mnnulat

[mnnulat]

Been There, Done That

Tech x fem!reader

Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch

Summary: Some things never change.

Warnings: angst, unrequited love (i love Phee tho, don't get me wrong), bit of low self-esteem, jealousy, slightly implied cheating maybe

A/N: Oneshot is based on the song "On My Own" from the Les Miserables musical.

You remember that day clearly.

You were a singer at Cid's dingy parlor in Ord Mantell, earning just enough to get by. Lucky you that Cid let you stay at an adjoining room to her business place. Her parlor wasn't that famous, nor was it that underground either. There were a few regular patrons here and there; a lot of times, new faces would appear once and never come back. You didn't see that much hope in your future, either. You figured you would be stuck there forever.

Until they came.

At first, you found it odd that a group of clones came into a parlor. Even worse that they brought a young girl with them. That definitely made you suspicious. Who would bring a child in this shady place?

You couldn't even tell that they were clones at first---or even that the girl was also a clone. The men's armor seemed to be very different from the usual white and painted armor. These clones had black and red armor (save for one, who had light grey and red). They looked different, too. While all the other clones were identical---save for the varying hairstyles, scars, and tattoos---these clones didn't even look like clones at first. One was a huge giant, one was pale with cybernetics, one had a giant face tattoo and long hair, and one was slightly lean with goggles. Let's not even get started on the girl.

These clones---Clone Force 99 or the Bad Batch, as they want to be called----reluctantly started to work for Cid until it became a regular deal. And so it was that their missions for Cid would lead them to be in the parlor frequently. They would catch you performing sometimes. And sometimes, when time would permit it, they would chat with you for a bit. Omega was the bubbliest of the bunch, always asking you to play with her if time permit.

You remember that day clearly.

That one fateful day, though you wish it wasn't under such circumstance.

Omega had come running in the parlor. Trailing behind her were her brothers, covered in several cuts and bruises, especially Wrecker, who was also limping.

That was the start of it all.

Ord Mantell as a whole is a shady place. Coupled with having witnessed countless bar fights, you had to learn first aid. It was a skill you quickly developed through many oppurtunities in the parlor and in the streets. And that was how you helped the Batch. That one fateful day, you were the one who tended to their injuries.

And so it became that you turned into their medic. Just an extra hand staying at Ord Mantell, if they needed; but soon you started to tag along them in the missions Cid gave them. And being their medic meant you spent a good chunk of your time with Tech.

He filled in the gaps of your medical knowledge. Truthfully, you really enjoyed learning anything, so you've always looked forward to spending time with Tech because it always meant you would soak up tons of information. Not only that, you two would always debate back and forth on topics you were confident and very knowledgeable about. It was a fresh change from your routine life as a singer in Cid's parlour.

And it came to no surprise to the Batch that Tech was the person you grew closest to.

Everything was going well, you thought. Everytime you were with him---every smile, compliment, even critique---your smile would be at its brightest. Your ramblings would be at their most energetic. And your heart would beat at its fastest.

But as always with you, the happy things never seem to last.

You remember that day clearly.

You came into Cid's office with the Batch, side-by-side with Tech. There was someone else in the office with the Trandoshan, though. Phee the pirate. You'd recognize that charisma anywhere.

You've met her a few times since Cid seemed to trust her a great deal. You admire the lady too. She's strong, beautiful, witty, smart, independent, charismatic.

Everything you're not.

The way she talked to Tech made you feel odd. You had expected her to chat up Hunter, mostly. But not Tech.

At first Tech didn't even pay much heed to her; and to your own disgust, you were somehow thankful for that.

But as Phee spent more time with you and the Batch---up to the point of relocating to Pabu---Tech and Phee got closer.

They spent much time alone. And even when the rest of you were there, Tech would always give her a smile different than the ones you've ever seen him give to anyone. And his tone---a soft, gentle tone that he's never used on anyone else but her.

And frankly, those were the only signs you needed.

You, Phee, and the Batch had an early dinner which finished as the sun was setting. You had seen the genius and pirate get up and walk away together, laughing about something. You quickly excused yourself from the table, but not before you caught Hunter giving you a soft gaze.

Presently, you've been sitting on a rock on the shores of Pabu for goodness knows how long. Purple with hues of orange paint the sky as the sun has almost completely set. The waves washing upon the shore and recoiling back into the sea in an almost melodic rhythm.

It's only now that you open your journal---yes, a paperback journal as it feels more personal---and begin to write, the light of the sunset and a small lamp beside you shining on the pages.

On my own, pretending he's beside me.

Your mind conjurs up an image of Tech sitting silently beside you on the rock, quietly typing away on his datapad.

All alone, I walk with him 'til morning.

You two would get up and start making your back to Upper Pabu, discussing a new species of plant Tech just read about.

Without him, I feel his arms around me. And when I lose my way, I close my eyes, and he has found me.

As you write those words, it's as if you could feel the plastoid of his armor around your arms and body. A rare gesture from him, but one that you always cherished.

In the rain, the pavement shines like silver. All the lights, are misty in the river. In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight; and all I see is him and me forever and forever!

You recall a mission with the Batch, one that had you and Tech disguised as a couple, dressed in civies, walking down a busy marketplace when the rain poured harshly. You two ran back through a forest by a river to get back to the Marauder. You two were holding hands even, which made your heart thump so much that Hunter had a suspicious look on his face when you came back.

But the scene in your head disappears, leaving you alone with your journal again under the night sky.

And I know it's only in my mind that I'm talking to myself and not to him. 

You smile bitterly at the times he seemed oblivious to your flimsy excuses to just even be near him. In hindsight, it's cute and endearing.

And although, I know that he is blind, still I say there's a way for us.

Your smile drops and your head is clear once again.

I love him.

