Work Text:
The moon was just a few days from being full, something Keng could tell by how much light was coming in through the cracks in the hotel blinds, late enough now for it to be high in the sky. Namping was asleep just a few centimeters away, the silver light putting a shine on his soft brown hair, his eyelashes resting against the gentle rise of his cheeks, his breath coming deep and slow. One of his hands was in between them, palm up on the pillow, Keng tracing each pretty finger with his eyes.
Namping had been asleep for nearly an hour. They had a whole week of shooting for Khemjira starting in the morning, and Keng needed to be asleep too. He couldn’t calm his mind.
Sleep had not been restful lately. Dreams had not been good. Namping knew this, and once they’d made it to their hotel room, done washing up and getting ready for bed, he’d wrapped his arms around Keng, waiting until Keng reciprocated with his own hands settling at the small of Namping’s back. He was so warm and sweet, Keng accepting the affection with a small sigh that was just loud enough to hear, rewarded by Namping shifting to nestle his head between Keng’s neck and shoulder.
“Sleep with me tonight, hm?”
The soft question had made the fissure in Keng’s chest threaten to open up, Keng swallowing hard to stifle it down, despite knowing that Namping felt the action.
“Don’t want to wake you,” he finally deflected. The nightmares were never particularly fitful, never made Keng thrash or yell in a way that he thought might harm Namping, but he did jerk awake every time, usually wet with sweat, and definitely startled enough to disturb him. Namping pressed the tip of his nose to Keng’s cheek.
”I don’t mind,” he insisted, and that was that, pulling back to drag Keng onto the mattress by the hand. The second bed in the room was left abandoned, Namping curling in towards him once they were both lying down, the skin of his face bare and clean, everything from the curve of his lips to the look in his eyes soft in the warm yellow lamplight. His gaze rested on Keng’s face without a shred of the usual, pleased bashfulness that lit him up in public, placing his warm palm against Keng’s cheek for a moment.
“It’ll be alright,” he insisted. “I’ll be right here.”
Then he clicked off the light, and with Keng’s eyes not yet adjusted to the dim room, Namping’s body next to his was a solid, grounding comfort in the darkness. While grateful, Keng wasn’t entirely sure that it would help.
It was a bit of a curious thing, the knowledge that Namping had feelings for him. Namping liked him romantically, and wasn’t doing much to deny or hide it. He’d actually sat Keng down a week before they'd started filming Khemjira, almost prim in his professionalism, sitting up straight on the couch in Keng’s living room with his hands on his knees. He wanted everything out on the table before filming started, so the show could be successful. Keng could return to the moment like it was yesterday whenever he closed his eyes, could see Namping’s calm face but bright pink ears, the way he didn’t quite seem able to look Keng in the eyes, but his voice was steady.
“I like you. I really, really like you, and I think you should know. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with me.”
The conversation had lasted over an hour, something about that nearly feeling cruel; it was completely foreign to him, Namping’s ability to lay his heart bare like that, fully honest and open, without flinching or shying away. All Keng had been able to offer in response was an acknowledgment of how Namping felt, and an assurance that Namping could act however he wished with him, without worrying about discomfort getting in the way; he’d known what he was signing up for, when picking Namping as a partner. Wanting Namping as a partner. But he couldn’t, all those months ago, give any kind of a confession back. Anything except complete honesty wouldn’t be fair to the vulnerability that Namping was placing in his hands, and that had been the truth. He didn't know.
He didn't know how he was feeling, couldn't put it into words; he did like Namping, liked him so much, wanted to make him happy and care for him and support him in any way he could, but… That wasn't why he'd become Namping’s partner. Any time his thoughts had strayed into other territory, he self-corrected and straightened up, pushing it so far into the background that it was more easy to ignore. He didn't allow himself to think that way, because he didn't want to be the cause of anything that might hinder Namping’s success. Flirting was expected, but this was work, and he'd seen firsthand how feelings could get messy. He was committed to being a good partner, and giving Khemjira everything he had. That was all.
If Namping was hurt in any way by the lack of reciprocation, he hadn’t shown it. He’d just nodded, eyes on his hands, fingers tapping at his kneecaps for a moment.
“If that changes, will you tell me?”
At the time, committed to the truth, Keng had nodded, said that he would. Now, looking at Namping’s calm face in the moonlight, his heart cracked open to bleed all over the thick, starched sheets below them, the lie was sour in his mouth.
“A-yo!” The shout was loud, the word complete nonsense, Namping’s laugh audible as FirstOne’s exclamation kicked up into its own bright laughter. FirstOne and Tle stumbled into their hotel room, Keng able to see them in his peripheral vision as he spit in the sink and rinsed off his toothbrush. Tle had his arms wound tight around FirstOne’s waist, his chin resting on FirstOne’s head, the two seemingly barely able to walk with how close they were wound together but not wanting to separate, either. They’d gotten together relatively quickly after becoming partners, and were absolutely giddy to play lovers falling for each other on screen.
“Good morning, nong Keng,” Tle said when he saw Keng emerging from the bathroom, because he had some semblance of manners. “Nong Ping.”
