’re so hot. How are you so hot? Are all art guys this hot?”
Peem laughs at that. He feels melty and drunk silly. Buzzing. Syrupy. Sticky with it. His face heats up. He detaches from Phum’s shoulder, his mouth, kisses it one last time. He slides his hands up Phum’s chest, up and over, pressing his fingers into his upper back, feeling the way Phum twitches under his grip. He keeps his hands where they are.
Phum leans in and brushes his lips over Peem’s pulse point, gives him a sucking kiss when it gets him a reaction, one of the Peem’s hands climbing up to his hair as he arches his neck, lets Phum kiss him there. Letting him have him now.
Phum rubs his palms along Peem’s waist, pressing his hot palms to his side, something casually primal in his touch, something that sends a thrill up Peem’s navel, less casual, just as primal, and he tilts Peem’s hips further, just because he can, running his tongues along Peem’s collarbone, smiles against it when Peem gasps hotly, and fuck, the stupid blush isn’t going anywhere.
“You don’t hook up with art guys often?”
Phum pulls back, just his mouth. It’s dark but Peem can see it. The hint of red in his face. Swaths around his jaw especially. It’s more than the heat. The flush of arousal. It’s kind of unfair. That a guy who looks like Phum, with hands like his, can look this cute too.
It’s giving Peem a whiplash. Makes him want to do more than just get on his knees for Phum. More than begging Phum to put him where he wants him. In some stranger’s bathroom. In their bed. In his bed. Phum’s. He makes Peem want other things he can do with his hands. All of them.
Phum gives a muted shrug when he says, “maybe I have. But I can’t remember the last time my brain was melting this much for a guy.”
Peem smiles as he curls his index in Phum’s hair, brushes his fingers through the shorter strands at his nape.
Eyes wide, Peem is quick to say, “I turn 19 soon. Like really soon. I’m basically nineteen already,” he finishes, his grips on Phum frozen, the impulse to hold on a little desperately represses.
Phum smiles, taking one of his hands off his waist to push some of Peem’s hair off his forehead, fingers careful. It’s a small gesture. A little too casual. Familiar. Maybe not the kind of thing some guy he’s tipsy almost making out with should do to him. Peem doesn’t move. Wants to shake his bangs out so Phum will do it again.
Peem’s brows furrow at that, “why?”
“Don’t know,” Phum answers before adding, “it’s just that, you’re a winter baby and I’m a spring baby. So like, your parents basically made you on my birthday. Or around that time. That’s kind of funny. It’s cute. Or maybe it’s just you. You’re really cute.”
Peem’s heart kicks. Everything else around them feels so slow. The music. The lights. The party goers. The other couples making out. The other couples of other people making out. Almost making out.
He presses his shoulders into the wall, cocking a brow when he asks, “you’re thinking about my parents having sex while you’re making out with me?”
Phum laughs out loud at that. Laugh that feels deep in his belly and it makes Peem’s very own belly react too, buzzing pleasantly. A little hot. The soft light hits Phum’s jaw just right, the amusement in his eyes, the strain of his throat as he laughs.
Phum lets his laughter ring out, shaking his head, “no. just about you. How cute you are. Even when you’re being a smart ass.”
“Not really trying to be a smartass,” Peem says, even though he was.
Phum laughs again, “oh but you are. Good at it too. You look like you could easily put me in my place, like you could make me feel sorry about it too.” He touches Peem’s face again, lingering at his jaw, “the funny thing though?”
Peem is sure of it. His heart is about to race right out of his chest. Break out from between his ribs. Slam itself smack into the obstacle in front of it. Into Phum’s very own heart. Phum.
He knows Phum might not be expecting an answer, yet his mouth drops open, he sounds breathless, stupidly so, “what?”
Phum smiles and Peem craves for that smile. Wants it on his chest. On the sensitive spot on his belly. The jelly leg inducing, hip kicking, tingly feeling, even more sensitive one on his hip. On his cock. Between his thighs, on his back. The one place on his nape that Phum hasn’t found yet. On his ass. Peem wants it, that smiles, wants it to pull him apart and then piece him back together.