But when the night is over, he is gone. The river's just a river. Without him, the world around me changes. The trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers.

Your mind drifts back to that memory of you two running through the forest. But this time, you're alone, and suddenly the memory doesn't seem special at all.

I love him.

But every day I'm learning all my life, I've only been pretending!

It's as if a Rancor were squeezing your heart as your write. Your hand shakes, making you almost drop your pen. You recall all the times you've been rejected before Tech---the two other guys that you liked before him. You weren't pretty enough for the first one, he had said so himself, as he didn't deem you mature-looking enough. You had just turned into a teenager, and that was what he was already looking for. You loathed your body and youself for that. 

And even though the second one became your boyfriend, he still left you without a word to pursue someone else.

And now that Tech has his eyes on someone else, it's as if you were a teenager again looking for approval from the people she admired.

Were you not pretty enough for Tech? Not smart enough? Not strong enough?

He doesn't have to say anything, you already know the answer.

Without me, his world will go on turning. A world that's full of happiness that I have never known.

Finally, your mind plays back the every memory of Tech and Phee enjoying each other's company. Their laughter, smiles, banter, and affection shoot like blaster fire through your heart.

I love him.

I love him.

"I love him," you mutter to yourself.

But only on my own.

You're alone as you write the last sentence. Stars decorate the night sky like glitter; the waves unrelenting in their charge against the shore. Even in the island of refuge and paradise, full of people and cheer, you feel invisible.

[mnnulat]

Room for More

TBB x fem!reader (platonic)

Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch

Summary: A Jedi padawan of Master Plo Koon, you'd been on the run since Order 66 was executed after the Wolfpack betrayed your master. Mostly hiding out in Ord Mantell, you soon encountered Clone Force 99. After helping out with some of their missions for Cid (and always hanging out with Omega), the Batch welcomed you under their wing. However, you don't talk to them that much if it isn't mission-related. A certain mishap may change that.

Warnings: mentions of death, minor angst, metions of Order 66, mentions and description of vomit and GERD (PLS DO NOT READ IF THAT BOTHERS YOU)

A/N: Not proofread or edited. Reader should be around 20 years old. Also, reader's experience with GERD is based on my experience with it (I'm no medical professional so disclaimer!!)

The journey on the way back to Ord Mantell is not always vibrant, but this time, it is. Blue streaks decorate the blackness of space as the Havoc Marauder travels back to Ord Mantell. The energy in the ship is unusually jolly after a mission; you could feel everyone's energy.

Cid's client this time was a sheriff. He hired you and the Batch to act as temporary bodyguards to drive away mercenaries from his town on a tropical planet. While you were there, you and the Batch befriended the local villagers. As a thank you gift, they gave you tons of food—enough for a real meal for the five of you—for the journey back to Cid's.

It seems they packed you some sort of noodles. It's incredibly saucy—almost a vibrant red—not that you mind. The smell is delicious, mild enough for Hunter to enjoy it properly, but enough that you can smell the blend of several different spices. Chopped out pieces of vegetables and meat are mixed into it, as well.

You sit on your bunk, quietly observing the Batch as you heartily eat the noodles. Wrecker, who practically wolfed down his big portion of the food, is now playing dejarik with Omega, who is multitasking between eating dinner and playing the game. The girl giggles as she continues to beat the gentle giant.

Tech and Echo are both seated by the ship's console. You could sense that they're relaxed and satisfied, as opposed to their usual tired state after a mission. They both eat the food while chatting with each other, a smile on each of their faces.

Your glance finally lands on Sergeant Hunter. With his food in hand, he leans on the wall as he watches over his crew. Looking at him, you can feel warmth radiate through your body, and you know that feeling to be Hunter's; it's just the Force's way of telling you how happy he is for the time being.

You smile to yourself, it's not every time that the Batch could enjoy like this. Your heart feels light just by watching them. They reminded you of the Wolfpack.

Oh.

Your heart turns heavy. You're quite past being angry with them: about turning their backs against the Jedi Order; about betraying the cause they fought for; and about killing Master Plo.

No. You just miss them. You miss how things were. You miss the warmth they brought with their presence. You crave for Master Plo's fatherly advice and care. You want to feel Wolffe's comforting hug after a failed campaign. You want to hear Sinker's and Boost's corny jokes that would distract you from the horrors of the war.

You just want them back—just like the old times.

Breaking out of your thoughts, you feel a lingering sensation. Looking up, you find Hunter looking at you with worry. It still surprises you, that after months of being with them, you still can't quite figure out how his enhanced senses work.

Regardless, you send him your signature tight-lipped smile. That awkward smile that graced your features upon your introduction to your new master. The one you gave the 104th battalion at your first campaign as their Commander. The one—

You huff, internally berating yourself for going there again. You really should control your thoughts better.

You quickly finish your food, before properly disposing of the container and utensils. Quickly, you head to the fresher to brush your teeth. Once you're done, you feel something in your stomach, as if you're still hungry, as if something is bubbling inside. You ignore it, just wanting to sleep so that your mind won't be plagued by unwanted thoughts. It's hard at night, the dark thoughts always seem to get worse then.

Heading to your bunk, you collapse on it; everything you and the Batch did the past few days finally catching up to you as your adrenaline drops. It doesn't take long before you're curled up on your bunk, asleep.

You don't even know how long it's been, but suddenly you sit upright and swing your legs over your bunk. Without thinking, you walk briskly to the fresher, slamming the door shut before hunching over the toilet and immediately expelling your dinner.

You groan, slumping down on the fresher floor. You could feel something bubbling in your stomach again, forcing it's way up, along with a strong pinch in your abdomen. The aftermath of your vomit tastes like dinner and something sour.

Just then, a knock is heard. "Are you okay?" Hunter's gruff but calming voice calls out.

