Work Text:
Just when Pharan thought his day was off to a great start, his bicycle was yet again missing. He remembered once when Jet and Khem rode it off, leaving Pharan to walk under the stark sun. In their defense, they apparently borrowed it, but at the exact moment, as now, Pharan does not remember being informed of such, nor giving his verbal consent.
Pharan takes off his sunglasses with a deep heave. He does remember Jet and Charn left for an early volunteering task, leaving Khem alone upstairs. Which is exactly why Pharan is adamant to get out of the house.
There’s this magnetic pull that Khem has on him, and it drives him insane. The fact that they're left alone in the house stirs something in Pharan, of limitless possibilities that he ultimately knows he must not ponder further upon.
He gazes at the upper floor, “Khem,” he calls, mentally preparing the inquiries he expects Khem to answer. After not receiving a response, he finally walks upstairs, striding inside the house, and he calls once more, “Khem?”
Pharan finally walks up to the entrance of Khem’s room. He calls again, and yet there’s no answer. It aggravates him a bit, so without bothering to knock, he opens the door with a loud swing.
“Khem—”
“Wait, Por Kru!”
They both stood eye to eye, both wide in shock. Pharan feels the words stuck in his throat as he gazes at Khem, who looks equally fazed.
Hair still damped from showering, lips swollen pink from brushing. Khem was clutching the polo shirt he was about to wear tightly in his chest in an attempt to cover himself, but it miserably failed. Pharan’s quick eyes had already traveled to the porcelain skin that stood out like a ring light. Fortunately, a bath towel still clung loosely to his hips, leaving the critical part to Pharan’s imagination.
It was a known fact that Khem had nice skin, but he had never expected him to be this flawless.
“Por Kru, close the door!”
Pharan absent-mindedly closes the door with a swift bang. He immediately regrets his recklessness. Worst, a flustered Khem needed to snap him out of his star-struck state.
He is a shaman, but his reaction time was not one of unwavering discipline. Where are the years of learning and living in discipline and control? He even forgot to offer an apology and just outright swung the door on Khem’s face.
Pharan was too preoccupied being mesmerized by the beguiling man who obliviously kept on pushing him to the unthinkable. He was a bit too busy worrying about the near future after this incident. Of Khem’s fresh after-shower scent and perfection, hunting him at night when the owls are hooting, and there is an indescribable heat in Pharan’s pants.
Scratch that. Why was Pharan worrying about himself when it was Khem who felt exposed and had lost a great amount of privacy?
“I’m sorry!” he sincerely offers mid-realization, but his voice still sounded more authoritative than apologetic. The door finally opens, and Khem, now fully clothed, has a tinge of pink spread on his cheeks.
“I–” Pharan tries to save Khem some dignity, “I didn’t see anything.” through dishonesty, unfortunately.
Khem knows he is lying because his lips didn’t purse like they usually do. “Don’t worry, it’s okay.”
A voice interferes, “Por Kru, you could’ve at least knocked. Where are your manners?” Jet says as he stands alongside Charn. Just behind Pharan, both appeared to have returned home in perfect cinematic timing.
Pharan knits his eyebrows, and Jet immediately counters, “But of course you own the house! Household rules do not apply to Master Pharan.” he laughs forcefully, “Ah, right, Khem? I have rice cakes downstairs, wanna try them with me?”
The two leave, but Charn stays, looking at Pharan in utmost scrutiny.
“Por Kru, just because you are the Master of this household, doesn’t give you the right not to grant others basic privacy.”
He ultimately leaves Pharan stunned. So many words from youngsters who didn’t even bother asking for permission to borrow his bicycle. He is not given a chance to explain as they head downstairs.
Pharan can’t help but think about how everyone seemed to have teamed up against him and how they are absolutely right with their sentiments.
Pharan cannot help but wonder if his decision was right. When Khem excitedly asked Pharan if he could go to the festival with Pong, he swallowed down the vinegar in his throat and agreed.
