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Wichai comes in later than usual, while Than is already wiping down tables. It’s nothing out of the ordinary: Pheem smiles at Wichai, Wichai leans on the counter and tries to chat him up, and Pheem gives him the expected response when he asks for extra spice with his pad kra pao. By the end of the interaction, Pheem is allowed to keep the change and Wichai leaves with his plastic bags of lukewarm late night take-out, a deeply satisfied customer.
The moment the door to the restaurant swings shut, a voice calls out. “Pheem.” It’s Than, because of course it is, because there’s nobody else left in the store. He sounds less than enthused.
Pheem pushes the cash register shut. “Yes, sweetheart?”
When he looks up, Than is with him behind the counter, in their open kitchen which still needs cleaning after a day’s work. He’s some distance away – Pheem at the register, Than by the opening into the small seating area of their noodle shop – but that just affords Pheem the benefit of a nice view of Than’s pose of frustration, one hand planted in his side and one up on the counter, still holding the now dirty rag he was putting to work earlier. It would only make the current situation on the countertop worse, but Than seems to be concerning himself with other things.
Pheem appreciates his long-limbed form, and the way his gray tanktop clings to his pecs.
Meanwhile, Than asks, “You’re making me watch you?”
Pheem does him the kindness of not pretending to have no idea what this is about. He was flirting with Wichai; Than had a front-row seat in the quiet restaurant today; he can decide to be silly about that, if he likes. “Did you want me to send you out of the room first?” Pheem asks him. It makes Than’s hand close into a fist on the rag, which in turn almost makes Pheem laugh. “Phi, it’s just business. I’m enticing him to keep coming back and buy more.”
“We’re selling noodles, not your body.”
Than didn’t miss a beat, but it almost makes Pheem’s heart skip one. He slowly walks his eyes down Than’s body, and when by the end of this reevaluation Than still hasn’t retracted anything, he asks into the deafening silence, curiously, “Did you really just say that?”
“Are you going to shoot me again if I did?” Than finally moves, shifting to cross his arms over his chest. It’s definite proof that he feels guilty already, he’s just too stubborn to admit it, so he’d rather continue to sulk.
It’s very cute, in the annoying but allowable way of a puppy chewing up your shoes. “That wasn’t me.”
“Oh, I know,” Than says, like he’d roll his eyes if Pheem wasn’t advancing on him in that very moment. “Damgoeng would never shoot anyone.”
“Exactly.” Than does not appear to have been softened much by the increased physical proximity or the tasteless joke, so Pheem tries something equally dark, but sweeter. “And anyway, I think I’m due to catch another bullet for you first.” Like the one Jason aimed at Than when Than’s untimely heroic arrival interrupted Pheem’s best laid murder-by-escaped-scam-victim plots.
Than, of course, knows what he’s talking about. His mind still clearly takes a different route, as he eyes the exit of their shop over Pheem’s shoulder. “I could just shoot him.” Like he did with Jason, in the end.
If there’s any skill Than has in spades that’s going to waste in their current line of work, it’s shooting things, and occasionally people. “You certainly could,” Pheem agrees, both to humor Than and to see where this goes. He’s hot when he threatens unjustifiable violence.
“Would you catch a bullet for him?” Than asks.
“Did I catch a bullet for Jason?” Pheem counters. Stupid questions deserve stupid answers.
“You were about to be busy bleeding out from the one he shot in you.” Than still looks so serious.
Pheem smiles, in a way designed not to let Than think it’s meant for him. “I’ve had some good experiences taking two at the same time.”
Than’s renewed wave of indignance can almost be felt, like the heat his body emits ratchets up a degree or two. “Wanna go back to that life?” It’s his version of do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?
Pheem’s answer would be the same in both cases. “No.” He rests two fingers on Than’s elbow, and starts walking them along his arm sidewards, in the direction of his wrist. “I want you to let me sell you something.”
“Noodles?” Than asks. Dry, no sauce. He’s watching the place Pheem is touching him.
Pheem takes Than’s hand and brings it up to his face. After he kisses the ring – the one that still has his old name inscribed on the inside, for only Than to know, like a fairytale character’s true appellation – Than’s hand molds itself around the shape of his jaw by itself, with no further invitation needed. No matter his frustration, his flexing or his harsh words, Than’s touch is still infinitely gentle.
While Than’s free arm likewise slips around Pheem’s waist with seemingly no conscious intent, like Than is simply not trying to struggle against something as inevitable as gravity, Pheem leans in to Than’s ear. “Special discount offer,” he promises. “Act now, get a lifetime guarantee.”
Than frowns in that way he does when he’s trying to seem unaffected. It’s been hopeless since the very first day they met, and it’s even more so when he turns his face into Pheem’s, their noses brushing. “How do I pay?” he inquires, matter-of-fact like he’s still pretending he’s on the fence about this deal, and wouldn’t sign Pheem’s entire fortune back over if Pheem asked him nicely one single time. It would take less enticing than it did to get Wichai’s change.
Pheem’s hand starts at Than’s shoulder, but is already halfway down Than’s chest before Than is finished speaking. He splays his hand flat, only the flimsy tanktop separating his palm from the solid planes of Than’s torso, and keeps inching further down. Than’s breathing is noticeably heavier even before he reaches his goal.
And he never quite does: when the tips of his fingers dip under the waistband of Than’s jeans, Than’s own hand closes around his wrist like a vice. The poise and scolding tone he had at the start of this conversation are gone. “Pheem,” he says, midway between a warning and a plea.
“Yes?” Pheem asks – between an answer and a tease. He twitches his hand, and the muscles in Than’s abdomen jump in response.
“Let me close the shop first,” Than says, strained but very sensibly, while Pheem is busy wishing he could see those abs, not just feel them.
Pheem holds on to him for another second, more willing to let the entire world watch him get bent over a table than wait for it one more minute – maybe that would even put Than’s doubts about his commitment to rest, once and for all – but then he withdraws, with only a sigh to express his protest. Than immediately darts in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s too brief, and then he goes, around the counter and to the door, to be a responsible member of society. All that’s left for Pheem to do is watch and wait, and think some more of putting hands and lips on Than’s soon to be overheated skin.
Damgoeng really hit the jackpot: a hot rich widower, who is in love with him at first sight and so, so easy to wind up.
And both Damgoeng and Pheem know exactly how to wind him down. If Than shoots anything into him tonight, it won’t be a bullet.