Keng almost opened his mouth to respond in kind, pausing at the sight of FirstOne looking exaggeratedly between Namping, the unmade bed they’d slept in, and the made one, the comforter so flat and pillows so stiff that it was clear it had not been used. Namping had pink high in his cheeks, pointedly ignoring the insinuation as he gathered his things together, and Keng’s words died in his throat, swept up in the blush on his face, the implication that Namping wasn’t denying.
“You are sitting with me,” FirstOne said as Namping gathered his bag up over one shoulder, his voice a fierce stage-whisper, looping his arm around Namping’s and all but dragging him from the room. Namping made small, protesting noises all the way out the door, letting out an “Ah, my suitcase—!” that FirstOne pointedly ignored. Keng closed the lid of Namping’s suitcase for him.
“I guess we're sitting together,” Tle said, smiling. Keng did what he could to smile back.
Keng liked Tle, he really did, but was grateful that he spent the majority of the drive to the Khemjira house tapping away at his phone, because it kept Keng from needing to carry on conversation, a feat that would be nearly impossible. He was too distracted by watching Namping and FirstOne chatting away a row ahead of them, their heads pressed close to keep their voices low, giggles occasionally erupting from FirstOne’s mouth, Namping reaching out to swat at him. Dappled sunlight through the passing tree leaves was cradling the curved shell of Namping’s ear, the thin bones in Namping's wrist shifting as his hand moved.
Namping caught him by the waist as he exited the van, so dizzyingly close that Keng swayed on his feet.
“Did you sleep okay, Phi?” he asked, voice soft. Keng knew he looked wide-eyed, dazed, wishing he had his Pharan sunglasses, just for their ability to keep Namping from worrying.
“I did,” he said, and while he knew that the way he’d acted throughout the morning wasn’t the most convincing, it was the truth, and Namping didn’t press him. “Thank you.”
That had a small smile appearing on Namping’s face, giving Keng’s waist a slight squeeze, and then it was time to get into character.
He'd been playing Pharan for long enough now that slipping into him wasn't all that hard, as long as his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest and he could wrap his prakam around his wrist for a few minutes, rolling the beads between his fingers. The character wasn't the escape that he wanted it to be, another part of why how he was feeling was stressing him out so deeply; the man he was portraying was so in love with Namping that their souls were entwined across lifetimes, and quite frankly, that wasn't a whole lot different than how Keng genuinely felt.
Keng hadn't known it was possible to want this much. It was scaring the shit out of him. It was why he felt he couldn't tell Namping about it. He felt like a tsunami, conflicting waves crashing over each other, the water threatening to soak into every last inch of him, so all-encompassing that it couldn't be healthy. He wanted to show Namping the entire world, wanted to hide him away from every single wandering eye, wanted to be sulked at, cursed at, to wait on him hand and foot, to take him to bed and stay there for hours, days, show him off to anyone who would listen, make everyone listen, touch, take, bite—stake a claim so complete on both Namping and himself that it would be impossible to look at one without seeing the other.
Thankfully, for the most part, the more primal desires were fleeting, only really striking him when Namping seemed happy, felt pretty, or looked at him in a certain way. Sitting down with himself and examining everything had him separating reality from the wild bouts of fantasy, realizing that what he truly wanted was for Namping to flourish, wanted the best for him, to be happy, safe, healthy, and successful. To feel good. When he let himself get selfish with those desires, he wanted to be someone who helped facilitate those things and, if given the privilege, feel Namping’s skin under his fingertips as he did.
He'd gone to his older sister with a watered down version of everything, seeking advice, knowing that he'd never felt this way about anyone, about anything, before. She'd accused him of being in love before he could finish. And sure, fine, he was in love with Namping, but it felt like more than that and still, Namping simply “liked” him; the enormity of these feelings, filling him all the way to the base of his throat, would do nothing but scare Namping away.
Keng was able to get himself focused, remembering his lines well when shooting scenes he was in and being a living, breathing jungle gym for Udon and Ryuji to climb all over when he wasn't, laughing with the kids and swinging them around by the hands. Namping hurried over twice throughout the day to nag the children about being careful, insisting on gentleness with Keng’s bad knee, just to sulk when he caught Keng making silly faces at the kids behind his back. Keng had to spend some extra time doting on Namping to make up for that one, FirstOne laughing as he watched Namping pout.
“Walk him like a dog, huh?” he called out to Namping, Keng picking a small stick up off the ground and throwing it at FirstOne's legs in retaliation. It bounced off his pants harmlessly but FirstOne still yelped anyway, the noise catching Tle's attention. FirstOne threw his own stick at Keng in turn, missing spectacularly with how he didn't even watch it fly, making a mad dash to hide behind Tle’s back the second it was out of his hands. Tle and Namping hid their laughs at him while a manager scolded them both for throwing things, especially in front of the children.
Tle and FirstOne spent the day stuck together as usual, but they were also often a few paces away from everyone, occasionally glancing Keng’s way and murmuring to each other. They went back to nonchalant the moment Keng started over towards them, and Keng didn't ask, not sure he wanted to know and especially not while at work. It did nag at him despite his best efforts, eventually asking Namping about it as they got ready for bed that night.
“Did you tell FirstOne about the nightmares?”