Shakily, you stand and flush the toilet before washing your hands.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you reply calmly, masking the pain that you're feeling.

Hunter suddenly opens the fresher door, making you jump. He looks at you worriedly.

"I can hear your stomach, doesn't sound good."

You walk past him into the direction of your bunk. You feel Echo's and Tech's eyes on you as well, but you just want to go back to sleep.

"I think I just ate too fast. Don't worry about it," you mumble tiredly as you resume your slumber.

Echo, Tech, and Hunter all look at your sleeping form but decided that perhaps it's best you get some rest.

The peace continues for around half an hour. You wake up again, hurriedly walking to the bathroom. You don't even notice the worried glance Tech gives, or even the fresher door that you left open before throwing up in the toilet again.

You groan, slumping on the fresher floor.

Someone pulls you up gently by your arm.

"It's alright, I got you," you hear Hunter say as you see Tech flushing the toilet.

You sigh as he brings you back to your bunk, laying you down on it.

"Sorry, Hunter. Did I wake you?" You ask.

He just chuckles. "Yeah, but don't worry. How're you feeling?"

You slump back on my pillows. "Tired."

Just then, Tech suddenly appears, typing away at his datapad. He looks at you before talking.

"It seems that the contents that you expelled included acid, aside from the food you ate for dinner," he then looks at Hunter, "you said you could hear her stomach?"

"Yeah, it sounded like something was bubbling upwards."

Tech nods, seemingly satisfied. "Figured as much," comes his robotic-like voice. He looks at you again, with one eyebrow raised. "I had a theory, so I looked for your medical files from the GAR. You have gastroesopheagal reflux disease. It is most likely that the noodles that we ate triggered it."

"Yeah, kinda figured that out after I threw up the first time," you mumble. You bring the blankets up to your chin, wishing that you could disappear from their scrutinizing gaze.

"I've also checked our medpacks—we do not have any antacid at hand. We'd have to wait till we arrive at Ord Mantell to restock."

Hunter frowns. "Do you need anything?" He asks you.

Your gaze lingers a bit longer on him than you would've liked. His eyebrow are arched upwards, causing lines to appear on his forehead. While crouched, you could still tell that his torso is slightly leaning forwards towards you. He keeps one hand on your bunk, too. For a brief moment, you see a man with a GAR-standard haircut, a cybernetic eye, a scar over it, and white and grey armor. But it's as if your vision shifts, and you see the man with long hair, face tattoo, a red bandana, and colorful armor.

"No, nothing. I'm fine," you reply dryly.

"No, you are not," Tech bluntly points out.

"I'll sleep it off," you mumble, rolling over to your side as your eyes begin to droop once again from exhaustion.

Hunter and Tech both sigh as you quite literally turn your backs on them. At this point, they're quite used to you being closed off, but this is the first time they've seen how you're like when your sick. You're more distant than you usually are.

After some time you feel the familiar pinch in your stomach and your labored breathing. The acid quickly rises in you, and it feels as if it were knawing through its pathway.

You quickly turn to the other side of your bunk in hopes to reach the fresher again. Instead, your eyes meet a metal bucket beside your bunk. Unable to hold everything in, you expel the acid in the bucket.

You cry out in pain; the muscles of your abdoment working overtime to push the acid out of you. Your hair drapes around your face as you throw up, getting in the way of the vomit that not only comes out of your mouth, but also some through the nose.

You vaguely feel a hand gathering your hair and holding it away from your face, and another hand gently rubbing your back.

"Hey, it's okay. I got you," it says soothingly.

Warm tears stream down from your eyes, to your cheeks, and pour down to the bucket.

You lie back down, breathing heavily. The bitter-sour aftertaste of the acid makes you cringe. Your eyelids flutter heavily, and you drift in and out of sleep. You don't even notice that Hunter disappeared until you hear the fresher door open and the bucket being settled down beside your bunk again.

"I could've done that myself," You mutter tiredly.

Hunter crosses his arms over his chest, a big frown on his face. "No, you need to rest. Let me help you."

"It's my problem. I'm the one who's sick."

"Uh-huh," Hunter grunts, looking very unimpressed. "C'mon, ad'ika. Let me help."

Ad'ika.

As he says that, you could hear Wolffe's voice. Your eyes dart around the room, trying to find him. But the only other person you see is a concerned Hunter looking down at you.

Logically, you knew you needed someone to help you with the bucket, and other things that may come up. Your heart clenches at how you wished it was Wolffe, or Boost, or Sinker, or Comet, or Master Plo. But deep inside you, you know that if you try to do this all by yourself, you may end up vomiting on the floor or elsewhere where you shouldn't be. You wouldn't want that.

"Fine," you concede. Your voice no longer holding the fight it had previously.

Hunter flashes you a faint smile as he leaves. Your head lolls on the pillow as your eyelids close on their own and your mind becomes blank.

You wake up once again to someone tapping your shoulder. In your hazy vision, you see Hunter holding out a bottle of water to you. Sitting up, you take it gratefully, taking a few sips. You hand it back to him before resuming your slumber.

And so under the lights of hyperspace, the cycle continued until you reached Ord Mantell. Every thirty minutes or so, Hunter would wake up after you throw up in the bucket; he would flush it before returning it to you clean. Occassionally, he would refill the bottle with water, as well.

In your delurious state, sometimes you would see Wolffe instead of Hunter moving about. And it would seep into your dreams, too. You would see the blur of grey and white armor of the Wolfpack instead of the colorful armor of the Batch. You would hear Wolffe's voice—gruff and strict—telling you to take it easy.

But as the hours tick by, you no longer see or hear anyone from the Wolfpack, whether it be in your dreams or reality. You don't see the grey and white. Instead, you see flashes of color; you see flashes of grey mixed with yellow, red, cyan, and orange. You don't hear Wolffe's strict voice, Boost and Sinker's jokes, or Master Plo's comforting advice. You hear Hunter's gruff but caring remarks, Wrecker's booming laughter, Echo's gentle reminders, Tech's steady comments, and Omega's soft greetings.

