Content Warning: This work is intended for mature (NC17) audiences. If you are younger, please kindly leave this site.
~~~
"Just take him with you, then."
Jae Dream is always bloody selling me out! Dear thought.
That short, simple sentence, which had resounded half an hour prior, caused the splendid Aston Martin to bear, as its front-seat passenger, a young man—owner of red lips and large eyes—who now wore a thoroughly sullen countenance, the kind that desired not to pout and be deemed queer by any. But... the young man Jae Dream had entrusted to him? He kissed me yesterday. UGH!
"Why make such a face?" The driver was utterly unperturbed, acting entirely as usual, to the point where Dear wished to shout through the car, Phîi kissed me yesterday; take responsibility, bloody hell!
"Such a countenance as what, Phîi Porsche?" Since his Phîi-next-door wished to act as if nothing had occurred, he turned to gaze instead, striving to adopt a confrontational expression, his two hands clutching the bag of snacks the other's Mâe had sent along tightly.
The question made Purin raise an eyebrow slightly before his lips curved upward.
"Like... a dog forsaken by its owner."
"I am not a dog!" Dear responded, suspecting he was being called a dog, until he had to protest in a sullen voice, raising his face to use his large eyes, striving to glare fiercely at the one who looked fine even in mere jeans and a dark t-shirt, and driving one-handed again.
Good Lord, Phîi is handsome, is he not? His mere driving posture makes my heart tremble. I don't like it. Why, whenever I am near Phîi Porsche, are my emotions akin to a woman's in the novels Jae Dream favors, confound it?
The listener merely laughed softly as he maneuvered the luxurious car to join the queue for the expressway. Though he had driven to and fro thus for over half a year, he never favored it, for he despised traffic. Sunday evenings were worse still. Thus, he had resolved the matter by seldom returning to sleep at home. Even when he visited his family, it was often on an evening when he must attend the company the next day. But on this day, he had a companion.
Well, it dispels loneliness.
Pat
Yet again, he patted Dear's head. I am not a dog, confound it!
Dear could only tell himself this inwardly, as that large hand rested snap on his head as usual and shook it to and fro. He did not know why Phîi Porsche often treated him as a little one. His thoughts halted thud when a deep voice spoke.
"Then be my puppy."
He was silent not from outrage at being called a dog again, no, but his cheeks flared hot suddenly, forcing him to turn aside. He wished not to admit his heart fluttered inexplicably. Moreover, the words of his Sailor Moon pair (for both their names meant 'moon') resounded in his mind.
Or should I flirt, confound it?
Then, as if his feelings outpaced his mind, he raised his face, making his eyes wide and clear, as when he wheedled his Phôo or Mâe. Then he broke into a broad smile, speaking in a whining tone, as when he coaxed his Jae to buy him something.
The demeanor caused the one who glanced over—having turned inadvertently—to catch his breath for a moment.
"Know you, Phîi Porsche, puppies require much warmth! They grow attached to their owner. The owner must feed them thrice daily, and eat with them too, yes? Play with them often. And also, puppies at this stage need their owner to raise them well, give them warmth, teach them much... so when grown, they become not a dog lacking warmth..."
Âi Dear, do not let Âi Shin hear this. He will curse me, calling me wanton, surely. Am I not telling Phîi Porsche to give me much warmth, dine with me each meal, care for me well? Is that so?
The thought made his cheeks hotter, but Dear strove to raise his face, shrugging his eyebrows and squinting, as if to say, If you would take me as your puppy, can you manage, Phîi? Until the listener, silent a moment, glanced over. As he steered the luxurious car from the rightmost lane to the middle, the speed slowed somewhat.
Smack
"Good Lord!" Dear, about to settle back after leaning forward, shouted loudly throughout the passenger cabin when the other's hand swiftly locked onto his neck, pulling him close. He could only widen his eyes, shocked almost to death as the car tilted slightly.
"Why shout thus, Dear? I was startled and might collide with the car in front. What then?" Phîi Porsche scolded, making the shouter's countenance falter. He hastened to protest it was not his fault.
"Then why grasp my neck, confound it?"
"Oh, didn't you say that puppies need warmth? I feared my dog would have trouble, so I gave it some warmth."
Snap
Bloody hell, Jae Dream, Phîi Porsche teases me!
