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Heng’s Google search history was already embarrassing enough, but this? This was a new low.
He wasn’t even sure how it had come to this point. One moment, he was genuinely just looking up information—because, honestly, how else was he supposed to figure out the logistics of gay sex? It wasn’t like there was a step-by-step manual handed out when two men started dating. And while Mo had more experience than he did, Heng was too proud (and frankly, too mortified) to ask him directly.
So, he had done what any rational, responsible, totally not panicking adult would do: he had opened Google and typed in, How does gay sex work?
And that had been his first mistake.
The sheer amount of information was overwhelming, ranging from educational resources to graphic descriptions he was absolutely not prepared to read at ten in the morning. One article tried to be informative, listing out steps in a clinical tone, but the words anal preparation and lubrication is key had him slamming his laptop shut so fast he nearly sprained his wrist.
His face burned with secondhand embarrassment—from himself, no less. He peeked over his shoulder, irrationally worried that Mo had somehow developed psychic abilities and would walk in at the worst possible moment. The last thing he needed was Mo seeing his search history and realizing what a clueless mess he was.
Because, well, Heng was clueless.
He had never been with a man before. Had never even thought about it before Mo came into his life like some kind of storm, uprooting everything he thought he knew about himself. And now, here he was, in love with his best friend, dating him, and suddenly hyperaware of the fact that sooner or later, they would have to address the glaring issue of sex.
Not that Mo had pressured him. If anything, Mo was careful—too careful. They kissed, they cuddled, and while Mo was affectionate, there was always a sense of restraint on his end, as if he was waiting for Heng to take the lead.
The problem? Heng had no idea what he was doing.
Sure, he understood the general concept. He had seen enough porn in his life to know how things were supposed to work, but knowing and doing were two entirely different things. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he had absolutely no idea where to start.
Which led to mistake number two: clicking on a forum post titled Help! My boyfriend and I want to have sex, but I don’t know what I’m doing!
He should have known better.
Instead of straightforward advice, he got horror stories— painful first times, awkward positions gone wrong, and a particularly horrifying thread about someone getting stuck.
Heng shut his laptop again.
Nope. Absolutely not.
He pushed away from his desk, running his hands through his hair. Maybe he was overthinking this. Maybe he should just… let things happen naturally. Mo had never pushed him, and they had always been good at communicating. If he was struggling, shouldn’t he just talk to Mo about it?
The mere thought made his stomach churn with mortification.
How was he supposed to bring it up? Over dinner? Hey, Mo, can you tell me how this whole gay sex thing works because I have no clue and I’m freaking out?
Yeah, no. He’d rather die.
He groaned, flopping onto his bed and burying his face in his pillow. This was ridiculous. He was a grown man. A professional. Someone who handled million-baht real estate deals without breaking a sweat. And yet, the idea of talking about sex like an adult had him spiraling into a full-blown crisis.
That was when he found himself on his phone, instead of the laptop, scrolling on a certain website. The videos were smaller on this screen, which made the whole idea easier, more manageable.
At first, it was out of sheer curiosity. Research. He was being thorough. No harm in seeing how it actually worked, right? Maybe it would be helpful. Maybe it could help him take the anxiety out of the thoughts lingering in his head.
It was not helpful.
The first video he clicked on was… a lot. For one, it was loud. The moment it started playing, a deep, guttural moan blasted through his speakers, and Heng had nearly knocked over half the tables content in his frantic scramble to hit mute. His heart was racing. He had the sudden, irrational fear that his mother—who no longer lived with him—somehow knew what he was doing and was judging him from afar.
Once he had recovered from the initial panic, he focused on the screen.
And then, almost immediately, he frowned.
It was… fine? He supposed? But his body wasn’t reacting the way he thought it would. The men were conventionally attractive, and they were certainly enthusiastic, but something about it felt… off. Mechanical, even. Like a performance. He watched for a few more minutes, hoping something would click.
It didn’t click. Not after the second, third or fourth video. By the time the tenth video showed sexual positions that simply couldn’t be healthy, he clicked the back button, an uneasiness settling in his bones.
Heng was just about to write the whole thing off when another thumbnail caught his eye.
And that was how everything changed.
Because the man in the thumbnail looked like Mo. not a twin, clearly not Mo himself, but close. Too close.
Same build, same sharp features, same way his mouth quirked up on one side. Even his hair was similar, though Mo’s was softer, a little messier. Heng hesitated for only a second before clicking on it.
And that was his undoing.