Namping had just finished his skincare, his bangs damp, his face buried in a fluffy pink hand towel that he was holding flat on his palms. His expression was near stricken when he looked up.
“I wouldn't,” he said, and… of course he wouldn't. Keng knew that. Stupid question.
“Sorry.” The skin around Namping’s nose had gone pink from where he'd patted at it with the towel. Keng shook his head a bit. “Just—they kept staring at me today.”
Namping let out a breath at that, folding the towel in half a few times, mostly looking like he just needed something to do with his hands.
“I… Well,” he started, and Keng leaned back against the bathroom counter to listen. Namping caught the action and gave him a look. “It's not—FirstOne did ask me about the bed. I just told him that I was trying to help you sleep, but apparently that means something… Specific, between him and P'Tle.”
“Oh,” Keng said, after a moment. The insinuation wasn't hard to parse.
“I insisted that we didn't—we weren't—but he's, you know…” Namping wrung the towel in his hands as he searched for a word before ultimately remembering that he had to let it dry and flattening it back out again. Namping was incredibly eloquent, so to watch him struggle for what to say was a side of him that Keng wasn't able to see often, pushing up off the counter to more fully take him in. Again, Namping caught the action and turned away, hanging the hand towel up on the bar behind him, finally landing on an adjective. “Supportive.”
Before Keng could hope to process that, Namping left the bathroom. He was pulling back the sheet to their—his—bed, Keng moving towards the empty mattress when Namping stopped him with a hand on his wrist. A frown appeared on Namping’s heart-shaped mouth, Keng so strongly and so suddenly wanting to kiss him that he flinched from Namping’s touch.
“You don't have to,” Namping said. His tone was a touch diplomatic, something Keng recognized to mean that it was covering some small amount of real hurt at the loss of contact. “But it worked last night, didn't it?”
He reached out again, slow, and when Keng didn't pull away, took Keng’s hand in his. Then he sat on the folded back sheets, soft in his pajamas, looking up at Keng through his eyelashes. It didn't feel calculated, not persuasive in a manipulative way; it was just Namping, and Keng’s heart.
“I want to help you sleep, Phi.”
It wasn't clear, thanks to their prior conversation, if that was meant to hold an implication or not. It didn't change how helpless Keng was against letting himself be led down onto the bed, lying on his side as he watched Namping fuss with the blankets, also getting comfortable. Namping went through the same ritual as the night before, turning towards him and cupping Keng’s cheek in his hand.
“You did well today,” Namping said, his voice soft. They were closer across the sheets than they had been, but Keng couldn't tell if it was Namping that was closer, or himself—he wanted to kiss Namping so badly that his whole body ached with it. The praise made him smile despite himself, nudging his head to the side to get the pad of Namping’s thumb at the seam of his lips. A smile split Namping’s mouth, just enough for his teeth to show, his eyes folding into crescents as they met Keng’s own.
“Goodnight, Phi,” he said. Then, again, “I'll be right here.”
The nightmares had been going on for about two months. It wasn't every night, closer to two or three a week, and on a few lucky occasions Keng had been able to recognize that he was in one and wake himself up. Namping was convinced that they had to do with Khemjira's spooky subject matter, but Keng didn't think so. There weren't any ghosts, no curses or vengeful spirits; the only similarity that Keng could find at all was that Namping was dying.
It was always something completely random, something Keng never saw coming, the dream starting so simple and like daily life that the twist of it was always a surprise. Namping getting up to take his morning shower, just to slip and hit his head; Namping taking a drink of water on the Khemjira set, just to start choking and be unable to stop. Each time, Keng had a front row seat, and each time, for some reason, he was unable to help, standing there in abject horror as Namping faded away from him.
The reasons were nonsense. He couldn't go into the bathroom because the door was closed. He couldn't walk over to where Namping was coughing because his shoe was untied. It was dream logic, senseless and infuriating, despite the way his body felt completely locked up, internally screaming but physically unable to move a muscle.
One small mercy was that he never actually saw it. Namping was either in a separate room, Keng forced to listen, or Keng woke up, late enough to know, but too early to watch. Maybe because, despite how awful his mind was treating him, it still wasn’t able to conjure something like that.
The first dream had left Keng gasping as he sat up, clambering desperately for his phone and calling Namping’s number. He had answered despite the late hour, groggy and bewildered, and at the sound of his voice, Keng burst into tears. It was four in the morning. Namping took the time to calm him, reassure him, Keng apologizing and telling Namping to go back to sleep.
“I already packed a bag,” Namping had said. “I’ll be there soon.”
Namping had let Keng hug him in the doorway for a solid fifteen minutes, didn’t protest Keng’s unwillingness to go back into his bedroom, and had eventually fallen asleep with his head on Keng’s shoulder, sitting together on the living room couch. All of it had that awful beast of desire gnawing a pit into Keng’s chest, staring at the hand Namping had rested on his thigh in sleep and trying so hard to memorize the warmth and weight of it that it was making him feel sick. He’d hoped it was a one-off, but his subconscious didn’t take kindly to being shoved down and shied away from like a spooked horse.
