Chapter Text
He’s beautiful.
Pat’s husband is so beautiful he might actually burst into tears right here, right now. He doesn’t, if only because waking Kajorn up with his incoherent sobbing sounds like a horrible way to begin their honeymoon.
There is something though—something about how unfazed and still Kajorn is in his sleep, even though the sunlight is falling straight on his face, his breathing so quiet Pat would believe he is dying if he didn’t know any better. He’s been getting tanned lately; and see, Pat is only human—meaning he wants nothing more than to latch to the beautiful expanse of tan skin, even if he did that just last night. He just needs more.
Maybe Kajorn is right. Maybe he is insatiable.
In his defense, who wouldn’t be insatiable if they had a husband like Kajorn? Tall, adorable, loving, puppy-loyal. Sometimes he’s a pain in the ass, sure, but even the best-behaved of puppies barks too loudly from time to time.
Kajorn shifts a little, just enough to face Pat.
His hair is a mess and his scalp is probably irritated from last night—Pat never learned to keep his hands to himself. It’s especially difficult now that Kajorn has let it grow. Not much, just enough for the bangs to fall on his eyes and be the slightest bit bothersome. Bothersome for him, anyway. Pat though? He’s having the time of his life.
There is something inherently unreal, and mind-blowing, and unbelievable, and every other synonym in the world that Pat is too tired to think of right now, about how in love he is with Kajorn (and vice versa, that he knows for a fact) even after all these years together. Whoever said high school relationships never last is a fucking liar. Because this beautiful, beautiful man loves him and Pat loves him and just when did his life make this one-eighty turn?
Oh wait, that happened the moment he met Kajorn.
Pat has heard Kajorn call his friends whipped so many times before, eventually including himself into that club. Pat might just need to join, too; Chinzhilla is a group of whipped, whipped men, and Pat is not the exception to the rule. None of the six is. That is to say, there is no exception and they are all losers in love. Which doesn’t sound that bad as it used to in Pat’s head in the past.
Oh, how the turntables.
Kajorn makes a soft, sleepy sound that makes Pat perk up. Just like all those lazy weekend mornings where Pat slept in and, for a change, Kajorn chose to stay with him and just stare. Appreciate. It has very rarely happened the other way around, like it is now.
If Pat didn’t love sleep so much, he would make sure to wake up extra early to take in Kajorn’s sleepy face every morning. Whipped, whipped man.
“Someone’s up early.” Kajorn’s voice is rough with sleep. It probably shouldn’t sound as attractive as it does, but oh well, Pat is fucking weird. Weird enough that it makes him smile. “And in a good mood.”
“Can you blame me? My husband looks really nice in the morning sun!”
He does, and if Kajorn ever dares argue, Pat will pester him until he gets it through his thick skull. Not that the scenario is likely, but—honestly, Pat just wants an excuse to kiss and praise his husband. Even if he really doesn’t need one and is free to do it ‘just because’.
“I’d argue my husband looks better than yours.” Kajorn has a weary smile on his face, his eyes still closed. Pat wants them open, just so that he can stare until he gets tired of it—that’s a dangerous thought though, seeing as he can’t seem to get enough of Kajorn. How can he? That’s his husband! His husband, holy shit!
Just to check, Pat looks down at his hand. Then Kajorn’s. The rings are still there. So no, none of what happened yesterday was a dream.
Holy shit. Holy shit.
“Nah, you haven’t seen mine.” Pat says, smile so big it’s starting to hurt. He shifts a little closer to Kajorn, just for the sake of being close. “He’s all soft and cute and sweet, like a little puppy. But he can also be so sexy when he wants to.”
It’s true, not to mention absolutely maddening. How the cute puppy with his tail wagging behind him can just change so quickly and become—not quite a wolf, actually, that’s just plain stereotypical. Pat is not sure yet how to call that side of Kajorn, but he loves it. Kind of filthy mouth (that’s Pat’s doing) and hands that know just where to touch (that came with the package) and eyes to the brim with fondness looking down at Pat (that was a slow-burn process; one Pat is so damn thankful for).
When Kajorn finally (finally) opens those pretty eyes of his, Pat has to fist the sheets and bite on his tongue to avoid the very much not masculine cry he wants to let out. Kajorn is pretty. Pretty, pretty, pretty. Pretty, prettier, prettiest. ‘Pretty’ doesn’t even sound like an actual word anymore.
“You seriously are so cute.” Kajorn speaks, all soft and sleepy and like Pat’s heart is not going crazy at just the sight of him.
And though Pat wants to deny that, mindlessly blurt out that no, you are the cutest and that’s final, I win—he doesn’t. Kajorn is stubborn enough to keep up the banter for so long, too long. And Pat doesn’t think he is awake for that just yet.