And as you arrive at Ord Mantell, you accept their assistance without protest as you disembark from the Marauder. You know that Master Plo and the 104th would always have a place in your heart, but you know now that there's room for five more colorful people.

[mnnulat]

Kinn: Kim is the best on hand to hand combat. I think some bodyguards are scared of him.

Porsche: Ugh! I can’t believe my sweet baby brother is dating your sociopathic brother

Kim: Hey! Don’t be a hypocrite! Kinn has some weird record about head shooting people!

Porsche: What!?

Kinn: I never said I was proud of it!

[mnnulat]

American Television after 5 years of pushing for queer representation: I hope you wanted unnecessary drama, angst with a maybe resolution, and three unfulfilling seasons of questionably written flirtation. And that all comes before anything is half-confirmed with a singular lukewarm kissing scene between two conventionally attractive, white bisexual women!

Thai Television .3 seconds after they figured out queer content is marketable: Did you want something kinky, soft, or stupid? Did you want cat ears? We’ve got cat ears! We’ve got safe/sane/consensual OR off-the-charts bad etiquette BDSM. We’ve got college students out the ass! As long as they’re an engineer or architect, choose your flavor. Do you want an age gap or classmates? Something for adults? Teens? Everyone was childhood besties, how about that??? This is a short order restaurant and I will flip you some gays like they’re hotcakes, just tell me what you want.

[mnnulat]

MileApo’s touches throughout the gala

My favorite:

[mnnulat]

and that's what you missed on KinnPorsche! KinnPorsche + Glee quotes [4/?]

[mnnulat]

website

[mnnulat]

Masterlist

KinnPorsche the Series:

House of Memories

Original Works:

In Vino Veritas (Part 1) - collab with @imasimpyes

Star Wars:

Clone Force 99

Room for More

Been There, Done That

[mnnulat]

In Vino Veritas (Part 1)

Main writer: @imasimpyes (check out her blog and ao3!) | Secondary writer and editor: @mnnulat

Rating: 18+

Warnings: graphic smut, manipulative ex-boyfriend, overall angst

Summary: Two senior high school teachers find ways away from their busy schedules to fall in love. From nosy students to challenges with their pasts, will they have a bond strong enough to withstand each problem they face?

A/N: Part 2 will come soon (we hope)!

Ryan awoke with a severe headache and a feeling of extreme confusion before his mind realized that someone was lying behind him. He felt warm, exposed skin pressing up against him as hot breath ghosted over the nape of his neck.

His jeans were draped over a chair, his shirt on a lamp and the rest of his clothes lay around on the floor at the foot of the bed.

He attempted to remember the day before as he laid as motionless as he could, locked in the stranger's arms. The hand that was resting on his chest began to descend across his skin. 

Ryan jerked upright, freeing himself from the stranger's hold, and peered at them with horrified eyes. 

The sight next to him caused both his heart to accelerate and his stomach to plummet. Even in his current state, he was undoubtedly the most attractive person Ryan had seen in a while. He looked back at him, his eyes slightly unfocused.

“Are you ok?” the man asked, his voice was sinfully deep and raspy with sleep. The sound of it had arousal pooling in Ryan's groin. He recalled the same voice speaking to him the night before, somewhere under the sheets.

Ryan was certain that he would be tempted to go back into those firm-looking arms if it weren't for the man's exposed skin. The man's throat was covered with hand-shaped, dark marks. Ryan licks his upper lip at the spectacle.

Ryan noted the lingering metallic flavor of blood in his mouth as well as the dry blood specks that covered the discolored flesh around the bite marks along his collarbones. 

Ryan sighed under his breath, concerned as he said, “Did I hurt you?” His tongue felt thick and dry in his mouth.

The man sat up. More scars and wounds were exposed by the covers pooling around his waist. He delicately placed a hand on Ryan's arm after hearing the concern coming from Ryan.

“I'm sorry. If I’d known you were too drunk, I wouldn’t have encouraged this. I promise it was all consensual.” His thumb stroked soothing circles on Ryan's forearm. 

“And no, you didn't hurt me. It was great, I promise.” He smiled, bringing warmth to Ryan's worried heart. 

Ryan struggled with the decision of whether to learn the man's name or not. He was hoping that there wouldn't be a need for it and that they would never again run into each other. Even while a small part of Ryan said deviously that he had enjoyed every minute of seeing him, nausea grabbed his gut tight.

"What's your name?" His curiosity got the better of him. The man smirked teasingly, warmth crept up Ryan's neck when he said,

"You don't remember screaming it, either?" Again, without needing an obvious answer, the man said, "Ian." Ryan nodded.

"I'm-" 

"Ryan, I remember. I had to yell it out too at some point last night," the confession from Ian made Ryan stutter out a reply, ultimately being left speechless.

Some point last night. All Ryan remembered was how after staring carelessly at a stranger for God knows how long, he found his back being pressed against a door–the door he was currently looking at—and Ian kissed him breathless. After that, everything was blurred together.

There was an awkward silence around them. Ryan hadn't noticed until Ian cleared his throat beside him.

"Do you want to make this a regular thing or..." Ian trailed off, allowing Ryan to follow up on the thought.

"Uhm, I'm fine with any but I'm not looking for a relationship, sorry."

"Neither am I." Ian kicked the sheets off his legs, exposing everything else supposedly hidden under them. Ryan tried—tried—to avert his gaze only to succumb to temptation and stare at it with widening eyes, pulling a breathy laugh from Ian when he'd caught sight of it before promptly turning to round the room and into another. Ryan unabashedly held his gaze on the man's ass. Fuckin' hell.

