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Nighttime is Khem’s favorite time of day.
Long after the dusk has faded, warm reds and purples blending indiscriminately into lonely shades of black; long after the crowd dissipates, the remaining guests now subdued – haze and smoke making them lazy, hedonistic; long after the taphon’s beat had echoed in his ears, synchronizing with the rhythm of his heart, blood rushing, alive.
Nighttime is Khem’s favorite time of day because he gets to see Chat.
He sees him all the time, but not like he does at night – tucked away and hidden, no one but the two of them, in Khem’s room.
They spend their time talking and laughing, teasing and bantering with each other over the soft lantern light; Chat’s eyes always shine a certain way with the flames so near, glittering with… something Khem can’t quite place. He doesn’t know if there’s a word in their language to describe the way Chat looks at him like he does.
He hopes he finds one.
Sometimes, the conversation lulls and comfortable silence settles between them: Khem beside Chat, legs spread just enough so their knees can touch, feeling skin through silky linen.
Khem’s face still heats at the anticipation that builds – no matter how many nights they’ve spent together like this, how many times he’s had Chat’s lips, and tongue, and teeth – his cheeks still warm, his heart still pounds, and that swelling feeling in his gut still rises, swooning when Chat finally, finally, places a hand on his inner thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles into it.
Khem shivers and tenses, feeling his breath quicken when he notices him staring – and it’s different this time: his eyes are bottomless, empty, hungry, and he wonders if Chat can read the wanton expression on his own face. He’s sure he looks somewhat like the patrons of Man Suang: dreamy and debauched – face tilted up with eyes only just slit open; if this is the feeling people chase here, Khem can understand why. His entire body tingles from Chat’s gentle touches, wandering hands making his skin vibrate beneath his clothes.
He prays the feeling will never end.
Afterward, when the moon begins to wane in the night sky, still glooming bright with the twinkling stars, they lie together on the futon in a heap of tangled limbs. They talk again, slow, purposeless words with drooping eyelids, Khem’s face buried in the safety of Chat’s neck, feeling him trace aimless patterns, love letters, Chat had teased once, into his shoulder.
They prolong the time as much as they can, dozing on and off in each other’s company until the morning birds wake them at dawn, shattering the illusion they had built in the privacy of Khem’s quarters. Any moment now, the rest of the den will rise, and Chat and Khem will return back to how they usually are – longing glances and secret smiles – until the night comes for them once again.
Nighttime is Khem’s favorite time of day because he gets to see Chat.