Tonight, Namping was leaving filming early. He was getting into a car—Keng didn’t recognize it, but didn’t pick up on that as something that would matter—and after beckoning Keng close through the rolled-down window, leaned in to press his cheek to Keng’s. He said something that Keng didn’t hear, despite how close they were, and the car started off.
The way the car was moving wasn’t quite… right. Then it made a horrible sound, jerking and sputtering, veering at an alarming speed and crashing headlong into the lake at the side of the road. Keng felt unable to breathe, running after it, gasping in air as he reached the water’s edge. The car was sinking slowly, like heavy things were wont to do, and though bubbles were coming up, there were no other signs of life. Namping’s window was open. Keng could get to him if he dove in, could help unbuckle him, could pull him to the surface if he’d done something like hit his head and was unable to swim on his own.
But his body was frozen, because if he jumped into the lake, then… he would get wet.
Keng jerked awake, chest so tight that he couldn’t breathe, taking three shuddering inhales in before a single exhale made it from his mouth. Next to him, Namping stirred, his hand warm on Keng’s forearm.
“Phi?” he murmured.
Relief fell into Keng’s chest like a drop of ink in water. Namping was here, right here, warm and safe.
“Car that you were in drove into a lake,” Keng managed back. His voice sounded horrid in the darkness, somehow too loud and strangled all at once. “Couldn’t… couldn’t pull you out.”
Namping frowned at that, tightening his grip on Keng’s arm and tugging. Keng was pulled in so close that he was half on top of Namping, his head in the crook of Namping’s neck, Namping’s fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt.
“Right here,” he murmured petulantly, as though in defiance of Keng’s subconscious. He was, in a way. “And you’re with me.”
Usually, it took hours for Keng to calm enough to fall back asleep. This time though, with Namping’s pulse in his ear, steady and sure, Keng managed to doze off before the turn of the hour.
The rest of the shoot block was rough. The material itself wasn’t overly difficult for Keng, but the nightmares had ramped up to every single night, clearly worrying Namping. Keng figured that proximity was the issue; he was staring at Namping to such a degree that even a production assistant commented on it, and the meeting he and Namping had together with the intimacy coordinator about the series’s first kiss and NC scenes—it wasn't being filmed until later, but they were being urged to think about concerns and boundaries now—wasn’t helping things. Soon, he would be kissing Namping. With how his body was currently reacting to the smallest touches, he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop.
Namping was touching him more. He was specifically seeking Keng out, leaning in close, putting a hand on his shoulder or arm around his waist, reaching for him whenever they were sitting together. He was trying to be comforting, but with how Keng’s self-control had thinned to a snapping point, Keng had to pull away, step back, cross his arms across his chest or fold his hands behind his back. He was one too-long look away from kissing Namping in front of the entire production crew, and felt about ready to lose his mind.
“You’re free for the next few days, right?” Namping asked. They’d finished filming, had a meal with the staff to celebrate, and were back in their hotel room. Things had been completely silent, the two of them moving around each other. Keng figured that Namping was likely tired from work—it had been a lot of long days in the sun—but he had noticed Namping avoiding his eyes, torn between asking about it and simply letting it lie. He knew that he hadn't been the best partner over the past few days, already resolving to make up for it once he'd had a few days alone at home to shove things down and screw his head on straight.
“Yeah.” Keng finished washing his face, drying his hands and face at once and turning the corner out of the bathroom. Namping was sitting cross-legged on his—their—bed, dressed in his pajamas, seemingly incredibly interested in his fingernails, his hands down in his lap.
“I called your mom,” he confessed. “I thought a visit home might be good for you. Your parents are willing to host us.”
Keng didn't know what to say, and at his silence, Namping looked up. His expression was fragile.
“Or just you, if you don't want me to come,” he continued. “I feel like you're uncomfortable with me, and that's my fault, but I want to help you. You've been reaching for me in your sleep, but if you want to be alone—”
Keng felt sick with guilt, walking over to sit next to Namping.
“I'm not—I'm not,” he said, feeling horrendously inarticulate. Namping’s eyes flashed in the lamplight as they met his.
“Do not lie to me,” he said. The words fell like a rock in Keng’s stomach. “You have been so different this week, and you were so quiet in that meeting because you know that soon we'll have to—”
“Ping,” Keng interrupted, not wanting to know what reality Namping had created, what universe his actions had forced Namping to live in over the past few days. He couldn’t lie, but he didn't know what to say. It was because of Namping, but the only way to avoid misinterpretation about that was to lay his heart bare, the one thing he was trying to avoid. He floundered for another moment, reaching for Namping's hand, the words spilling out of him. “I love you.”
It was random, was nonsense, Namping’s eyes on Keng’s face as he took in the words, shifting as he decided how to interpret them. A small drop in his shoulders gave Keng the answer before Namping had even spoken.
“I love you too,” he said quietly, as he pressed the ends of Keng’s fingers between his own fingertips, the back of Keng’s hand flat against the mattress. “And I understand if you don't want me to take care of you, that's okay, but you need to take care of yourself. You need to talk to a professional, or go to a sleep specialist. You need to fix this, Phi. For Khemjira and for—for yourself, too.”