Ian yelled out, “We can go for round three later, if you want!” When Ryan heard the sound of water streaming, he realized he had been speaking to Ian while most probably sporting the most awful bed hair imaginable.

Of course, that vanished the moment Ian walked out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel hanging low on his waist, kept up by the hand holding it. Ryan now realized the brass rimmed glasses on Ian's face, the ones he might see on old people but somehow it makes him look cute.

Wait, three?!

***

Just as Ryan was about to leave in his black Porsche Cayenne, Ian managed to catch him. The smile given to Ryan caused his hand to stray from the wheel, his mind to spin out of control, and he tried to focus his eyes on everything but the man in front of him, standing outside his car.

"Sorry, can I have your number? If we're going to make this a regular thing, we should be able to contact each other right?" Ian said. "Please?" As if to make Ryan feel overloaded, Ian pushed his glasses up then scrunched his nose cutely.

Dear fucking god what the fuck! No one in this world should be that fucking hot, what the fuck?! Did I save a planet in my past life? A country? Did I discover a solar system that supplied additional oxygen to Earth? Dear fucking god, thank you so fucking much, oh my god. Ryan finished his inner curse-filled monologue.

"Yeah, of course, sure. Here," Ryan took the phone outstretched to him.

"Thank you," the glint in Ian's eyes whispered to Ryan, Ian wanted to kiss him. Please!

"Please," the thought escaped his lips, and theirs were supposed to touch when the honking of Ryan's car surprised them both. Even Ryan had no words for his own stupidity.

Ian reached inside Ryan's open window to unlock the car door, saying, "No, I'm not letting you leave like that." God, Ryan felt like melting into a puddle, one that was waiting for Ian to step on.

"Let me?" Ian hooked his thumb under Ryan's chin, tilting his head up. With no other words exchanged, Ryan began to rethink his decision of not wanting a relationship. When he closed his eyes and leaned into the passionate kiss, a longing sigh escaped his lips.

***

Throughout class, the feelings lingered and caused Ryan to fumble his words. He was successful in covering up his mistakes with jokes that garnered a few chuckles from his students. Ryan's mind was a complete mess. They kept reminding him of what happened the day before.

One of his students called. "Teacher," jerking Ryan out of his thoughts.

He clumsily replied. "Ah—yeah," while gazing at his  laptop's bright screen rather than the person speaking. His power point's text were mixed in with the graphics and colors.

He smiled at the sincere question "Are you okay?" Despite the fact that he was only two seconds from from passing out, he nodded, quietly smiling at her.

His class was abruptly interrupted by a message from Ian that was displayed 

on the monitor. Ryan was filled with panic. As he realized that his class could see whatever the man texted, his eyes widened.

Ryan was immediately bombarded with who’s that? questions from the class as he frantically tried to remove the chat head but was unable to see his cursor.

"Ah... oh no, technical difficulties." Ryan attempted to give a calm laugh.

The text had not contained anything improper, and even if it had, Ryan was a Senior High School teacher. Even though he would want for them not to be aware of such things just yet, given their age, he wouldn't be surprised if they did. He caught a few smiles, snickers, and students whispering to one another in his peripheral vision.

Ryan urged everyone to settle down as he eventually got rid of the incident. He decided against viewing the message right away, even on his phone in case any of his curious students wanted to sneak a peek.

One teased him. "Who was that, teacher?"

When asked, Ryan sighed and shook his head with affection. He mimicked her lighthearted tone. "That's for me to know and for you to find out."

***

Ryan stretched in his chair in the faculty and heard the gratifying crack of his 

back and neck. He rested for a while with his eyes closed, then opened them when he heard paper being arranged next to him.

"Do you need help?" he said, observing the struggle in utilizing the school's printer the person was having. Ryan noticed the man had fine hands, and he unintentionally let his eyes follow the arm, goddamn.

A voice said, "yes, actu-Ryan?" jolting Ryan out of his homoerotic daydream. He almost knocked the chair over when his attention was drawn to the man's face as he stood.

‘What the fuck was he doing here?’ He noticed the room's lack of seclusion and yelled in a whisper at Ian instead. "What are you doing here?!"

Ian asked in an almost mocking tone, "I work here, you?" 

Maybe out of embarrassment, shame, or genuine anger, Ryan was overcome with frustration.

"You—oh my god, come here!" Ryan grabbed Ian's wrist as the papers were thrown carelessly across his desk and long forgotten. 

He led Ian outside the faculty and down the spiral staircase next to it to a more private place where they were hidden behind a column.

"Why do you work here?" demanded Ryan strongly. Ian retorted, lifting an eyebrow in confusion and crossing his arms. "Because I'm a teacher and so are you, what's wrong with that, Ryan?"

Ryan grabbed hold of Ian's defined arms once more, forcing them to his sides. 

"You bitch, you know exactly what's wrong with this. And stop that! It's distracting!" Ryan yelled. He'd intended to back away but was unexpectedly drawn into a tight embrace.

"Hey! Someone's going to see us!" Ryan tried pushing the other away but to no avail.

"Then, let's go somewhere else." The obvious intent behind the suggestion brought Ryan back into his own mind, lost in whatever fantasy he was suddenly living and as if he was no longer in control of his own body, nodded. The smirk he received made Ryan want to dramatically princess-fall right into Ian's arms.

The bashful expression Ryan couldn't disguise earned another smirk as Ian took hold of Ryan's hand and made a show of interlacing their fingers. Having memorized the route to his destination, Ian guided Ryan in that direction.

Ian spotted a few students looking down the open corridor of the sixth floor as he continued across the school's playground in the middle of the four buildings. He resisted the urge to chuckle. 

Ryan, oblivious to the observants above them, had no intention or thought to take his hand from the other, and said, "Shut up, c'mon. I feel like I know where you want to go.” He had come to appreciate the thrill of holding Ian’s hand. 