Because suddenly, he wasn’t thinking about some nameless actor on screen anymore.
Suddenly, it wasn’t actors at all.
It was him and Mo .
His mind filled in the blanks before he could stop it. The touches, the kisses, the weight of Mo against him—it wasn’t something distant or theoretical anymore. It was real. Real , in a way that had heat crawling up his spine and settling low in his stomach.
And this time, his body definitely reacted.
**
Heng was not ashamed.
(Okay, he was a little ashamed.)
But mostly, he was excited. This was a breakthrough. A realization . He’d been so unsure of himself, unsure of how he truly felt about taking things further, but now he knew . And if he knew one thing about himself, it was that he was someone who took action once he made a decision.
Which was why, the very next evening, he turned to Mo, cleared his throat, and said, „I think I’m ready for the next step.”
Mo looked up, blinking. “What?”
Heng cleared his throat. “You know. The next step.”
Mo frowned, clearly trying to follow the train of thought Heng had just shoved him onto. “Like, moving in together? No, we already live together?Getting engaged? Heng, we can’t get married yet, that’s too soon. I’d definitely marry you, but right now—“
“What? No.” Heng shook his head rapidly. “I mean sex . I think I’m ready for sex.”
Mo, who had been in the middle of drinking water, choked.
Heng frowned. “Are you okay?”
Mo coughed into his fist, eyes wide. “Yeah, yeah, just—” He cleared his throat. “That’s… good? But what brought this on?”
Heng hesitated for half a second. He hadn’t planned on explaining the entire journey that had led him here, but Mo was his person. They had always been honest with each other.
So, after a beat, he muttered, “I did some research.”
Mo blinked. “Research?”
Heng felt his ears burn. “I watched some videos.”
A pause. Then:
“…What kind of videos?”
“You know.” Heng gestured vaguely to his lap, as if that would be enough to explain everything. “ Videos .”
Mo stared at him.
Then, very slowly, understanding dawned.
“Heng,” he said, carefully, “did you watch gay porn?”
Heng’s shoulders stiffened. “I was researching,” he defended. “I wanted to be prepared.”
Mo covered his mouth with his hand, eyes unreadable. Heng had no idea if he was about to laugh or if he was absolutely mortified. Maybe both.
Still, he pressed on. “Anyway, I think I’m ready. But—” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Could we maybe stick to just one or two positions? Not, like… twelve?”
Mo made a strange noise in the back of his throat.
“Because some of those positions,” Heng continued, expression pained, “looked like actual stunts. I don’t know if I’m that flexible.”
At this, Mo’s mouth parted slightly.
And then he really started thinking.
Because the thing was, Mo had always assumed that if they ever took things further, Heng would take the lead. That he would set the pace, take control. That Mo would be the one receiving .
He had imagined it more times than he cared to admit, his mind wandering whenever Heng’s hand lingered on his back or when their kisses stretched just a little longer than before.
But now—
Now Heng was talking about his own flexibility? About positions that he wasn’t sure he could handle?
Oh.
Oh.
Mo had to bite his lip to keep from making any kind of noise. His entire worldview had just tilted slightly on its axis, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.
After a moment, he managed to find his voice. “…What kind of positions, exactly, do you think you wouldn’t be flexible enough for?”
Heng frowned, as if trying to recall the ones that had stood out to him. “There was one where the guy was practically bent in half. Like a pretzel. I mean, I do yoga sometimes, but I don’t think I can bend that way. And another one—God, I don’t even know how to describe it. It was like a backwards somersault, except—”
Mo lifted a hand. “Okay, okay. I get the picture.”
He was not going to survive this conversation.
Heng sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I just don’t want to go in unprepared, okay? And I wanted to be sure I was actually into it. But I am. I—” He hesitated. “I want this. With you.”
Mo felt something warm settle in his chest. The momentary flustered confusion faded, replaced by something deeper, softer.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “We’ll take it at your pace.”
Heng relaxed. “Thanks.”
A beat. Then:
“…Do you want me to show you the videos?”
Mo groaned and dropped his head into his hands.
This was going to be a journey .
**
Heng was not nervous .
(Okay, maybe he was a little nervous.)
But it wasn’t like this was a big deal or anything. He was just… sharing some of his research. With his boyfriend. Like a completely normal couple. Who watched educational content together.
Yeah.
Totally normal.
Mo, for his part, looked equally unsure as he settled onto the couch beside Heng. There was a slight furrow between his brows, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced this was a good idea but was going along with it anyway. Which, fair.