At the close of the words from he who feared his dog had troubles of the mind, Dear snapped his head up and beheld the handsome face bending to offer a broad smile briefly before turning back to the road. But those gleaming eyes, which had made his heart itch since their meeting a week prior, and the deft lane change amidst the situation, made him realize... he had been outwitted by Phîi Porsche.
That scolding voice just now... you smiled, did you not, confound it? Aye, I am never swifter than you!
"Oh, has my puppy fallen silent?"
What could he say? He was locking his neck and drawing him to his chest thus. Stop crushing me, damn it. Possessive, hear you, owner? I am possessive of myself!
He who claimed possessiveness yet allowed the other to tousle his head playfully, wished not to admit that Phîi Porsche's chest was warm. Very warm. So warm he unwittingly nestled where pulled. Moreover, that faint perfume, akin to sunlight, assailed him again. At length, he could only permit himself to be held and tousled until his head was a disheveled mess for several minutes before Purin released him.
"Well, what would you eat? Let us find something before returning to the condo. I desire not to be accused of neglecting my dog."
So, you are resolved to make me your dog, are you? Just you wait. Dogs are possessive of their owners, know you not?
But he who should have turned to protest loudly instead accepted his status resignedly. Well, a rich owner with a heart like an auntie... anything suffices. It is worth it, curses. This is mere greed for food. It concerns not liking him. Not at all.
"Som tam... I desire som tam." He voiced his wish. He had craved it since earlier, upon seeing a program where foreigners made Thai food. And their som tam was not Thai at all. Thus, he desired authentic fare. Phîi Porsche turned with a slightly oddly surprised expression before smiling.
"At your command, Khrap."
Don't speak like that, ugh. Don't you know... it makes me shy?
While offering his music discs for the other to choose, perchance he wished to listen, Purin told himself he cared specially for this junior because he was an endearing Nong-next-door. And another reason was his friend's entrustment... perchance.
Care well for my Nong. If anything befalls him, you are dead, Khun friend.
That was all... truly.
"Auntie, Khrap! Make a spicy crab som tam, please, Auntie!"
Within the restaurant—which Dear had just learned was but a block from his condo—the young man hastened to the owner, who pounded with vigor. The pok-pok-pok of mortar and pestle echoed through the restaurant. Though it was almost half past seven, customers thronged, with few tables free.
"Can you manage?"
"Good Lord, Auntie! With a face like mine, I excel at spicy, Khrap!" When the auntie asked with an endearing look, he, feeling slighted, replied swiftly, puffing his chest. Though often teased for a Khun-chai face, this Nai Dranphat excelled at spicy, blast it! Though his throat was not a steel pipe, in matters of food, he never faltered.
"Good Lord, Dear, can you manage? Auntie's spicy is truly spicy," said he who had just parked and followed, protesting slightly. Dear turned to Phîi Porsche, then to the auntie, who seemed a true Isan native. Her pounding bespoke authenticity.
"Oh, this handsome young man! Come, sit first. Order anything, tell the staff, handsome young man." When the auntie beheld Phîi Porsche, her face lit as if meeting a favored likay hero. The fine-looking young man smiled and led the way inside. Dear could not resist asking.
[[Translator's Note: ลิเก (likay) is traditional Thai folk theater.]]
"Come you oft?"
"Two or three times. Sometimes factory subordinates invite me," Purin said casually, handing over the tucked menu. The listener nodded vigorously, having learned days prior that Phîi Porsche dwelt in a condo not for novel-like reasons of proximity to work for his family's 'hero' status, but because the main factory was near. The main office was downtown, equidistant from home. Thus, Phîi Porsche had bought a unit here.
I do not often go to the company. Many seniors dwell there, with many matters. I learn the work at the factory first, and it will not be late to manage at the company after.
So he said.
"So, what shall it be?"
"Phîi, is it very spicy here?" Purin nodded, making him who would order spicy hesitate briefly. He turned to order from the young woman, likely the owner's granddaughter. Finishing, he asked the host if he desired anything else, prompting Purin to look up.
"Then another plate of grilled pork neck for me, Khrap."
"But I ordered grilled chicken, Phîi Porsche."
