Phuwin's eyes snapped open.
The light was wrong—not the pulsing colors of the party, but the flat gray of morning through curtains he'd forgotten to close. His head ached. His back ached. His ass ached in a way that made him clench his jaw.
He turned his head slowly. Siyh was sprawled beside him, one leg thrown over his, her makeup smudged, her mouth open. On the floor, Jungkook and Santa lay tangled together on a pile of blankets, Santa's glasses crooked, Jungkook's arm slung across his chest. Tai was curled in the armchair by the window, snoring softly.
Phuwin looked down at himself. The crop top had ridden up to his ribs. The belly piercing caught the light. The very short jeans were cutting into his hips, and when he shifted, he felt the dried lip gloss on his mouth, tacky against his skin.
He screamed into his hands.
The sound was muffled, barely a breath, but it woke something in his chest. He slid out of bed, careful not to disturb Siyh, and stepped over the bodies on the floor. In the bathroom, he brushed his teeth until his gums hurt, then washed his face three times, watching the water run clear before he shut off the tap.
He needed air.
Slippers on. Phone in his pocket. He crept down the stairs, past the quiet bakery, and out the front door. The street was still, the morning air cool against his skin.
"It didn't happen," he muttered, kicking a stone. It skittered across the pavement and disappeared into a drain. "I did not let Pond fuck me while I was drunk. I did not twerk at some random person's party. I did not—"
A sharp pain shot through his lower stomach, radiating down to his ass, making his knees buckle. He stumbled sideways, catching himself on someone's gate, his breath coming in short gasps.
"Fuck."
He clutched the iron bars and waited for the pain to subside. It didn't. It settled into a deep, bruising ache that reminded him of exactly what had happened. The pool. The water. Pond's hands on his waist. The slow, relentless rhythm.
He straightened, wincing. "Okay. It happened."
He started walking again, slower this time. "His cock was huge. Long and broad. Like his foot." He laughed, a broken sound that caught in his throat. "I've never had sex with a cock longer than a person's foot." The laugh died. He thought of Cinse. Dice. Marin. Hookups and Relationships that left him empty and wanting. None of them had felt like this—this ache that was somehow both a wound and a claim.
He made his way back to the house, flipped the sign on the door to OPEN, and tied an apron around his waist. The familiar motions helped. He bent to search the lower cabinets for flour and sugar, and the sharp pain came again, making him hiss. He grabbed the ingredients, set them on the counter, and started mixing dough for donuts.
The bell on the door jingled.
"Welcome," Phuwin called without looking up. "Just tell me what you want, I haven't turned on the registers yet."
No answer.
Phuwin frowned, still working the dough. "Hello? You can just—"
Arms wrapped around his waist.
He froze. The body behind him was warm, solid, familiar. A chin settled on his shoulder, and a voice—low, rough, amused—murmured against his ear.
"Hearing you scream my name last night while you were moaning was the hottest thing I've ever heard."
Phuwin's face went scarlet. "Pond."
"Phuwin."
"Let go of me."
"No."
Phuwin's hands were covered in dough. He couldn't push him away even if he wanted to. Which he didn't. Not really. "Stop grabbing my ass. It hurts from last night."
Pond's grip loosened immediately. "Oh. Fuck. I'm sorry."
He let Phuwin turn around. Their eyes met. Pond was already in an apron, holding it in one hand, a sheepish grin on his face. "I came to help. Figured you'd need it."
Phuwin's throat tightened. He reached around Pond, took the apron, and tied it behind his back. The gesture was domestic, intimate, and they both felt it. "You're going to serve customers and clean tables."
"Okay."
Phuwin leaned in, his lips brushing Pond's ear. "If you do a good job, maybe you'll get a sweet reward."
Pond's grin widened. "Okay."
He leaned down and kissed Phuwin. Deeply. Thoroughly. Phuwin's dough-covered hands hovered in the air, not touching him, but his mouth opened under Pond's and he made a small sound that was swallowed by the kiss.
Footsteps on the stairs. Siyh's voice: "Oh my god, get a room."
They broke apart. Siyh was standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, hair a mess, a knowing smirk on her face. Santa and Taehyung were behind her, equally disheveled, equally amused.
"Use protection?" Santa asked dryly.
"We used water," Phuwin muttered, and Siyh burst out laughing.
"The party pool doesn't count as protection, dumbass."
Phuwin's ears burned. He turned back to the dough, kneading it harder than necessary. "Siyh, I need you to go to the store. Get me butter, powdered sugar, and syrup."
"Running errands on a hangover. Great." She grabbed her bag. "Come on, Santa and My baby. Let's leave the lovebirds to their bakery fantasy."
Santa and Tai followed her out, and the door swung shut behind them.