“I know,” Keng said. Because, as per usual, everything Namping said was right. His words had been taken platonically, of course they had, and that was fine. Keng could live with that. He could, he could, he could—he could find a way to dull the waterfall roar of too much that rang in his ears when it came to wanting Namping, and be the best coworker that Namping had ever had. “I will. I'll fix it.”
Namping searched his face for a moment, then nodded.
“We'll figure out transportation in the morning,” he said, because not only did they need to sleep, but they were liable to sleep in late, and the company had booked out the room until the day after tomorrow, to avoid the fuss of checking out on time. “But for now, let's both—” He looked at Keng imploringly, ducking his head to peek up at Keng’s face. He was playing at lighthearted, and Keng smiled. “—get some sleep.”
Despite his desperate wants not to, Keng still dreamed that night. It was immediately, starkly different. He wasn't presented with the charade of real life, waiting to turn evil; it was a fantasy from the start, at home, at his stove in nothing but a pair of light plaid pajama pants, making a breakfast that he knew was for Namping.
Namping entered the kitchen just as Keng took the finished congee off the stove, two fridge-cold eggs in each hand, struck dumb staring at him. He padded up on bare feet, wearing nothing but a loose pair of boxers and a pajama shirt—the other half of the matching set that Keng’s pants came from—unbuttoned just enough to show off a hickey at the base of his neck. He looked sleep warm and happy, hair slightly mussed, a smile playing on his lips. He seemed slightly older than Keng knew him, or maybe just more comfortable, walking up behind Keng to wrap his arms around Keng’s bare chest.
“Good morning,” he murmured, pressing butterfly-light kisses to Keng’s neck. “Is the food ready?”
“Almost.”
Namping tried to help him poach the eggs but it really was just a one man job, surrendering to Keng’s insistence that he relax and going to sit at the table. Keng separated it all into two bowls and handed Namping’s over, sitting down.
They talked about… something, the first sign of a glitch, a stutter that Keng’s brain didn’t pick up on. The congee had turned out well, the poached egg yolk the perfect amount of runny, Namping’s third spoonful having just passed his lips when he began to choke.
The food was able to be dislodged. It quickly became clear, though, that an obstruction wasn’t the problem; Namping’s breath was coming in desperate wheezes, scratching at his throat, his face going from red to purple to blue as he stumbled up from the table, his bowl falling to the floor in his panic and shattering ceramic across the kitchen floor. It was an allergic reaction, a swollen throat, but Keng knew, knew that nothing in this simple dish—eggs, ginger, scallions, soy sauce, salt, garlic, rice, water—were things that Namping was allergic to.
Unlike other times, Keng was able to act. He was able to get from the table, falling to one knee to catch Namping as he stumbled, Namping rolling into him and clutching at his shirt. But in a cruel twist, there was nothing that Keng could actually do, no way to reverse time or call for help, forced to watch and wait and hold him, Namping’s eyes tear-stricken and red from strain as they met Keng’s. And then, for the first time since the nightmares started… Namping died.
His body sagged in Keng’s arms, heavier than Keng had ever felt it. Keng scrabbled at his clothes, tried to shake him, pulling him in to listen for breath, for a heartbeat, but nothing, nothing, nothing—
This time, when Keng jolted awake, he was crying. Sun was coming in through the hotel room blinds, already morning, Keng feeling around Namping’s side of the bed with a desperate hand. He found the sheets empty. The bed was empty. Panic shot through Keng’s chest as he sat up, his pulse pounding in his ears, a chance at salvation cutting through in the sound of water. The shower was on.
The only thought in Keng’s mind was the need to see Namping, opening the door and rushing in. Namping’s pajamas were folded on the sink counter, the mirror fogged with steam. Namping was turned away from the showerhead, rinsing the last of shampoo from his hair, and Keng was so relieved to see him upright that the dam inside of himself shattered completely, a sob wrenching itself from his chest, stumbling directly under the shower spray and pulling him into a hug.
“P'Keng, what—?!” The question was cut off as Keng’s momentum hit Namping’s upper back against the shower wall. It was more than reasonable to ask; Namping should be cursing at him right now, the way he was acting like a lunatic, his back going completely drenched, the water that was clinging to Namping’s chest seeping through the front of Keng’s shirt. Keng was crying like he hadn’t since he was a child, ugly and open, his arms wrapped as tight as he could around Namping’s body.
“Had to see—” he hiccuped out, because he did—he needed to explain. “I needed to see you, I need you, I—”
He pushed his face into Namping’s neck, needing to feel Namping’s pulse against his lips. Somehow, despite everything, Namping tilted his chin up to let him.
“Did you think I left?” Namping asked him, as though that would justify this kind of reaction, and Keng shook his head. “Bad dream?”
Keng made a small affirmative noise, something that Namping definitely felt rather than heard, because he reached out with his free hand and turned the water off. The absence of the dull white noise left a shocking silence behind, Keng’s ragged breath the only sound in the room.
“Phi,” Namping murmured, his voice coaxing in a way that had Keng tearing up again as he took Keng’s face in both hands, lifting his head. Their gazes were level like this, Namping’s eyes brown and clear, free of fear and stress and choke-burst vessels. “Are you okay?”