Then Ryan said, "The fourth floor, right? That one large room with the long tables. Not a lot of people go there."

When Ian felt the tug on his arm, he still had his attention diverted by the students. His focus was drawn back to Ryan, who appeared more than willing to return to the shade.

***

“Are you sure you want to do this sober?” Ian murmured, Ryan’s face went red, yes, please. Ian started stepping closer to Ryan, he took his hands in his. Ryan assumed Ian was going to kiss him, but what happened was that Ian lightly grazed his lips over Ryan’s ear. 

“Please...” Ryan replied, voice whispery. Ryan restrained a groan of want when he felt the warmth of Ian’s breath on his earlobe. 

Ryan broke their eye contact as he moved his attention to Ian's lips, and Ian carefully slid his hands to hold onto Ryan's waist. His tongue and teeth were all over the place as he grabbed Ian's face on each side and pulled him for their lips to meet. Ian drew his waist closer since he could feel his own erection rubbing up against Ryan's growing one.  

While Ryan unbuckled the other man's belt, Ian used his hands to undo the buttons on his shirt as quickly as he could. He swiftly went from gazing into Ian's eyes to bending over on his knees with his shirt loosely draped over his shoulders, Ryan undid the zipper of Ian's slacks, and pulled them down at the same time as his briefs to release Ian's shaft. A little out of practice since ending his previous relationship, Ryan almost gasped when he saw the size that Ian had been keeping. He didn't think he could even fit it all in his mouth, but that wouldn't stop him from trying.  

Ryan licked the tip and slowly made his way to the base before going back, he wrapped his mouth around the impressive length and started moving his head back and forth, Ian moaned as he felt Ryan’s tight mouth fit around his cock. Ryan was trying to not to go too fast, but Ian wasn’t satisfied with the speed. He reached down and felt around Ryan's dark hair before grabbing a fist full and pulling his head back and forth over and over again. Ryan moaned around Ian's length at the sudden blunt sting in his scalp.

Ryan reached his hand past the belt of his pants and started pleasuring himself while Ian controlled the movements of his head, he continued to moan around Ian as he jerked himself off and felt the intense stinging pain coming from his hair being pulled by some of the strongest hands he’d ever had the pleasure of getting on him. Ian looked down to the enchanting sight of seeing Ryan’s head bobbing as his hand moved in his pants. Ryan had been in a few relationships prior, but most of the time he wasn't the one being dragged by his hair and getting a dick this big rammed far back down his throat. However, he found it enjoyable.

Ryan obeyed the command "look at me," gazing into the handsome eyes of the man towering over him as he continued sucking him off. From his knees, Ian was attractive to look at; his skin glistened in the faint ceiling light, his hair was untidy and draped in front of his face, and his eyes pierced Ryan as if he were gazing into the depths of his soul. Ryan could not breathe, and his gentle groans turned to whimpers. Ian lifted the other man off his cock and knelt to match the other man's height.  

“Are you okay? Was it too rough?” Ian's hand was still running over Ryan's hair without pulling, and he was struggling to inhale as much breath as he could. Ryan shook his head in response since he was too out of breath to say anything else. Ryan moved himself forward and kissed the other man. Ian grinned and brought his hand to Ryan's face.

"Could you do something for me?" Ian asked.

Ryan looked at him expectantly then Ian took off his glasses, placing them onto Ryan's face. It didn't register to him how unfamiliar the weight was on the bridge of his nose. Ryan just knew Ian liked looking at him with them on.

Ryan dropped his forehead against Ian's shoulder and drooled onto Ian's chest. His breathing was labored on Ian's bare skin. Ian held Ryan's face while lifting his hand away from his shoulder and gazing into the man's doe eyes, silently craving more. Ryan continued to sit on his knees and look up at Ian when Ian gently drew his face closer and kissed his lips. Ian then released Ryan and stood back up. He gently said, "Get up, Ryan," and then hauled him back to his feet.

Ian slid Ryan's shirt from his arms, finally able to get it fully off, Ryan stuck his fingers behind the waist of his pants to start pushing them of but before he was able to get his hands on his pants to pull them off Ian turned him around and bent him over the desk, slamming his chest into the wood under him.

Ian pulled off Ryan's pants and put one of his fingers in his mouth before moving it in front of Ryan’s hole, tracing around it, making Ryan shiver. He gingerly slid his finger inside, making Ryan's knees shudder, he moved his finger back and forth, in and out of Ryan, Ryan pushed his hips back trying to get more inside him. Ian swiftly added a second finger, then after Ryan kept moving his hips back further, he added a third, Ryan whining with every new finger. 

Ian never kept with a specific pattern, testing different speeds and always wanting to keep Ryan on his toes, Ryan bit his lip to stop from being too loud and scraped his fingers against the hard white wooden table he rested on. Ian wanted to hear Ryan scream, he's always detested it when his partners stayed silent, he curled his fingers to rub against the other man's prostate.

Ryan moaned as his forehead hit the table, Ian moved his fingers faster inside him, keeping them curled, making Ryan leave permanent marks in the wood with his fingernails.

Ryan made a small whimper when he lost the feeling of Ian’s fingers inside him. Ian moved one hand to Ryan’s waist and used the other to grip onto the base of his cock, guiding it into Ryan’s hole. He then grabbed one of Ryan’s legs and propped it up on the desk. Ian smeared Ryan’s entrance with pre-cum.

Ryan's hips were pulled back onto his cock as he repositioned his other hand on his thigh. Holding it up and bent on the table.

“Oh, fuck,” Ryan groaned as he felt Ian's enormous cock slip inside of him, causing him to slam his head against the desk as he had done previously.  Ryan shuddered as a flood of pleasure washed over him, and he whispered inaudible words that sounded like music to Ian's ears as Ian pulled back before slamming back inside him. He thrusted his hips back and  from Ryan while gripping him so firmly that it was certain to leave bruises.