Over the past few days, Pong’s behavior towards Khem has been peculiar. Too close, too touchy, too flirtatious for Pharan’s liking. And it didn’t help when Pong seemed to keep rubbing it to his face, or how triumphant he looked when Khem returned his antics and touches.
He sits at the wooden dining table, downing the black coffee Khem had prepared for him before the younger went upstairs to change. It was a hell of a sunny afternoon, but he felt like caffeine could somehow soothe his unknowing uneasiness. But Thong and Ake would rather tell him he’s as bitter as pure coffee beans.
He did feel more composed, like how he should be, but it all came crashing down when Khem made his way downstairs. Pharan almost choked when he got a better look at what Khem was wearing.
A simple shirt hung loosely on his frame, but its simplicity was entirely lost on Pharan. All he could focus on was how low the collar dipped. It revealed a glimpse of Khem’s chest, the line of his collarbone visible beneath the soft fabric. But it was the shorts that nearly stole Pharan’s breath.
Khem’s porcelain legs were left almost entirely bare, on display for anyone to see. For Pong to stare at all day. The thought sent something sharp twisting inside him. And just like that, something within Pharan snapped.
“What are you wearing?”
Khem had never worn anything like this before. He even bothered to fix his hair, apply light powder on his face, and a tinge of gloss to his lips. Was this for Pong? Pharan’s imagination was already working its way to cloud his rationality. He feels tense.
If Khem walks out to the festival, with hundreds of people to see him looking like this, Pharan fears he might just lock him up.
Khem looks at him for a moment before his eyes scan the outfit he was wearing confidently, “Is something wrong, Por Kru?”
Pharan doesn’t look at him. “Change into something else.”
“But why?” Khem argues, sensing the suspense, “The weather is unbearable, these are comfortable clothes I can wear to escape the heat.”
Pharan knows Khem is absolutely right. He knows how unreasonable he’s going to sound. But he’ll suffocate in his own jealousy if he can’t pressure Khem to change. “You have other clothes. Wear something that covers you properly.”
Khem raises an eyebrow at him. There’s that look on his face that you’ll see when the old-fashioned generation tries to put youngsters in a box. Pharan might just be orchestrating his own downfall. He must think quickly, but not an honest reply detailing how possessive he is of Khem because he can’t seem to admit to his own feelings yet. Rather, a reply that will somehow suffice.
“The field is infested with bugs, they’ll bite you.”
In the back of Khem’s mind, he’s reluctant to whether Pharan is actually referring to bugs. He huffs, somehow considering Pharan’s assertion. “I don’t have anything else to wear, my nice clothes are all hanging to dry.”
“You can borrow clothes from Jet and Charn.”
“They’re also hanging to dry.”
Pharan knows Khem is testing his patience. He doesn’t get irritated because it is Khem who has every right to be. Pharan shouldn’t get to have a say in whatever Khem wishes to wear in the first place.
“Then would you rather wear my clothes?”
Pharan isn’t backing down. His suggestion momentarily renders Khem speechless. Is this really the same Por Kru who looked irritated when Khem’s sight lingered too much on him, or had Khem fallen prey to an apparition?
Khem shakes his head, “No, thanks, Por Kru. I'll make do with what I've got,” he says as he turns towards the stairs.
He stops midway when a pickup truck arrives. Barely in their line of sight, yet they could already make out the familiar grin. Pharan glances at Pong’s truck, now parked in his backyard, and back to Khem, who is ascending too slowly.
Pharan clears his throat, “Walk faster.”
Khem marches with more force than usual. He mutters, “What’s his problem?”
Pharan pretends not to catch his words.
Unlike before, most of Pharan’s nights were spent patrolling through the village and becoming awfully sleep-deprived. Albeit now, he’s no longer a shaman alone; he also has duties he ought to fulfill as a husband.
Just as Pharan did years ago, Ubon Ratchathani already has those who are skilled enough to guard the village, a result of their hard work and prowess. But Khem only has one to keep him safe. Khem doesn’t worry too much, for his husband is well aware where his priorities should come first.