“You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to,” Heng offered, because he was a good boyfriend who absolutely wasn’t sweating over the thought of sharing porn with his best friend-turned-boyfriend. “I just thought it might help. You know, so we can see what we—”
“I want to see,” Mo interrupted, his voice steadier than his expression. His fingers were laced together, resting in his lap. “I mean… If you’ve already seen them, it’s only fair.”
Heng wasn’t sure what fairness had to do with this, but who was he to argue?
So, taking a deep breath, he reached for his laptop, opened it, and clicked on the first video.
And instantly regretted everything.
Because there was no easing into it. No soft music, no gentle transition. Just two men going at it , loud and unfiltered, right there on the screen.
Mo made a choked noise beside him.
Heng scrambled to lower the volume. “Sorry! Sorry! I forgot it starts like that—”
Mo was staring at the screen, expression caught somewhere between fascinated and horrified. His mouth parted slightly as he exhaled, and Heng realized, oh, oh no, I did not think this through.
He turned back to the video, but he wasn’t really watching. Not really.
Because something far more interesting was happening next to him.
Mo wasn’t reacting the same way Heng had when he first watched alone. His body was tense, fingers twitching slightly where they rested on his lap. His gaze was fixed on the screen, dark eyes sharp, pupils slightly blown.
He likes this, Heng realized, something warm curling in his stomach.
Without thinking, his hand settled on Mo’s thigh, an absent touch. Just comfort, just grounding. Just—
But then his fingers moved.
Not in any intentional way. Just small, slow circles. Lazy. Thoughtless.
Mo didn’t react at first. But Heng wasn’t watching the video anymore—he was watching him . And so, he saw the moment Mo’s breathing changed, the slight hitch in his throat.
That warmth inside Heng turned to something heavier, something more tangible .
His fingers drifted.
Up.
Higher.
And then—
Oh.
Heng froze.
Because suddenly, suddenly , it was impossible to ignore.
Mo was hard.
He was hard .
From the video, from the proximity, from—
Heng swallowed, his own breathing suddenly uneven. His hand twitched slightly on Mo’s thigh, and that was what made Mo react.
He sucked in a breath, body going tense, his legs shifting just enough to make Heng feel how solid he was beneath his jeans.
And that ?
That changed everything.
For a long, charged moment, neither of them moved.
The video played on, but it might as well have been background noise at this point. The only thing Heng was aware of was Mo—Mo’s warmth, Mo’s scent, Mo’s sharp inhale as Heng’s fingers flexed, just slightly, against his thigh.
Then, Mo shifted.
Not away.
Closer.
Heng’s throat went dry.
His fingers twitched again, this time not by accident. A slow, experimental press. Mo sucked in another breath, sharper this time, his hand gripping the fabric of his own jeans.
Heng had never seen him like this.
Sure, he’d seen Mo flustered before. He’d seen him frustrated, teasing, embarrassed. But this —this was different. This was Mo caught between hesitation and want, between restraint and something raw.
And Heng had done that.
He didn’t know what it was about that realization that made his own body react so instantly , but suddenly he was achingly aware of the tension coiled low in his stomach, the way his blood was rushing just a little too fast, the way his own breath was starting to catch.
God.
Heng wet his lips. His gaze flickered between Mo’s face and the space between them. His fingers tightened just a fraction against Mo’s thigh.
“Mo,” he murmured, testing, pushing.
Mo swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes, heavy-lidded and dark, finally flickered toward Heng’s.
And that was all it took.
The laptop was forgotten, the video abandoned. In a single, unspoken agreement, they moved—Heng leaning in, Mo meeting him halfway.
The kiss was different from their others.
Less hesitant. Less fleeting.
More.
Mo made a soft noise against his lips, something almost needy, and that sound alone sent a shiver down Heng’s spine. He didn’t even realize he was gripping Mo’s thigh tighter until Mo’s breath hitched again, his body tilting just slightly into the touch.
Oh, hell .
This was happening .
They broke apart just long enough to breathe, foreheads nearly touching. Mo’s lashes were low, his lips just barely parted, his breaths shallow.
“I, uh,” Heng started, then stopped, then swallowed. “I think I understand now why people watch that stuff together.”
Mo huffed a laugh, but it was breathless, almost dazed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Heng’s fingers flexed against his thigh, a silent confirmation. “Do you?”
Mo’s smile was small but knowing. “Yeah.”
And just like that, some of the tension in Heng’s chest finally eased.