Ian bent down over Ryan and lightly placed kisses on his shoulders, admiring the way Ryan looked in something he wore before licking and soon enough, biting onto his sweet supple skin. Ryan winced as he felt Ian's teeth break through his skin, it was as painful as it was arousing, Ian smiled above his bites at the teacher's reaction to the pain. 

He straightened his back and kept pounding inside Ryan, brushing his hand over Ryan’s thigh, admiring the soft skin beneath his hand before violently, and without warning, slapping at the meat under his hand. Ryan’s leg slipped from on top of the desk as another moan slipped from Ryan’s lips, enjoying the pain of his colleague's hand all too much. 

Ryan tried to reach under himself to stroke at his aching and touch-starved cock, but Ian noticed the movement and moved his hand from Ryan’s waist and grabbed onto his arm and twisted it around his back. Ryan slammed his head against the desk, being entranced by the pain. Ian bent down over Ryan and nibbled at his earlobe. 

“Who said you were allowed to do that?” Ian whispered before lifting himself from Ryan’s back and letting go of his arm then, once again, slapping Ryan on the ass, leaving behind a red mark in the shape of his hand. 

Ryan was able to mutter out some sounds that appeared to be some type of request, and Ian tried to decipher what little of the garbled message Ryan had mumbled out. He pounded his hips in and out from Ryan as he wrapped a hand around his waist, grabbing hold of his cock and moving it in the patterns of his thrusts.  

The only things keeping Ryan's hips up were the desk under him, which rattled and creaked against the floor in time with the thrusts coming from the other man, and the fact that Ian was still holding him up with one of his hands. Ryan's throat began to rasp loudly as he was being pleasured on both ends.  

Ian released his grip on Ryan's cock and repositioned it on his hip since he needed the added support for the vicious thrusts. Little groans still managed to escape Ryan's lips despite his best efforts to keep his mouth shut and prevent any noise from coming out. Even with his teeth driven deep into his flesh, this wasn't nearly enough to stop the noise. As he felt another hard slap on his ass, his lips were coated in his own blood, and his teeth were pulled away from the harsh wound in his lip. Ian used it as an invite for him to be as loud as he needed. 

Ryan felt his orgasm getting closer, so he sank his nails into the smooth wood beneath him. As he came on the floor, his knees collapsed, and his eyesight became foggy from the extreme pleasure that was coursing through him.  

His ass was bright red, Ian kept fucking him throughout his orgasm, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to get up the next day without feeling uncomfortable. Under Ian, his body was limp, and all his energy was focused on making noises because it was difficult to be silent with such a large cock plunging inside of him. Ryan felt like he could have passed out from the ecstasy he felt all over his body if they continued much longer.  

Thankfully, Ian fell back over him with a groan as he came into him, stopping the stars from filling Ryan's vision. Before lowering down and kissing Ryan's shoulder blades, Ian's breathing was labored against the back of Ryan's neck. Ryan was flat against the desk, his eyelids heavy as his breathing, and he could taste his own drool blending in with the blood from his cut lip. After losing the support of the other man's hands holding onto his waist, Ryan suddenly fell to his knees. It hurt to even sit, so Ian swiftly knelt and assisted Ryan onto a chair. As he was raised, Ryan whined and fluttered his eyes open to look up at Ian. His hair hung in front of his face, and Ian's eyes were fixed on Ryan as he combed it back.  

“Are you okay, Ryan?” his hand rested on the side of his face, rubbing his thumb along his cheek and placed a soft kiss on his forehead, being unusually soft for someone who had agreed to no strings attached. 

“Yeah,” came the exhausted reply, a smile was present on his face and Ian didn't feel like retrieving his glasses.

***

Ryan dozed off on his desk. Later, when he got a stiff neck as a result of this, he cursed at his careless choice.

Ryan's shock at receiving a notification caused him to check his phone immediately. He was secretly hoping for him to be the one who texted, but it wasn't Ian–so much for not wanting a relationship–a name that Ryan intended to never see or hear from again appeared on the screen instead of, say, a text informing him that Ian had gotten home or asking if he wanted to go on a date. With Ian.

Marcus

I miss you 2:55

Ryan was even further frightened by a hand on his shoulder. He panicked and felt as though his room's four walls were once again enclosing him. Too anxious to seek assistance and too afraid to breathe. He cocked his head up and peered at Amber Grimmhelm, another teacher, with wide eyes. She'd been his friend since his first day teaching here. He felt a little bit calmer knowing that.

The question are you okay? rang strangely in Ryan's ears. What he had been about to say, 

"Yes, I..." faded from his memory. His heart began to palpitate, his throat tightened, and dread settled deep in his heart.

"Who was that?" Amber grasped Ryan's hand firmly. Grounding him with the pressure then, with her free hand. She took the phone from Ryan, staring with a growing hatred for the name on the screen.

"Why is he still texting you?" Amber asked Ryan, not an ounce of joy in her tone.

"He's.. he's drunk." Ryan found his voice but what came out was merely a whisper, as if everything else was stuck in his throat. It hurt to speak.

"Bastard." Amber's grip on Ryan's hand unintentionally grew tight, she only let go and apologized profusely when Ryan winced.

"You wanna pretend to date me to get rid of him again?" Amber tried to lighten the tense air surrounding them.

"That wouldn't be fair to your girlfriend."

"She knows I have a single, in need of help best friend. She'll understand, besides, if she wasn't a lesbian and with me already, she would've taken the chance with you. However little that chance may be" Amber muttered the however little that chance may be almost as if it was an insult, one Ryan played along with.