The morning rush hit an hour later. Pim and Mai arrived, took over the registers and the front counter, and the cafe filled with the chatter of customers. Phuwin stayed in the kitchen, frying dough, mixing glazes, shaping ring after ring. The heat of the oil, the smell of sugar and yeast—it grounded him.
Between orders, he looked through the pass-through window. Pond was clearing a table, wiping it down with a cloth, a focused look on his face. A customer left a tip on the counter, and Pond picked it up, walked over to the kitchen window, and dropped it in Phuwin's tip jar with a wink.
Phuwin's chest went warm. He ducked his head and kept frying.
An hour later, the crowd thinned. Mai was wiping down the counter, and Pim was restocking the pastry case. Pond told Mai he'd be back, then pushed through the kitchen door.
Phuwin was at the window, shaping doughnuts. The afternoon light caught his face, illuminating the concentration in his brow, the slight pout of his lips.
Pond wrapped his arms around his waist again. This time, Phuwin leaned back into him.
"You did good out there," Phuwin said, his voice quiet.
"You think so?"
"Yeah."
"Does that mean I get my reward?"
Phuwin laughed. "You're insatiable."
"For you? Always." Pond rested his chin on Phuwin's shoulder, looking out the window at the field beyond, the water glinting in the distance. "I love you, you know."
Phuwin's hands stilled on the dough. "I know."
"Do you love me?"
"I'm still deciding."
"Liar."
Phuwin turned in his arms. They were close, so close he could see the flecks of gold in Pond's brown eyes. "We've been in the talking stage for a month now."
"I know."
"Can we start dating then?"
Phuwin grinned. "No."
Pond's face fell. "What?"
"You've been a very sexy, very hot, but also very irritating and annoying person to deal with." Phuwin's grin widened. "I'm not going to make it easy for you."
Pond stared at him. Then he smiled—slow, wide, full of something soft and dangerous. "I don't want easy. I want you."
Phuwin's breath caught. He reached up, pulled Pond down, and kissed him. The kiss was deep, searching, a question and an answer all at once. Phuwin smiled against Pond's mouth, and Pond's hands tightened on his waist.
When Phuwin pulled back, the light was hitting his face, catching the last traces of glitter from the night before. He reached into the flour bin, grabbed a handful, and smeared it across Pond's cheek.
Pond blinked. "Did you just—"
Phuwin laughed and ran around the table.
Pond was faster. He caught him in three strides, lifted him over his shoulder, and carried him toward the storage room. Phuwin laughed, kicking, his hands gripping Pond's shirt. His toe caught the doorframe, and he didn't care.
The storage room smelled of dust and cardboard. A single bulb cast harsh yellow light on concrete walls. Pond set him down, and they stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other.
Phuwin kissed him again. This one was all tongue and teeth and need. His fingers tangled in Pond's hair, gripping, pulling. Pond's hands worked at his jeans, pushing them down, lifting his leg.
The air was cool against his skin. Then Pond's hand was there, guiding, positioning.
"Ready?"
Phuwin nodded, his forehead against Pond's shoulder.
Pond pushed in. Slow. Deep. An inch at a time.
Phuwin's mouth fell open. The stretch was a burning line from his spine to his throat, a fullness that pressed against the walls of his stomach. He clawed at Pond's shirt, at his back, needing something to hold. "Fuck. You feel so good inside me."
Pond groaned, his hips flush against Phuwin's. "Say that again."
"You feel so good." Phuwin's voice was broken, desperate. "So big. Fuck, Pond."
Pond started moving. A slow, deep rhythm that made the world narrow to the smell of dust and cinnamon, the harsh light above, the feeling of being filled, claimed, taken. Phuwin's hand pushed at Pond's stomach, wanting it deeper, and gasped when he found the angle.
Outside, muffled laughter. "I bet Phuwin's getting the shit beat out of him by Godji's slipper if she sees any of Pond's cum on her floor when she gets back from vacation."
Siyh's voice: "She's gonna kill him. And then kill us for letting it happen."
More laughter.
Inside the storage room, Phuwin didn't hear them. He was lost—lost in the weight of Pond's body, the rhythm of his hips, the breath hot against his neck. He moaned, a sound he couldn't control, and felt Pond shudder above him.
"Close," Pond breathed.
"Inside me." Phuwin's nails dug into his shoulders. "Please. Inside."
Pond drove deep and stayed there, his body going rigid, his groan swallowed by Phuwin's mouth. Phuwin felt it—the heat, the pulse, the weight of everything Pond had been holding back for a month, for years, spilling into him.
He held Pond there, his fingers tangled in his hair, his legs wrapped around his waist, anchored to the only thing that mattered.
Outside, someone dropped a pan and laughed.