Phum thumbs his cheek. Too slow. Too fast. Too something. “The funny thing is I’d let you. Kind of want you to–” and Phum pauses, his eyes falling somewhere below Peem’s eyes.
Adn Peem thinks, kiss me. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. He wants Phum to kiss him, put his beautiful nasty mouth over Peem’s filthy pretty one. Because he knows that Phum thinks his mouth is pretty, had mentioned it earlier. And Peem knows his mouth can get filthy, gets mouthy. Especially when he gets under the hands like the ones on him right now. And Peem wants that mouth, wants it all over but especially there. On his own.
His fingers have gone slack in Phum’s hair. The other hand dangling over his shoulder. It hits him then. That he doesn’t have to wait for Phum to kiss him. That he usually doesn’t wait. For other boys to kiss him.
He doesn’t have to wait except he looks at Phum’s face and he realizes that it has gone blank. Peem’s heart thumps at the sight. At the fact that he can’t tell what Phum is thinking when he looks like this.
Peem blanches, “what? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Phum says. His voice sounds thicker now. Like honey syrup. Like it’s running through his nerves, and it makes his spines shiver. “It’s just—I just realized something.”
“That there is one thing I haven’t done with you. That there’s one thing I could be doing with you. Earlier. Right now. The rest of the night.”
Peem chews on his lower lip, tries to keep the shake out of his voice when he asks, “what is it?”
Phum grins at Peem’s badly veiled impatience. He cups Peem’s jaw fully now, palm wide and warm, his thumb long enough to stroke his chin. Under his lips. Phum moves closer. Their chests are brushing again, the fabric of their shirts rustling. Phum blocks out the light, shaded and dark, and maybe this is an illusion because Phum is just slightly taller than him but yet, he looks like something Peem can’t contain. On tracing paper. Between his arms. Inside his body.
In the midst of the silence, Phum looks down at Peem’s mouth. At his eyes as his thumb presses down on Peem’s lower lip, making the color of it turn pink. Quietly, he says, “kissing you.”
Peem inhales. Sharps. Too fast. Everything is too fast. His mouth feels something stronger than the buzzing. Like his skin is singing, thrumming, something like an electric shock. He thinks about licking his lips, licking over the thumb that presses there. Instead he swallows, “you sort of have.”
“No,” Phum insists, shaking his head, laughing a little, “I mean. I haven’t kissed you. Like kissing you. Actually kissing you.”
Phum tilts Peem’s head back slightly, swiping his thumb over Peem’s lower lips. The heat stirs in the lower pit of Peem’s belly, in his half hard cock pressed up against his zipper. He thinks his boxers might be a little wet, although it might be the body heat of the overcrowded townhome. Party sweat. He meets Phum’s eyes, feeling his touch on him and he knows it isn’t just the body heat of strangers around them. Or the music that is punching his gut. Making him melt. It’s Phum.
Peem gives in to the heat, parts his lips, mouth open, breath hot and sticky on Phum’s skin. He watches Phum drag his thumb down, get wet on Peem’s inner lips, coaxing his mouth wider. He watches Phum staring at him, his eyes glazed as he catches Phum’s thumb with his teeth, pressing his tongue to it, curls around it and sucks. Peem lets out a low moan, feeling the kick of heat in his cock and he wants Phum’s mouth all over him. He wants his mouth all over Phum.
Phum’s reaction is tenfold.
His eyes go hazier, look downright drunk before they go wide. And they look big enough like they could bust out of his skull.
Then Phum says, “oh, for fuck’s sake–” pulling his hand away, and putting his mouth, his beautiful nasty mouth, right against Peem’s, the whole pretty filthy thing of it.
And he’s fucking melting right into it. Lungs. Belly. Lets. His knees liquify. Mouth and hands altogether.
Then he fucking clings. Getting both of his hands in Phum’s hair, yanking him closer, getting Phum to hold him against the wall, to get him to take. Peem’s mouth. The space between his legs. All of it. Whatever Phum wants. All of it.
