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Long after Peach had gone to bed (and Khun Thee had followed after him like a loyal puppy), Mok found himself on the couch, a half-empty glass of champagne on the low table in front of him, one hand tucked into his pocket, his fingers twining around and around the little bracelet hidden there.
Rome had gone to the bathroom, leaving him with a rare moment alone, a moment to steel himself for what he knew would come next. It happened every year on Rome’s birthday when it was just the two of them at the villa, and every year, it took all of Mok’s willpower to resist the temptation. Despite being even more spoiled and demanding than even his older brother, Rome never pushed too much when it came to this—and yet Mok always found himself teetering on the edge of giving in anyway. He didn’t really need to be pushed, because his own desire was far more powerful than any mournful, pleading stare that Rome could send his way, and every year, Mok found it harder and harder to shove that desire back down into the locked part of his heart where it belonged.
“Mokkkkk,” came Rome’s pleading voice from behind the couch, startling him. Mok hadn’t heard him come back in.
“Khun Kritdanai,” he said coolly, hoping Rome hadn’t noticed the way his hand immediately went to his gun at the unexpected sound. “It’s getting late. Are you ready to retire for the evening?”
“I’m not sleepy,” Rome whined. He clambered over the back of the couch to sit beside Mok, a deep yawn giving away his lie. “It’s still my birthday for a few more minutes.”
“Yes,” was all Mok gave him in reply.
“So, can I ask for one more thing?” Rome leaned over and draped one arm around him, bringing his face close enough that Mok could feel the warmth of his breath tickling his neck.
“You’re going to ask no matter what,” Mok sighed. “So demanding.”
Rome immediately pouted, and it took everything Mok had not to brush a finger against his plush lips.
“I’m not! It’s just a little thing, Mok. For my birthday. It won’t even cost you anything!” Rome insisted, his many glasses of champagne leaving his words just a little soft around the edges.
It might cost me everything.
Mok didn’t respond, fixing Rome with a warning glare he knew would only be ignored. There was nothing he could do to stop the request now—the only thing left was to resist with all his might.
“Can I have a kiss? Please?”
Mok had to look away, unable to bear the pleading expression on Rome’s face, unable to handle seeing the soft shape of his mouth so close.
“Just a small one, Mok. As a birthday present.”
Knowing that if he opened his mouth, he might not be able to control what came out of it, Mok settled on simply shaking his head, keeping his gaze firmly trained on a potted plant on the other side of the room.
Any other year, that would have been the end of it, and Rome would have stumbled off to bed, grumpy and reluctant but ultimately easier to fend off than Mok’s own inner sense of deep and desperate want. But this year, for some reason...
“You’ve let me kiss you before,” Rome added.
Mok flinched, unable to hide his surprise. Rome had never brought that up, had never pushed like this in years past—but perhaps after spending all day around Khun Thee flirting openly with Peach as if their parents’ rules simply didn’t exist, after drinking more than he normally would, after already having one forbidden delight in the form of a birthday cake—after all of that, perhaps Rome was feeling braver than usual, more determined to get what he wanted, regardless of the obstacles.
It was a long time ago, the kiss that never should have been. It had been so long, in fact, that Mok could barely even remember the sensation of it anymore, the memory faded at the edges with time and yearning and regret. They’d still been teenagers then, still young enough that the full restrictions of their situation hadn’t seemed real yet, feeling bold and fearless in the darkness of their shared school dorm room. But now...
He cleared his throat. “That was a mistake.”
From the corner of his eye, Mok saw the hurt that rippled across Rome’s face, but it was quickly replaced by that same hopeful, pleading expression that Mok was all too familiar with.
“Is it a mistake we can make again, then?”
Mok closed his eyes, as if that would make it easier to say no.
“Khun Krit…”
“Rome. Please. No one else is here. Please call me Rome,” he begged, one hand coming up to cup Mok’s cheek, trying to turn Mok’s face towards him.
Mok let his face be turned, but with Rome’s alcohol-flushed cheeks and gorgeous lips and teary eyes now only centimeters away, all of his other walls needed to be kept firmly in place.