"Come, I desire it." He could not protest the redundancy, but well, Phîi Porsche paid, perchance, which made him smile. Purin ordered drinks, unaware that what he ordered... was for this large-eyed junior.
"Heh, can you manage?"
"Confound it... I can... I can manage..."
When all food was set on the table, and Phîi Porsche nodded to begin, Dear scooped a large portion of the appetizing som tam into his mouth. The flavor, well-blended, though very spicy, satisfied the eater, making the young man smile brightly, scooping eagerly. He molded sticky rice into balls, eating without pause. But by the third or fourth bite, the self-proclaimed spice-master was almost weeping, his nose and eyes streaming.
Especially when faced with the question and two hearty laughs he loathed, the young man whose face was now deep red gritted his teeth and said.
"Desire you water?" Purin said, pouring Coke into a glass for the clear-faced junior, whose fair cheeks were strikingly red—perchance nigh... pitiable.
Gulp
No need to ask. Once the glass was full, Dear seized it and drank greedily, extending his red tongue and waving it. The auntie, with customers now departing, approached with concern.
"Can you manage, junior?"
"I can, I can, Khrap, Auntie. More... is this medium spicy?" He asked amid gulps, raising his sweat-drenched face to the one who nodded. But I ordered medium spicy, did I not? This is bloody die-level spicy, understand?
"Good Lord, then for very spicy, how many chilies, Auntie?" He had heard, while poking his food, that he did not see the vivid color at first, finding only green bird's eye chilies across the plate. Confound it, it deceived the eyes into thinking it was not spicy.
The question prompted the auntie to fetch a tray of garden chilies, grasping a full handful.
"This is very spicy. And this... is medium spicy."
Alas, is that half-handful your medium spicy, Khrap? At home, medium spicy is five chilies. Serves me right, Âi Dear, for not heeding Phîi Porsche's warning.
He could only tell himself, tears falling, for pride choked him. Having said he could eat it, he must, no? Moreover, Phîi Porsche gazed with smiling eyes, urging him to finish. Yet the teaser (he now knew Phîi Porsche was a bloody teaser) slid the grilled pork neck to him—after he dipped grilled chicken into the som tam to counter the spice—with a broad smile.
"Here, perhaps you desire some."
Confound it! I'm irritated, confound it! Vexed at Auntie, at Phîi Porsche, at the som tam, at that mad foreigner who made som tam—
"Alas, spicy! Spicy, blast it!"
After paying for the meal, he who was spicy to the point of headache cried out to himself, as if shouting would ease the burn. His fair hand held a tissue, dabbing his sweat-soaked face—his nose ran too, confound it—until he who unlocked the car almost shook his head in amusement.
"Phîi Porsche, I shall run to buy a Coke first, yes? I cannot endure."
Gulp
"You have drunk three bottles of Coke today. You will suffer a stomachache. I have water in the car." Before he could run, Purin seized his wrist. Perchance the concerned gaze made the listener nod vigorously, hastening to his side of the car to seek the small water bottle often given at gas stations. Finding it, he opened it and gulped greatly.
The demeanor made Purin, seated as driver, look with pity. Dear's face was deep red now. His fair skin made the flush more vivid than others'.
"It does not stop the spice, confound it, Phîi," said he who lowered the bottle, with a pleading expression, eyes brimming with tears from the spice.
I said if you could not eat it, you should not. But you persisted and finished the plate. No wonder you're in this state. He still extended his tongue, waving his hand in front of his face.
Purin paused in thought briefly before shaking his head, as if dismissing it. But the one beside him mumbled 'spicy' stoplessly, sniffing hard until... he resolved.
"Dear, remain still, yes?"
What? Remain still? What...
The spicy young man stood stunned. Before he could think why Phîi Porsche told him to be still, a large hand locked onto his neck. Then that handsome face—which made his heart tremble daily—leaned down and pressed his mouth swiftly (again).
The third kiss was not merely a firm press, nor a light nibble. Purin inserted the tip of his tongue through the parted, vividly red lips, now redder still. A warmth almost hot swept deeply, touching the soft tongue, making its owner startle violently. He meant to retreat but was hindered by the large hand pressing his neck to receive the heavier kiss.
A kiss that, were it another, Dear swore he would strike their mouth bloody. But because it was Phîi Porsche.