And Phum takes it. Wraps an arm around Peem’s waist, forearm cradling his lower back, hand pressing to his hips. He sighs into the kiss, melds his soft lips to Peem’s as he crowds him in close, slides one of his legs between Peem’s thighs like it owns a place there. Like it’s already his. The muscle in Peem’s legs quake, his thighs clench around Phum’s leg, hips sort of rutting down before he can even help it.
And he feels even worse when Phum readjusts his stance, their hips pressing differently, and Peem feels his cock against his own, the hot length of it through Phum’s jeans. And Phum is kissing him differently too, these sweet, wet, tiny little things all over Peem’s mouth. Too soft. Too slow for the way he’s gripping Peem’s waist under his shirt, pulling him further along his thigh, edging Peem to move the way he wants to, hips twitching with it. His cock kicks against the hardness of Phum’s thigh, against his cock. Peem’s hips stutter. Feels his boxers get wetter.
A whine climbs up his throat, embarrassment clawing at his gut, shamelessness soothing in his chest because Phum kisses that too, Peem’s whining mouth, how desperate he is, his lips curling, and fuck, Peem wants that too, to taste Phum’s desperation at the tip of his tongue.
He fists his hands in Phum’s hair and kisses him harder, mouth gasping little breaths every time Phum moves him, licking his tongue into Peem’s mouth, letting him suck on it, yanking Phum’s hair harder. And Phum lets him, kissing him even deeper, softer, hands guilding Peem through it.
Peem digs his heels into the floor, tries to lock up his knees like he’s trying to not lose it. His balance. His mind. Phum’s mouth. The simmering hot buzzing pleasure of it. He keeps a hand in Phum’s hair, bringing the other shakily to Phum’s belt, knuckles hitting the metal clasp.
He hears the way Phum chokes on a breath, hands tighten on his waist. Peem’s hand goes to pull away, because they’re at a drunk college party but it’s still someone’s hallway. Yet, Peem moves one hand to hook an elbow around Phum’s neck, keeps his mouth where it is by the back of his head, and slips his hand up Phum’s shirt, pressing his palms to his hot skin. Sliding his fingers up Phum’s toned stomach, his firm chest, his wide shoulder. And Phum feels different in every inch of skin under Peem’s touch. Phum is warm everywhere.
And Phum is laughing, his shoulders are at ease. Peem isn’t sure why he’s laughing but he’s laughing against Peem’s mouth and it feels better than Peem imagined, full and rich and light. Achy in a good way. He makes Peem chest ache with it. Feeling his laughs, his chest, against his. And Peem isn’t sure why Phum is laughing, maybe something is funny. Maybe nothing is funny. But Peem smiles back regardless, he smiles wider until they’re barely kissing, just pressing their lips together, too much teeth, too much something. It’s almost easy to ignore the throbbing in his jeans. The melty thing in his hips. His lower back. But the melty thing is on his face too. He can feel it. In his smile. In his eyes.
Their lips come apart. The sound is sticky to Peem’s ears. Too loud.
Phum’s hands slide down to Peem’s hips, hands leave a trail of hot, buzzing things. He holds Peem’s waists for a moment then lets go after another, taking the time to tuck one side of the tail of Peem’s shirt back into his jeans. The way it was before his hands took over his hips, his waist, his body. Like he wasn’t ever there. Like it’s not already his.
Peem sucks in a breath. Thoughts racing. Thoughts too fast.
He unhooks his own hands from Phum’s neck.
“Will you go somewhere with me?”
Everywhere. Peem thinks. Everywhere. It doesn’t scare him. That he thinks he could go to any place with Phum. Doesn’t scare him to feel this way, the way he always thought it might.
And Phum smiles and he makes it so easy. To realize that he isn’t that big. That wide. That Phum is within his touch, that Phum is someone he is able to contain. Even if he has to string all of his canvases together to get down every precise beautiful angle of him. Even if he has to stretch his arms wide until they hurt. Even if he has to spread his legs until his thighs go shivery, achy.
And the electric thing is in his eyes.
In Phum’s hands when he grabs one of Peem’s and pulls him from the wall, leads him through the hallway, away from the far end of the house.
And it’s on Peem’s mouth. Inside of it.
He’s pretty sure it’s on Phum’s too, inside of him, too.
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