“I’m in love with you,” Keng said, the confession tumbling out the same way it had the night before but better, finally honest now, because god, he did. He loved him, and with how he’d already done this, he couldn’t possibly scare Namping away further. “I am so in love with you, and it’s my fault, and I want—I just—I’m sorry.”
Too much. Too much to put into words. But Namping was better at this than him, tilting his head and kissing Keng on the mouth.
While the touch of lips was gentle, it was in no way tentative, Namping’s mouth on his with purpose. The kiss was just long enough for Keng to truly feel, going cross-eyed in his attempt to look at Namping as he pulled away. Namping then seemed to get overwhelmed all at once, pushing his forehead into Keng’s shoulder, blindly—though accurately—wiping at Keng’s tear-wet cheeks with his thumbs.
“This is… We need to get dressed,” he said, after giving up on any attempt to describe the situation. His whole face had gone pink. “You need to—I do not believe you, Keng Harit. What on earth is this?”
Despite the words, he was still clinging to Keng’s chest and, Keng truly noticed for the first time, was completely naked. Keng pointedly angled his head towards the ceiling and pulled a towel off the bar on the wall for Namping, letting him wrap himself up before pulling his own soaked-through shirt up and over his head. He began wringing the shirt out, Namping standing back and watching him, the towel wrapped around his body, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. There was something conflicted in his expression, but before Keng could say anything, Namping turned and whisked himself from the room.
Keng was so drenched that everything he was wearing needed to be wrung out and hung on the shower curtain rod to drip, grabbing a towel for himself and quickly drying off, rubbing roughly at his hair. Namping was sitting on the edge of their bed when Keng emerged, dressed in a soft t-shirt and linen shorts, a similarly simple outfit left out on the empty bed for Keng. Keng retreated back to the bathroom to get dressed, and this time when he came out, Namping had his feet on the floor, his arms straight, each hand palm flat against the mattress on either side of his hips. He looked up at Keng.
“This is why I wanted to communicate,” he said. “I know it's hard for you, but that's why I told you. I wanted you to tell me.”
“I know,” Keng said, but he couldn't help but feel that it was a false equivalence. Namping liked him. Keng wanted to live inside of Namping’s bones.
“I thought we were in the same place. On the same page. I don't like that we weren't.”
“I know,” Keng said again. That, he did feel guilty about.
“So why didn't you?” Namping asked. He was good at that, being prompting without sounding accusing. “I would have accepted it.”
Despite how committed he now was to explaining, Keng didn't know what to say.
“I think that… I don’t know. I didn’t know. I was honest about that.” While it felt a bit like everything had come out of nowhere, had risen up from looking at the way the sun hit Namping’s face one too many times, Keng had the suspicion that if he actually dug into it, he'd find that it had been bubbling up for a while. “But… Either I’ve never really known what love feels like, or there’s something wrong with me. I didn’t want to scare you.”
”Scare me?” Namping echoed. He wasn’t looking away but the eye contact was something that Keng couldn’t handle, his shoulders falling, dropping his gaze to his hands.
Examples from his life had come to mind after his sister had told him that he was in love with Namping, wanting to see if his experiences matched up, just to come back extremely empty and slightly horrified. Their neighbor loved his wife, but still cheated on her whenever he had business out of town. A woman that ran the shop next to the one Keng worked in loved her husband, but often described him as “stupid” and “dull” but “eh, good enough”. Keng couldn’t imagine even having those thoughts about Namping, let alone voicing or acting on them. His parents had been fine role models for a lot of things, but he hadn’t been raised in a particularly affectionate family, forced to assume that the desire for contact that he was experiencing was abnormal.
“I want to touch you all the time,” Keng said, and actually letting those desires past his lips had his stomach twisting. “I want the entire world to listen every time you speak. I want to be the only person allowed to look at you. I want…”
Namping didn’t seem to be breathing, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted. Keng couldn’t stay slumped against the cabinets behind him anymore, letting his knees bend, sinking to the carpeted floor.
”I’m sorry,” he said again. Namping’s gaze hadn’t left him.
”Come here,” he said, the words soft. Keng listened, Namping parting his knees enough for Keng to fit between them, his hands finding Keng’s shoulders the second he was within reach and pulling him close. Still holding onto him, Namping leaned down and kissed him again.
“Ping,” Keng managed out, feeling strangled.
“I love you,” Namping said, a smile splitting his face as he did, as though the words alone, the ability to say them, brought him joy. “I’m so happy, Phi.”
“You never said—“
“Of course I didn’t.” The phrase was so flat that if it were any other situation, Keng would have laughed. “My confession was met with a promise to be good business partners. Nothing could make me follow that up with the fact that I’m imagining what you’ll look like with grey hair. What names our kids will call us. I want this, Phi.”
He said it playfully, and for the first time since the start of their conversation, Keng began to hope. Still, he didn’t think that Namping understood the depth of it, the desire of it, the stirring low in Keng’s stomach. Keng wanted to know every inch of him, wanted to make him cry, wanted to flatten his tongue against the entire expanse of Namping’s skin and know what he tasted like. Did that not scare him?
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Keng countered. Namping’s lips quirked, pink and a bit wet.