Because it was Phîi Porsche.
The thoughts of him who closed his eyes slowly. A small hand clutched the other's shirt tightly as the hot tongue glided over his soft, fiercely hot tongue, entwining until the sound of exchanged saliva echoed through the cabin. The handsome face tilted further for an angle to press the kiss tighter.
Every part of his mouth was swept by the hot tongue, like a charm turning torturous spice into... a sweetness that lured his heart.
It was warm. It was hot. But above all... it was sweet.
From an intent to merely aid the Nong in front of him, upon tasting that sweetness, Purin shifted the angle again. Both hands held the other's neck firmly as he pressed the kiss more heavily, such that the little one responded clumsily—until their lips' meeting echoed loudly. It might have continued thus, but for...
"Mmm." A soft moan escaped Dear's throat, making him open his eyes wide. He never thought he could utter a moan akin to an innocent young woman in this life. Purin paused briefly, withdrawing his lips, sensing that just now... it exceeded his initial intent.
Purin looked at the young man breathing heavily, his vivid lips smeared with clear fluid. He could not resist lifting his thumb to wipe gently before pulling back. His handsome face turned aside, as if collecting himself briefly.
"Is the spice gone?"
"Well... aye... it is gone, Khrap." If before, he suffered torturous spice, now Dear's face burned hot, and he could do nothing. I admit, I courted women before, but it was puppy love. At most, lips touched lips. And we didn't last three months before parting. Thus, that bloody fine kiss just now... the true experience was my first.
And the prior spiciness... he admitted, now... only a sting remained, and... the warmth of the tongue's touch everywhere.
"Well, good. Next time, if you cannot endure, don't force." Purin turned back, his handsome face bearing the same Phîi smile. A large hand shook the other's head gently with affection before he started the car.
The demeanor made the listener blurt a question.
"Phîi... Phîi Porsche, do you use this method to cure spice for all?" Is that too bold, confound it, Phîi? And it stabs my chest, thinking you might do this with others.
The question made Purin pause briefly before shaking his head.
"Noo..." Then he turned and smiled broadly after starting the car. The answer that made the listener turn to the window, resolved not to meet his gaze, resounded.
"For none have lips as red as yours, little one."
"Phîi Porsche is bloody fucking mad." The same words escaped again as he pressed his lips tightly. This answer means you kissed me for my lip's hue again, no?
"And also..."
"Aye, I know my lips are soft. Drive, Phîi. Turn away, damn it. Turn!" This time, he shouted loudly through the car, making the teasing older person laugh heartily. The odd atmosphere vanished swiftly, though he who laughed heartily asked himself in a troubled voice.
What have you done again, Purin?
A question Purin had no answer for himself.
In the early morning, when no student was diligent enough to be at the university, a tall figure in a dark shirt, jeans, and a shop shirt stood vexed beside his motorcycle—a trusty bike used for years, now stalled mid-journey, though his classroom was but two buildings away.
"Stalled, confound it." A low, gruff voice—which friends told him not to use at night, for it seemed fearsome as a bank robber's—muttered irritably. Seeing his watch almost half past six, he wished not to linger as a target. He seized his phone and called a close friend.
"What is it?" His friend's voice was sluggish, as if he would wake in two hours, making the caller scowl irritably.
"My bike is broken, confound it. Come help me."
"As if I could aid you. I study controls, not mechanics!" The reply was utterly heartless, making this side more vexed.
"Come help me properly. It is almost half past six. The first-years will see it all, confound it." Words that should have roused the other to speak properly. Allowing first-years to see a Head wák third-year in a wretched state was unfit.
"Who insisted you go to university so early, Âi Oat? Break not the Phîi wák's rule of attending class late." Sai-fah said wearily. Who deemed being a Phîi wák easy? Besides cheer meetings, where they acted as if pursued by mafia for debts, they hid from first-years everywhere, heads low. Even at lunch, they lurked in the department room, friends bringing food, for it was almost a rule that Phîi wáks appear not in normal hours, lest they lose mystery.
Thus, they had two paths: arrive at dawn like Âi Oat, or late, as when teachers taught, like Âi Sai-fah.
"Will you aid me or not?"
