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Pat and Pran hadn’t been dating long, and they weren’t even close to ready to tell anyone yet, which worked for both of them, because Pran wanted to have control over when his family found out, and Pat loved sneaking around.
Loved it.
It probably wasn’t the secret so much as the fact that he enjoyed making Pran flustered. He liked passing notes to Pran as they walked past each other, liked texting him during class just to see him blush or make him turn around and glare, liked when they had a brief moment alone and he could plant a kiss on his cheek out of nowhere just before someone could see. It made sense, really; Pat had never liked being too far away from Pran. While Pran had spent half his life pining from a distance, eyes always seeking out Pat, Pat had spent that same amount of time following him around, walking in front of him, always trying to move closer, get in his space.
And Pran might tell him he hated it, might complain and shove him away, but there was a tiny part of him that was revelling in how much Pat seemed to want to be with him. It made his heart skip every time, and he started to look forward to those little moments more than he had ever let himself believe he could back when he thought this was unrequited.
That did not mean, however, that he wouldn’t panic if Pat showed up at his house.
Which, of course, inevitably happened.
How could it not? He used to do it before they were dating, why would Pran assume things would be different now?
Pran was home for the weekend to spend time with his family and he’d been there for not even a day, taking some time to study in his room, when something made a thumping noise near the window and he turned to see Pat there, finger covering the grin on his lips.
Pran scrambled to his feet and tried to push him back towards the window, hissing, “What the hell are you doing here? Go back, go home, get out-”
“But I missed you,” Pat said quietly, pouting and sliding his hands around his waist, pulling him closer.
Pran ignored the shiver that ran up his spine at the close contact and shoved at Pat’s shoulders. “Pat, you asshole, if my parents catch you in here they’ll kill you and then me, and then we’ll never be able to see each other again, because we’ll be dead, so you need to go.”
“Babe,” Pat whined, pouting at him in that annoying way that drove Pran crazy.
“It’s been less than a day since I saw you. I’m coming home tomorrow,” Pran pointed out, and realised as he did that he’d said home. Not ‘uni,’ not ‘the dorm,’ but home. And it was true - he felt more at home in those two little apartments with Pat than he ever really had in his own house. He was comfortable there, he could be himself… and he could be close to Pat without feeling the need to look over his shoulder in a panic.
Speaking of-
“Pran, are you okay?” His mother’s voice called up the stairs. “I heard a strange noise!”
“I just knocked my pencil case off the shelf,” he yelled through the door. “Sorry!”
“Okay,” she said sceptically, but he didn’t hear her footsteps on the stairs, so he relaxed, just a little.
He turned his gaze back to Pat, who still hadn’t let go of him, and in fact was trying to get closer, nose burrowing into his shoulder the way he’d become accustomed to. “Seriously, how is it possible for you to smell so good? I think about it all the time. I don’t even think it’s your laundry, I think it’s just you.”
Pran felt his cheeks warm up, embarrassed and affectionate and wanting nothing more than to let him stay and stay and stay- But he shouldn’t. He shoved fruitlessly at Pat’s shoulder again. “Shut up, go home.”
“Why?” Pat pouted again, but there was a glint in his eye now, and he tilted his head up towards Pran’s, nose brushing against his jaw as he did. “Your mom didn’t suspect anything.”
He clenched his jaw, using his remaining willpower to shake his head. “But she could come up here at any moment-”
Pat grinned - he knew he’d already won. “So we’ll be quiet.”
And then his lips were on Pran’s and there was really nothing in the world that could make him resist that, and he wasn’t sure when his hands ended up on Pat’s neck but he was tugging him closer, and Pat’s arms around his waist were tightening, like he wanted every inch of Pran’s body pressed against his own.
Pran knew the feeling.
He barely held back a gasp when Pat’s hand slipped under his shirt and started sliding up his spine, making his heart go haywire. And he knew that he was doing it on purpose.
Two could play at that game.
He felt Pat’s heart thumping through his fingertips when he tilted his head, moving in the way he knew drove him crazy.
Pat retaliated by shifting a knee between his legs and- goddammit that really wasn’t fair.
Pran was struck by the thought that their competitive streak really was going to get them caught someday, but he brushed it aside in favour of tangling his hands in Pat’s hair and hearing all the air whoosh from his chest.
That seemed to break something in Pat, who bundled him into his arms and lifted, and Pran helplessly wrapped his legs around his waist, so desperate to be closer, kiss him harder, love him more, that he lost all sense of his surroundings.