“Khun Krit,” he repeated, as sternly as he could manage, keeping his tone and his words and even the tenor of his voice as formal as possible. “If you try to indulge now in what you cannot have, it will only hurt you more in the long run. Think of how much worse you’ll feel when you have to go back to Hong Kong alone… or when you have to leave for good.”
Mok said you, but underneath, he was speaking about his own pain, how it was already killing him to have these stolen moments once or maybe twice a year—a birthday visit to the beach, a meeting here or there, the occasional business trip—and then to be forcefully ripped away from Rome, over and over, knowing they could never truly have what they wanted. If he allowed Rome to kiss him now, Mok knew it would only make the heartache that much worse.
Rome shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I can handle it. Whatever happens, however painful it gets, if it means that I get this one moment with you now… I promise I can endure it, Mok.” He leaned close again, pressing his forehead against Mok’s, his eyes squeezing shut with the force of his words.
Mok’s heartbeat stuttered, desire clawing its way up within him. Rome was too goddamn close, asking for too goddamn much, and no matter how strong Rome might be, Mok was weak for this. He needed space, needed to be able to breathe again—and most importantly, he needed Rome to understand that breaking this rule would destroy him.
“I can endure it,” Rome repeated, his voice insistent.
“But I can’t!” Mok tore himself away, sliding out from beneath Rome’s arms and down towards the other end of the couch, breathing heavily.
Rome blinked in surprise, and a moment later, Mok actually registered what he’d said, realized the implications of his own words. I can’t endure it. He’d basically admitted to having feelings for Rome, to wanting this just as much—if not more—than Rome himself. He’d admitted to the heartache he had tried so hard to keep under wraps for so long.
Mok swallowed hard, watching a million different emotions flicker across Rome’s face, too quickly to read.
If it’s already out in the open now, might as well…
“It already hurts too much,” he whispered before Rome could figure out how to respond, could figure out some way to turn his inadvertent confession into the kind of argument that would be impossible for Mok to resist. “Please don’t make it worse.”
Rome’s face crumpled, and a pair of the tears that had been building up in his eyes got loose and fell in twin streaks down his cheeks. “You’re hurting?”
Mok glanced away, his throat suddenly clogged up with some sharp emotion he couldn’t name. “It’s late, Khun Krit. You should go to bed,” he finally managed to get out around the slicing, choking thing in his esophagus, trying to make the dismissal sound firm, final.
“I’m sorry,” Rome said, his voice hushed. “I’m… Mok, I’m sorry.”
Then, to Mok’s surprise, Rome stood up from the couch and—with one last squeeze of Mok’s hand, almost like saying goodbye—he started to leave. He didn’t seem sulky, not like he often was when Mok refused to give him something he wanted. He wasn’t pouting, and he certainly wasn’t waiting with a barely-contained smirk for the moment when Mok would relent and give him everything, no matter how ridiculous his demands were. Rome had just… accepted it. In the face of Mok’s pain laid bare, Rome had agreed to walk away, giving up in a way he so rarely ever did.
His decision hit Mok square in the chest, as powerful as a physical blow. Rome was perhaps the most stubborn person he’d ever met, more than Khun Thee, more than their father, more than Peach, more than any of the spoiled, haughty rich kids they’d gone to boarding school with. Rome never just gave up. He might change tactics, might try something wheedling or underhanded instead, or he might decide to wait and try again later, as he did every single year when he made this same request of Mok on his birthday and got rejected. Mok had seen Rome face down bullies and abusive teachers and armed men with guns without ever once giving in, had seen Rome hold fast to his decisions in the face of both extravagant bribes and deadly threats. He’d never seen anyone come up with leverage enough to change Rome’s mind.
And yet, the moment Mok had admitted to being in pain…
The last shred of Mok’s willpower shattered instantaneously.
Mok knew he wasn’t the sort of beautiful, graceful lover that Rome deserved, and he knew that there were too many obstacles between them and a happily ever after to get his hopes up. He knew that this would only hurt him more in the end—hurt them both, probably. But he’d never had anyone else in the entire world care so much about him that they would give up their heart’s desire just to spare him pain, and for that person to be stubborn, spoiled, demanding Kritdanai Rome Lee…
“Rome,” he called, and by the time that Rome had turned around, Mok was already there, pushing him against the wall and crashing their lips together.