"No, confound it. It is but past six. Push your bike under the building. No junior will see. Tonight, I shall have someone from home tow it for repair." The answer made the Head wák curse his friend irritably before hanging up. He stuffed his phone into his bag, deeming it useless. Time spent arguing, I could have been the cherished junior pushing it under the building.
The sight of the large older person, having removed his shop shirt and backpack, slinging them over the bike seat, made first-years—who should not appear now—furrow their brows.
That black-jacket Phîi wák, no?
Dear, sleepless (again) from that heart-shaking kiss, stood hesitating after alighting from the car. That fierce-looking senior with stubble like a great bandit was surely the wák who scolded him last Friday. But his vexed demeanor with phone and motorcycle left Dear unsettled.
Aid... aid not... aid... aid not...
Alas, Âi Dear, forget it. What is there to fear in a mere Phîi wák?
At length, the good young man (who never knew how much his friends cared) approached bravely yet fearfully, following the older person with a minibike—not as large as a sports bike, yet not as small as a common motorcycle.
"Well, Phîi, Khrap."
And Âi Sai-fah, said you no juniors were about?
He who cursed his friend inwardly sighed, then donned a fierce countenance, heedless that his bike was in a sorry state. He turned snap to the speaker.
"What?"
"Well... shall I aid, Khrap?" Though the junior flinched slightly, he offered a smile. Oat narrowed his eyes, then recalled.
"Khun... Dranphat."
"Well... Khrap, I am Dranphat, Khrap." Dear hastened to affirm. I admit, I fear somewhat. On Friday, he berated until some girls wept. And now I face that fierce uneducated one (as Âi Shin names him).
"Have you business?" Though taken aback by the smile and large eyes gazing directly, as a Phîi wák, he could only ask in a strong voice. The junior glanced at his minibike.
"Shall I aid, Khrap?"
"No need. Go study." Oat spoke in a sterner voice, as if forcing the junior to trouble him not. But the listener looked hesitant. Perchance seeing his shirt, soaked from trying to start the bike almost twenty minutes, made that stubborn head shake to and fro.
"Let me aid, please, Khrap. I have class at nine." Dear insisted on aiding. The senior seemed displeased, judged by his thick, furrowed brows.
"I am a Phîi ra-bìap, know you." The large older person stressed again, as if warning that meddling with a Phîi wák—or, politely, Phîi ra-bìap—would bring trouble. But this made the junior blink rapidly and scratch his cheek.
"Well... is there a rule against aiding a Phîi ra-bìap, Khrap?"
Had he made a more provoking face, Oat was certain he would have shouted for disrespect. But the guileless demeanor and direct gaze made him sigh heavily and toss his bag and shop shirt to the young man, who cought them almost too late.
"Carry those, then." Though secretly vexed at having things thrown, the listener nodded vigorously and smiled amiably. He walked to the other side of the motorcycle, which the large senior pushed steadily. I wish to aid more, but don't know how.
The smile made the recipient turn aside. Though he thought the senior would be silent as a log, the strong voice, fearsome, spoke.
"You have class at nine. Why come so early?"
Well...
Too idle to be shy in the morn, so I fled early, Khrap. Answer thus, and he will think me mad.
"Well... I... woke early, Khrap." He spoke, head bowed. The other seemed to seek no true answer, only to break the silence. The way remained quiet, making him feel this Phîi wák was fearsome even in silence.
"Here, Phîi." At the building, Dear placed all he carried on the leather seat. He raised his hands in a respectful wai, as a junior should, then turned to depart, seeing the senior spoke nothing.
"Dranphat."
"Khrap?" He turned, puzzled, then noted the mouth's corner—straight and stubbled—curve slightly.
"Thank you."
The words made Dear bow swiftly and hasten to the next building. He could not resist thinking the senior was... not so fierce as he seemed.
Alas, these Phîi wáks, Phîi ra-bìaps... what is there to fear? It is all pretense. Jae's friend, who squeals they are attractive, was a wák too. They but craft situations for juniors to bond, forging ties between seniors and juniors. Too idle to reveal, but each is madder than thought.
"Perchance true, as Jae Dream said." He shrugged, caring little.
Unlike he who tended his motorcycle, looking up. A rare smile, which friends said made his quiet demeanor fearsome, rose uncontrollably.
Dranphat, is it?
Comments
Post a Comment