Pharan sits at a table, immersed in his reading. The door to their shared room opens, and he doesn’t need to look up from his book to recognize it's his wife. Freshly out of the shower, the faint fragrance from his body wash hung in the air around him.
Khem sits at the vanity to complete his routine of milky-sweet lotions and expensive face serums. The younger had always been meticulous with his hygiene. Getting ready for bed is a routine that he usually does independently, his husband would agree, but when it comes to Khem, he always tries to include himself with whatever his wife does.
Pharan already dropped the book in his hand and reached for a soft towel instead. Standing just behind Khem, he runs the towel through his damp hair, soaking up the moisture. “I can do it on my own, Peem. No need to help me.”
“I’m sure you do. Can’t I take care of you?”
“Phi…” It earns a soft giggle from Khem whenever Pharan sneaks little kisses on his head and temple. Minutes pass in the blink of an eye. Pharan is so preoccupied caressing his wife’s hair and drowning in the pleasant scent of his shampoo that he fails to notice the tiny smirk on Khem’s lips before it disappears.
“Peem,” he says solemnly, and Pharan hums, “Can you get out? I need to change.”
Pharan’s hands freeze mid-air, and Khem tries hard to restrain the chuckle stuck in his throat. Thinking he misheard, he asks Khem to repeat himself, “What did you just say?”
“I need to change, so can you step out of the room real quick?”
Khem couldn’t see his reaction as he had his back turned on him. He waits for a reply to somehow make out the latter’s reaction, but it doesn’t come. Pharan doesn’t say anything. Instead, he places the towel down and marches to the door. Khem immediately turned his head towards Pharan, who was seemingly obeying and was on his way.
But to Khem’s surprise, Pharan simply stood there for a moment, only to lock the room.
“Say that again.”
Pharan crosses his arms, and Khem finally lets out a laugh. “Can I have some privacy, pretty please?” Khem says heartily.
Pharan challenges, “Then, must I remind you who washed every part of you when you passed out the other night?” Khem purses his lips and playfully shrugs, but he can already feel his ears reddening before his cheeks do.
“Should I count how many times I've had you in our bed, Khem?”
This time, Khem stands up and strides close to Pharan. “Peem, keep your voice down. What if the twins hear you?” he hushes, but his husband simply pecks his lips. Khem mentally prepared himself for what was to come.
“I'll make sure tonight gets added to the count.”
“Wait! The windows aren't closed—”
Pharan pecks his wife on the lips once more, cutting him short. He leans into the curve of Khem’s neck, sucking the soft and fragrant skin. Pharan’s fingers were slowly making way to loosen the bathrobe that was securely tied to Khem’s waist. But before he could untie the knot, a loud knock on the door beat him to it.
“Mom? Dad?”
Pharan ultimately stops when he hears the tiny voices calling out to him and Khem from behind the door. “Phi!” Khem playfully smacks his husband’s hands away as he tries to regain composure. Pharan finally replies, “Why are you still awake, luk?”
“Singha couldn’t sleep at all.”
“Hey! You couldn’t sleep too.”
“Fine, fine! We both can’t sleep. Better now?”
Pharan and Khem were stuck looking at one another as the twins argued. Khem hurried to unlock the door before both of his children could erupt into a debate.
The moment the door swung open, Suea threw himself in Khem’s arms, “Mom, can we sleep here tonight? Pretty please?” Khem nods before leaning in to kiss both of the twins’ foreheads. “Dad?” Singha googles his father. Pharan reaches to ruffle his hair. “Of course you can.”
The twins march past their parents as they excitedly climb to the bed. Ironically, now that the kids have settled into their room, Khem gives up the argument and decides to step out to change himself.
He takes the chance to whisper to his husband’s ear, teasingly, “I guess tonight won’t be added to the count after all.” Pharan smiles. He takes Khem’s hands and presses a kiss to them.
“Good thing we still have a lifetime of nights ahead of us, Khem.”