Down until he isn’t (Fic: Tine x Sarawat)
Tine x Sarawat... PRECIOUS HUMAN BEINGS.
Prompt: Tine is down with a flu and Sarawat just happens to know just what to do.
Pairing: Tine x Sarawaaaaaat
Thai Bands (mentioned): บอดี้แสลม (Bodyslam), พาราดอกซ์ (Paradox), แสตมป์ (Stamp), Patchr and OF COURSE SCRUBBS.
Tine sits on his bed, his laptop on his lap, the sheet of the bed comforter, covering the soles of his feet.
The room is uncharacteristically warm, the air dry as it settles into his flesh. His window is open, which is the only reason he knows that he must be going insane because, the wind that blows through has him shivering.
He drags the sheet over his body, nimble fingers reaching over the keyboard as he continues to search for another song to add to the playlist. He starts with Patchr, moves on to Stamps and settles lastly on Paradox; they are all relatively sparse in rhythm and easier on the ears as he downloads the content into a folder and onto his drive.
Summer 2020, his second attempt at making a mixtape CD. It is music loosely not suited to his taste but it’s grown in a way that a moss flourishes on a fat rolling stone.
He slips in Scrubbs because well, no shit.
Tine swipes the beads of sweat off his temple, easing further into his duvet.
There’s a quiet knock on his door, so quiet that if it wasn’t in that particular pattern whenever he came around, Tine would have otherwise been deaf to it.
Tine lifts his head, draws his brows inwards as he pushes the laptop off of him. He throws the sheet to the ground, hisses quietly when the door opens anyway, the silhouette of a wide-shouldered, comparatively lean-built guy, appears.
“Salaleo,” He mutters as walks over to the switch the light on, turns drowsily, comes face to face, mere inches apart, with who he expects to see.
Sarawat grips Tine’s face, tilts his chin up as he presses his parted lips to his. Tine trembles under the musk and fresh-cut melon scent that washes over him. He senses the smile that etches on Sarawat’s face, sighs warmly as he settles into the touch.
Sarawat rakes his brisk hands through Tine’s hair, nibbling at his lower lip earnestly, pulling back before swallowing his mouth, whole. His tongue flicks at the corner of Tines’ mouth before his head tilts and Tines’ tongue is joining his, moving together, slow, unhurried. The hand in Tine’s hair trails down, fingertips dusting along his jawline before cupping it gently.
Sarawat brings his head back ever so slightly, his lips remaining connected to Tines’.
“What? What.” He says, impatient as he stoops down to regain fortitude in his legs before he’s back on his toes, nuzzling his nose at the bridge of Sarawat’s chin. It’s an uncharacteristic display but he quickly blames it on whatever is making the his head feel like he’s been hit by a hammer.
Sarawat places a firm hand against Tine’s chest, pulling back.
Fuck, he rubs at his temple, fuck, it’s really scorching hot in his room.
It’s only when Tine drops his gaze does he really notice that Sarawat has his hands uncurled from his hair and holding his hand so tightly.
Tine brows furrow inwards and he looks at their entwined fingers and then back up to Sarawat, not entirely aware.
Sarawat gently removes one hand from his, presses the back of his palm against Tines’ forehead, frowning instantly. “You’re going down with something.” He says, wraps his hand around the cape of his shoulders, rubs his neck with circular motions that eases an ache Tine doesn’t know exists.
“Fuck.” He curses, “My head’s been throbbing for hours and I thought, well yeah, surfing the web for-“ he pauses, doesn’t want to give away what he’s prepared, so instead, Tine shakes his head. “Great.” He grits, instead.
Tine steps beside Sarawat, leans back so that he’s perched on the table’s edge. He drops his head against the slab, clamping his eyes shut when his droopy eyes start to feel heavy and off-putting.
Suddenly, there’s a hand moving up to slip underneath Tine’s shirt, thumbs circling over the skin of his hipbone.
“Wha-“ He exclaims, watches as Sarawat pushes the shirt up even further and doesn’t protest as he’s recommended to bend his head. Two frenzied hands pull the fabric over him.
Sarawat throws the shirt haphazardly onto the ground, grips his wrist-gently and with a soft, almost ghostly, tough. He guides Tine to the bed, reaches over to grab the pillows and stack them on top of each other.
Tine groans as he lays down, kicking his feet out when the heat emanating from the mere friction has him bristling. Despite the sudden pounding in his head, he throws his hand, fisting the air in determination to grab Sarawat but to no avail. His head feels as if it’s splitting in half.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he gets out instead, dropping his hand. “Why don’t we just continue what we were doing.” He jests, flatly.
The floor creaks beneath Tine’s headboard. The light in the room dissipates, soon after. The bed dips beside Tine, cool fingers once again intertwined with his.
It’s not enough. Tine grasps on tightly. It’s never enough.
He knows he shouldn’t, doesn’t want to have anything to do with making Sarawat come down with whatever he has, and the thought of it has him seething where he lays.
“Sarawat.” He starts with.
He gets a hum in response.
“The sofa is a makeshift bed.”
Sarawat is quick to respond with a: “And.”
Tine gives a slight shrug, knows he can’t see it.
Sarawat scoots closer to him, curls up against his chest, head resting on Tine’s bare skin. The bed’s not enough for the both of him; he doesn’t have to look to see that Sarawat’s legs are dangling off of the mattress.
The instant Sarawat’s hand touches the bare skin of his torso, Tine clamps his mouth shut.
Why the fuck is it so goddamn hot in this goddamn room?
“Tomorrow,” the groggy voice cuts through his thoughts, “We’ll make up for it tomorrow. When you’re feeling better.”
Despite heaviness that etches into the tendons of his muscles, Tine smiles to himself; content.
Tomorrow, he decides, there will be a tomorrow. Tine rolls on to his side, tucking his chin into it’s spot above Sarawat’s head.
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