Rome gasped into the kiss, startled, and Mok immediately devoured the sound, letting his tongue slip into the space that opened between Rome’s lips. He let his hands move everywhere, trying to hold all of Rome at the same time—hair, waist, shoulders, back. After a moment, Rome started to do the same, and Mok felt as though he was burning alive under Rome’s touch, his fingers leaving streaks of fire across Mok’s body everywhere they went.
This was certainly not the “little kiss” that Rome had been begging him for all these years, nor was it anything like the gentle, exploratory kisses they’d shared in the dorm the night before their graduation as teenagers—no, nothing like that, because this time, it was Mok’s turn to be demanding. Mok was hungry, ravenous for the touch that he’d been denying himself—denying both of them—for so long, and with every passing second, his hunger only grew.
Rome groaned, tilting his head sideways to better meet Mok’s mouth, and the sound made Mok feel wild with desire. He wanted to get closer, to merge his atoms with Rome’s until they occupied the same space, never again to be separated by anyone’s rules or grand agenda. He wanted everything, and perhaps now, finally…
Mok suddenly felt one of Rome’s legs pressing in between his own, a powerful thigh slipping into the gap and pushing up against where Mok was rapidly growing hard, sending up a flare of sparks that made him feel weak in the knees. Rome’s hands were moving more intentionally now, first deftly undoing the buttons of Mok’s shirt, then sliding over the fabric towards the harness that held his gun.
As if the reminder that he was carrying a deadly weapon was some kind of trigger in and of itself, reality crashed back over Mok like a bucket of ice water. He yanked himself backwards, out of reach of Rome’s dangerous hands and warm thigh, panting for breath.
Rome was panting, too, staring at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, leaning back against the wall as if he needed it to stay upright.
“Mok?” he asked, and Mok couldn’t tell if he sounded more incredulous that such a thing had happened between them or more panicked that it had stopped.
But it had to stop. Mok couldn’t believe he had been so reckless, so impulsive. His lips were still tingling, his pants still unbearably tight—all evidence of his temporary insanity. Hadn’t he just explained to Rome why they shouldn’t let themselves have even one kiss, that it would only hurt them more in the long run? Already, he could feel the heartbreak building in his chest, accompanied by the desire to pull Rome back into his arms and simply continue where they’d left off—but giving into that temptation, he knew, would surely make the heartbreak worse. In less than twenty-four hours, Rome would be back in Hong Kong and unreachable in every way that counted, and Mok would be alone with nothing but the memory of Rome’s lips on his to hold onto.
Mok could already feel it breaking him apart, shattering him in a way he wasn’t sure he was capable of surviving.
“Mok?” Rome asked again, reaching out with one hand.
Mok stepped out of his grasp, refusing to look at him, instead focusing on re-fastening the buttons of his shirt that Rome had managed to undo.
“My apologies, Khun Kritdanai,” he said, trying to regain some sense of professionalism even though his breathing still had not returned to normal.
“Apologies?” Rome frowned. “You just…”
“Made a mistake,” Mok interrupted him firmly. “I shouldn’t have done that. Please forget it ever happened.”
“Forget it? Mok, I… Please, don’t do this. Don’t pretend like…”
“Goodnight, Khun Kritdanai.” Mok interrupted again, leaving no room for Rome to argue, knowing that if he gave Rome even an inch, he would find some way to persuade Mok to stay, to kiss him again—because Mok had never needed much persuading in the first place, had he? Mok knew he needed to get out of there right fucking now, or he would be a lost cause, completely and utterly doomed by the tears forming once again in Rome’s eyes.
“Mok,” Rome tried again, clearly begging, but Mok was already moving himself out of range of the temptation, heading towards the hallway that led to the safety of his own room.
He paused right at the edge of the hall, not turning around—because to turn around would be to invite disaster, allowing him to see all of the pain he’d certainly wrought on plain and obvious display in Rome’s expression, coaxing him back into the maelstrom of desire he knew he wasn’t strong enough to exit twice. Instead, he simply called over his shoulder, “Happy birthday,” and then forced himself to move forward into the darkness, away from the only person who had ever really loved him.
The moment Mok made it into his room and locked the door behind him, he slid to the ground—no longer able to hold himself up under the weight of everything he wanted but could not have—and finally let his tears fall.