“I don’t?”
”Namping… I want to eat you,” Keng told him. Namping leaned in, letting his nose brush Keng’s own.
“Do you not think I want to eat you, too?” he asked, and to that, Keng could not respond. Namping’s voice was low. “Do you not think I want to be eaten?”
He placed his hands on the sides of Keng’s face again, meeting his eyes. They were eyes that Keng could look into forever.
”Do you want to love me?” he asked. It was so entirely all that Keng wanted that for a moment, he was rendered unable to respond. On his knees at the edge of the bed, his head in Namping’s hands, he nodded.
”Yes.”
Namping leaned in again, just a whisper away.
”Then do it.”
Keng lifted up, tilted his chin, and kissed Namping. It was the first kiss that Namping hadn’t ended the moment after it started, Keng realizing in a sudden, overwhelming moment that he was kissing Namping. Then Namping slid one of the hands cupping Keng’s face up into the hair on the back of his head, tilting his head just so. That small motion, that confirmation of reciprocation was all Keng needed to deepen the kiss, Namping kissing him back again, and again, and before long Namping’s fingers were curled tight in his hair, Keng's upper body all but in Namping's lap.
While Namping was kissing him back just as hungrily, Keng’s weight had him slightly leaned backwards, something he didn't realize until his bad knee began to protest how leaned in he was. He began drawing back to allow Namping to sit back up, Namping gripping at his shoulders to keep him close. There was just enough space for a quick gasp of air, Keng’s lips still parted when they met Namping’s again, and at the taste of him Namping made a small wanton noise so overwhelming that Keng had to break the kiss completely, a jolt of heat rushing down his spine.
Namping’s pupils were wide, his kiss-red lips the best thing that Keng had ever seen. Something about his expression was surprised, like he was waking up from a dream of his own, leaning in to rest his forearms on Keng’s shoulders, the tip of his nose centimeters from Keng’s own.
“You do like me,” he said, his tone a mix of slight wonder and the amusement that came from pure, complete joy.
“Nong Ping,” Keng said, going for exasperation—because of course he did, an absolute understatement—the words coming out as hopelessly fond instead. Namping’s fingertips carded through the short hair at the back of his head.
“Faen,” he said back, his teasing tone much more accomplished, though he sounded just as breathless. Keng kissed him again, lifting up just enough to get his feet under him without breaking the kiss, wrapping Namping’s legs around his waist. Namping's eyes went wide in surprise, his grip more secure around Keng’s neck, and Keng crawled up onto the bed, a smile breaking across his face as he heard Namping start to laugh.
“So strong,” Namping marveled, still teasing, much too cute for how turned on Keng was. He released Keng’s neck to fall onto the pillows, and just how easily he opened his thighs to let Keng between them made all of the blood in Keng’s body run hot.
Before Keng could lean down to kiss him again, Namping’s nimble fingers slid up into his shirt. They explored for just a moment, Keng letting him touch and just watching his face, before settling on the small of his waist and holding on.
“Hi,” Namping finally murmured, sounding slightly abashed, but meeting Keng’s eyes all the same. Then, like he was prompting, “You're looking at me.”
“I like looking at you,” Keng responded as he leaned in again, pressing a few light kisses to Namping’s mouth. He nudged Namping’s jaw with his nose and Namping obliged, tilting his head up, his cheeks dusted pink, Keng pressing his lips to the thrum of Namping’s pulse, right under his ear. Namping made a sound at that so Keng continued, leaving a trail of wet, deliberate kisses down Namping’s neck, open-mouthed against his skin, trying to taste as much as he could. He was so soft, Keng itching to bite but knowing he couldn't, he shouldn't, not when they had to leave this hotel room at some point today.
Then his mouth made it to the hem of the shirt's neck hole and he gave up, closing his teeth around Namping’s collarbone, biting at his skin through the t-shirt. A moan broke from Namping’s mouth, his knees twitching up to press into Keng’s sides, his entire body arching up into Keng’s so completely that Keng could feel him, his erection pressing into Keng’s stomach.
The idea that he was making Namping feel good, feel that good, had blood rushing dizzyingly through Keng’s ears. He propped himself entirely up onto one hand, using the other to find Namping’s hip and pull his body snug, rolling his own hip against him as he pressed his lips to Namping’s neck again. He wanted to make Namping feel good, make Namping come, Namping moaning again and curling in as their bodies grinded together.
“P'Keng—” Namping gasped out, but despite the surprise in his voice, he was lifting up for Keng to kiss him, giving himself over, digging his fingernails deep into the muscles of Keng’s abdomen. “I'm—!”
Namping’s breathing was hot and heavy in Keng’s ear, the last of it coming as whined exhales before his entire body trembled, one knee squeezing tight to Keng side while the other kicked out, the lips he'd pressed to Keng's own going open and slack as his head fell against the pillows. Keng regretted being too close to see the orgasm play out across Namping’s face, but the full body shudder against him had gotten him embarrassingly close to the edge himself, and… there was always next time.
Keng let Namping’s body back down onto the bed, his fingertips white with how hard he been holding Namping’s hip. Before he could apologize, Namping huffed out a large, long breath, his arm slow as he reached up to run his hand through Keng’s messy hair. His eyes were a bit glassy, a blush flushing all the way down his neck.