Instead, with a silly grin on his face, cheek mashed to the pillow, he asks, “Enough for you to write me love letters again?”
Kajorn, he knows, wrote a lot of those back in the day. To Pat, because of course the sappy bastard never had eyes for anyone that wasn’t Pat or his own studies; a boy who knows what he wants, that’s for sure.
Those were cheesy letters; Kajorn loves to make fun of him for liking rom-coms so much (though they do watch them together now—again, Pat’s doing), yet there he was spilling out his guts in writing. Handwriting as pretty as its owner and paragraphs upon paragraphs of adorably timid love confessions. Kajorn kept them a secret at first, most likely out of embarrassment, and only let the cat out of the bag when it became clear that this thing they had was there to stay. They are all in a drawer back home; the paper is all worn and torn in places, because Pat turns to them whenever he needs moral support and either, Kajorn is unavailable or Pat doesn’t want to bother him.
(Pat would be lying if he said he didn’t consider bringing one to the wedding. Moral support. Just in case. Better safe than sorry. That kind of stuff.)
“Who told you I ever stopped?” Kajorn chuckles. His nose is all scrunched up, cheeks puffy, his skin just fucking glowing.
“And you never told me? That’s so mean, Jorn! How can you do that to your poor husband?” Pat pouts and whines, but they are empty complaints. It makes Kajorn laugh.
“Well, for one, my husband was really stressed out. I didn’t want to make him cry more and risk him dying of dehydration.”
If Pat speaks now, he’s not sure what might come out of his mouth. Perhaps a scream at how adorable and sweet and thoughtful Kajorn is. Maybe he’d cry for real and Kajorn will have to comfort him. It would be unintelligible, that’s for sure—there is no way he can make sense with his brain overheating like this.
The stillness of the hotel room is broken when Kajorn asks in a quiet voice, “What are you thinking about?”
A lot. Too much. Mainly about you.
“You.” It may sound cheesy, but it’s the truth. “And how glad I am that you are in my life.”
Kajorn blinks. Once, twice, thrice. His lips part like he plans to say something, but nothing comes out. Pat wants to kiss him right here and now, and that gesture does not make things better.
“I’m seriously so in love with you, Kajorn.”
It’s not a love letter written in high-school and kept until well into adulthood. It’s simple and relatively short and bare-bones compared to the tens and hundreds of lines Kajorn has written. And yet, Kajorn looks like he could burst into tears. Pat has a hard time voicing his feelings—he has gotten better though, and it’s all thanks to his friends and thanks to Kajorn. So, when he does, Kajorn kind of doesn’t see it coming and it hits him like a truck. The dumbstruck look on his face will never fail to amuse Pat.
It’s adorable. He’s adorable.
Kajorn is a blushing, whiny mess when he buries his face in the crook of his neck. It tickles when he noses at the bare skin, and Pat comes to the realization, not for the first time, that he really is married to an actual dog.
“Puppy.” He says, simply. Matter-of-fact. An affectionate nickname Kajorn has learned to love and associate with adoration. “Can we...?”
Kajorn doesn’t answer at first, but Pat knows he understands what he’s getting at.
For a second, all Kajorn does is hold him close, face still hidden in the hollow of Pat’s neck. It’s cozy and domestic, just staying like this. Just the contact, just them. In this hotel room, away from Bangkok for a week. Chiang Mai is beautiful, but Pat will always be selfish and think it’s not as pretty as Kajorn. Not now, not ever.
When Kajorn finally answers, he sounds half-way between teasing and embarrassed. “You seriously didn’t get enough last night?”
“It’s our honeymoon, Kajorn. It’s kinda what couples do. And besides,” And this time, Pat does kiss him. On the cheek, big and loud and wanting to move to his lips immediately afterwards, “you like being my spoiled little puppy. Don’t think I can’t feel you getting excited.”
It’s meant as a teasing comment, although it does hold some truth to it. Kajorn is not subtle nor is he good at pretending he’s not aroused. Pat loves it; it makes it so much easier to get under his skin.
“Pat...” Kajorn whines.
Pat can’t resist it. He laughs.
“Sorry, too much?”
Kajorn’s answer comes with his face finally parting from Pat’s neck. Eyes this rich shade of brown that catches the sunlight just perfectly, lips still a bit kiss-swollen from last night and—God, Pat just loves this man so fucking much.
“Kiss me?”
And what is Pat supposed to do? Say no?
“My pleasure.”
Kajorn’s cheek feels hot and beautiful and so full of life when he reaches out to touch. For the sake of touching. Just because. Just because Kajorn enjoys the physical touch.
He can feel the buzz of his heart in his ears when his lips meet Kajorn’s. And that’s alright, actually. It’s freaking delightful and Pat would gladly die of it.
After all, he’s kissing the most beautiful man in all of Thailand.