Which meant he didn’t have the sense to make sure there were no obstacles behind them as Pat moved towards the bed.
Pat’s thigh slammed into the side of the desk near the shelves, distance badly miscalculated, and things started clattering to the floor - a photo frame, a pencil case, his globe that bounced loudly towards the window.
They both pulled back and froze, staring at each other in dead silence, holding their breaths.
Shit.
Footsteps on the stairs.
“Pran? Are you okay? I heard more banging?” His mother’s voice was getting closer to the door.
Pat’s grip was loosening on his thighs and he stepped forward quietly, pressing Pran’s back against the wall next to the shelves to relieve some of the pressure on his straining - and very distracting - arms. He dropped his head into the crook of Pran's neck, seemingly trying to be hold himself together and be quiet. One of the posters was creasing at Pran's shoulder, and if they stayed this way much longer he was going to seriously mess up the layout of the wall, he just knew it. But for the first time, he found he didn’t really care. He’d let Pat mess up his entire room if he’d just keep leaning into him like that.
“Sorry, Ma, I was sketching for an assignment and I knocked some things off the desk,” he called out, praying to every god imaginable that his mother didn’t attempt to enter his room. He couldn’t even bear to think about what would happen if she saw this. “I couldn’t get the right angle!”
“This angle is great, actually,” Pat murmured, and then the asshole started kissing his neck.
“I’m going to kill you,” he hissed, swallowing through the feeling. Which didn’t help, because then Pat’s mouth was on his Adam’s apple and yeah- he was really going to kill him.
“Well, okay,” Pran’s mother said, and her feet started moving further away. “Be more careful next time.”
“Okay!” He was certain his voice sounded strangled, but he was hoping the walls would cover it enough.
He felt his asshole boyfriend’s grin against his neck, felt the flick of his tongue against his thrumming pulse, and he could feel himself starting to lose it.
He yanked on Pat’s hair to get a reprieve, but that was a mistake, because Pat made a noise that - even muffled against his neck - was unmistakably a moan. They both froze again, and Pat tilted his head back to mouth an apology, dropping a kiss to his chin to emphasise it.
The footsteps halted on the landing. “Pran? Are you sure you’re okay?”
Pran was going to kill Pat, he really was, just as soon as he could think coherently again. He glared down at him, willing for him to be silent, while Pat just stared back with that loving gaze, like nothing was wrong, thumbs brushing his skin absentmindedly.
“I’m fine, Ma, I just stubbed my toe on the desk,” he said loudly. “It’s my own fault for knocking things off it, I need to reorientate my room. I might be late down for dinner, I want to do it right.”
“Do you need help?”
“No! No, it’s fine,” Pran said hurriedly.
“Well, good, I’m glad you’re taking the initiative,” she said. “We’ll leave you some food for when you’re done.”
Finally, finally, he could hear her footsteps receding down the stairs.
Once he was certain she was out of earshot, he smacked Pat’s shoulder and hissed, “You asshole, why did you have to make that noise?!”
Pat grinned sheepishly. “I didn’t know I was going to make that noise. I couldn’t help it - it just felt so nice.” He tilted his head at him in that puppy dog way he had. “Do it again.”
Pran scowled. “No. You nearly got us caught!”
“I’ll help you move your desk around,” he offered.
“You should do that anyway; you’re the one who got us into this mess,” Pran muttered, dismissive, but he couldn’t help but feel a swell of warmth for his stupid, lovable boyfriend. He scrunched his fingers into his hair as he leaned back in and kissed him on his stupid, lovable mouth. Pat sighed into it happily, hands tightening on his thighs, and Pran was going to go absolutely wild with desire if they kept this up.
He should pull back. He should tell Pat to put him to down. He should really make Pat move the desk around, and pick up his things from the floor. He was also going to have to find his bruise ointment again later, because there was no way Pat's leg wasn't hurting from hitting the desk that hard. He should make the sensible choice, instead of every choice he ever made where Pat was concerned. But he just wanted to kiss his boyfriend for a little longer.
Every time, he wanted just a little longer; no matter how often it happened now he always wanted Pat to linger a while, to make him forget everything that separated them and pull him in close.
Just a bit closer.
Just a bit more.
One day maybe it would be enough.
But not today.
Today, he just wanted to kiss his boyfriend for a little longer.