“You are going to eat me,” he remarked. Then his kiss-bitten lips fell into a pout. “Messy P'Keng. First Namping can't shower, and now he gets Namping’s clean clothes dirty. I didn't pack enough for this. I'll have to wear something of yours, and then fans will notice, and then what will we do?”
The fact that Namping was this cute after sex was going to be the death of him.
“Buy Namping new clothes?” Keng offered, still out of breath. The answer seemed to be a good one with the smile he was given, Namping shifting his weight under him.
“Help me take it off,” he requested. “Shirt too.”
Namping’s shirt was wet where Keng had bitten it. Keng helped him, the clothing landing on the floor in a heap, the red mark on Namping’s collarbone so distracting that Keng didn't notice Namping’s hands on the hem of his own shirt until he started tugging on it.
The look on Namping’s face was enough, Keng taking his shirt off. Namping reached over, fingertips incredibly gentle, and ran the pad of his pointer finger over the grooves that his nails had bitten into Keng’s sides. “I'm sorry.”
“Please don't…” Keng couldn't think of a non-embarrassing way to say it. “Please don't apologize for that.”
Namping’s hands were traversing his chest again, Namping going up on his knees to move in and kiss him. Namping was moving slower, more deliberately than Keng had, as though trying to map out Keng’s body with his hands, kissing the hollow of his collarbone, the swell of his pectoral, the dip of his sternum. Keng’s breathing had gone shallow, unable to tell if that or his erection were contributing more to his slight lightheadedness. Maybe it was just that he had Namping, in bed and naked and touching him.
“What is it you want?” Namping asked, but Keng didn't know; this was more than he'd imagined. Namping rested a hand on Keng’s waistband in question and Keng nodded, Namping slipping his shorts off and kissing at his abdomen, moving down Keng's torso. When Keng felt Namping’s lips against the skin of his lower belly, he got so overwhelmed that he put a hand on Namping’s shoulder to still him.
“Could…” Namping’s big brown eyes, his plush pink lips… Keng wasn't ready. “Could you kiss me?”
Namping's expression softened into something so fond that Keng actually, physically felt it in his chest, settling himself very nearly in Keng's lap, placing his hand in Keng’s as their lips met. Keng understood, kissing back as he guided Namping’s hand down his body, and when Namping’s fingers wrapped around his dick, Namping’s lips tilted up into a smile.
Any sound or hitch in breath made Namping grin against his mouth, something that made Keng feel absolutely crazy as Namping’s hand worked. He got close quickly, already so hard for so long, breaking the kiss as his body trembled and head lolled, Namping’s lidded eyes and open-mouthed, satisfied smile imprinted on the back of Keng’s eyelids as he came, putty in Namping’s hands.
“So pretty,” Namping murmured, stroking him through the aftershocks, only pulling away when Keng made a small noise deep in his throat, his inner thighs twitching. He collapsed down onto the bed, dragging Keng with him, on their sides facing each other. Keng let himself truly look at Namping now, up the slope of his waist, the turn of his shoulder, the jut of his collarbones, the curve of his neck. When their eyes met Namping was already looking at him, smiling in a way that had his eyes almost disappearing.
He seemed to get shy when Keng didn't look away, turning his own attention to Keng’s bare chest and lifting a hand to trace light, swirling patterns across his skin.
“We really are going to have to wash off again,” he said. “What happened this morning?”
Keng told him everything from start to finish, explaining how that dream differed from the others. How he'd actually held Namping that time, had felt it all happen, why it had hurt so much. Namping’s face fell as he listened, quiet for a long moment.
“I'll stay healthy for Phi,” he finally said. “So in one hundred fifty years, you can go first.”
“Don't say that,” Keng said, taking Namping’s outstretched hand, despite knowing that with the overexaggerated ages Namping had given them both, it was likely that he was joking. “I think the dreams are over, so it's okay. It's character work for Pharan. Khemjira must live, right?”
“Why are they over?” Namping asked, his expression relaxing in relief.
“They started when I realized my feelings for you, and they got worse the more I tried to hide it,” Keng explained. “The dream knew that I needed this, and now… I've gotten what I needed.”
“A handjob,” Namping said, nodding sagely. It was so unexpected that the laugh that left Keng’s chest almost hurt, rolling onto his front to smother himself with the pillow. Namping laughed too, delighted at the success of his joke, rolling himself nearly on top of Keng and giggling in Keng’s ear. He pressed a mess of kisses to Keng’s face as the laughter subsided, Keng scooping Namping into his arms as he shifted onto his back. Namping’s body was a warm weight on top of him, their legs tangled together.
“We have to wash up,” Namping tried, pressing his palms to the mattress, a half-hearted attempt to push himself up. Keng tightened his hold, nosing at Namping’s jaw again.
“Just a bit longer,” he requested, and Namping just smiled down at him, Keng reveling in the way Namping melted into his arms. After a full two hours they finally got into the shower, and after another hour they finally got out, checking out of their room and starting the long journey to Keng’s family home. They did, after all, have some news for his parents.