"Would you have taken your chance with me too?" To which the reply was, "definitely not. Disgusting. I'd go for Ian though." That certainly shocked Ryan, their previous dilemma finally being pushed away by their bickering, Ryan stared wide-eyed at Amber.

"Ian?" He asked as steady as he could manage. Oh, the things he could tell Amber.

"Yeah, I mean. He's hot, he's nice, he's smart. And he can imitate different accents."

"Wait, so... you'd take him but not me? What kind of–" Ryan's complaints were interrupted by the bubbling laughter of the woman beside him.

"Of course, I'd take him instead! You're too much like a brother to me," the forced light in her eyes as she fluttered her lashes convinced him otherwise and he gave her a blank stare.

The sound of the sliding door open caught their attention, Amber first turned her head in that direction while Ryan's eyes were trained at the back of her head, burning holes into it.

"See? Exactly that! Look!" A hushed-yell came from Amber.

"Shut up, traitor." Ryan muttered, sneering at her.

"Oh, you would too." Amber pointed at him teasingly. As if she was talking to a baby.

"Would too what?"

"You would want to get with him too."

How Ryan wished he could blurt out 'I already have'.

***

Receiving notification after notification, Ryan was getting frustrated. One person sent all of the texts, all of which had the phrases I miss you, I want you back, and I need your help, please. The man was so desperate that he was practically begging.

Ryan had lost all love for Marcus. That was it; they split up. Amber claimed that he had been subjected to emotional abuse, but given the way that society operates, no one outside his immediate circle would have believed him.

Ryan sagged in his seat, and Amber said, "Ryan, just keep ignoring him."

He hadn't intended for the response to sound angry, "I am ignoring him."

Whether or not she realized it was unintentional, she left him alone. He parted his lips to speak after feeling a pang of guilt, but his words were cut off by his phone ringing. He cursed rather than reaching out for Amber. 

"Fuck!" Ryan clapped a hand over his mouth in surprise at what he had just said.

Ryan exited the faculty carrying his phone in an effort to maintain his dignity. Before tentatively answering the phone, he made sure the sliding doors were shut. The sound of Marcus' voice filled him with regret at once, to the brim. Out of everyone who could have called, why him?

“What do you want?" Ryan's tone was clipped, ready to hang up.

A displeasing voice resounded in his ears.

“Ouch. What’s with the tone?” Ryan wasn’t entirely sure if Marcus was teasing him, or if he’s just completely ignorant and oblivious to Ryan’s feelings. Either way, he huffed at the caller’s response.

“Answer the fucking question, damn it,” Ryan said as he tried to control his huffing and puffing; this man was really riling him up.

“Fine. My girlfriend—” Marcus began and of course Marcus began with that.

“Did you really call me just to brag about your girlfriend?!”

“Fucking hell, let me finish!” Marcus spat out. “My girlfriend, she’s a crazy bitch. She never listens—”

“Sounds familiar,” Ryan interjected quietly.

“—she always says that she’ll change, but she never does! She also gets mad if I don’t do what she says, but if she doesn’t do what I say, she goes all weepy on me!”

“Did you call to rant or what?” Ryan grew more annoyed, Marcus’ whining helped with nothing except ruining his day.

“Please! I want out already! Help me get rid of her!”

Ryan froze. He felt his heart skip a beat and a cold shiver ran down his spine. He shivered a bit; his fingers shook slightly. His left eye twitched. His mouth, from a firm pout twisted to become a snarl.

“I knew I should’ve blocked your number when we broke up,” he growled.

“But you didn’t. Please, I’m begging you, I’m going insane,” the tone of Marcus became softer and pleading. To the untrained, one can even sense sincerity. But Ryan knows. Oh, he knows that Marcus wants something in return or has an agenda. Either way, Ryan doesn’t like where this is headed.

But he also knew how persistent Marcus was.

“Fine, what do you want me to do?” Ryan wasn’t sure why he just agreed. They broke up for a reason. Maybe because he just wanted Marcus to finally shut up. Helping him will finally have Marcus leaving him alone, right?

“Well, she knows that you’re my ex so…” the way Marcus trailed off made Ryan’s hand grip on his phone tighter and his nostrils to flare.

“If you’re asking me to date you again, I swear—”

Marcus immediately cut him off. “No, no! Nothing like that. Just, maybe we could catch up with each other?”

Ryan immediately slammed his unoccupied hand on the black metal railing in front of him. “The hell I will! Do you know how many nights I’ve cried because of you?!”

“I know. I’m really sorry,” the caller’s voice was soft and gentle, “I’m sorry I hurt you. You deserve someone better than me. And I now know how much I’ve wronged you.”

All that could be heard for a few moments were the light chatter of students and the bouncing of a volleyball.

“Fine, whatever. Anything you want,” Ryan’s last sentence automatically flew out of his mouth, a reflex developed during his relationship with Marcus to avoid any conflict.

“Okay, then! So, uhm, I’ll just send a text if shit’s gonna start,” Marcus replied.

Ryan didn’t even wait for him to say goodbye before ending the call. He heaved a heavy sigh as he leaned on the dull cement wall beside the faculty room door. 

Ryan was so lost in his own regret that he failed to notice Ian stepping out of the door as it opened.

"What happened?" Ryan had heard Ian concerned for him before, but this time, something about the circumstance made him realize that none of the people from his past had even tried.... Ryan shut the thought down quickly. Ian was a friend with benefits. Nothing more and nothing less.

His image of Ian was shifting, but he wasn't ready to admit it. He kept repeating in his thoughts, "Nothing more, nothing less."

Through his teeth, Ryan lied, "Nothing, don't worry." I need you to worry, so please worry. His heart felt as though it were about to burst from the pressure of his emotions.

Unlike every other time Ian had done this, arms wrapping themselves around his figure.  But, this hug gave Ryan precisely what he needed. All the others were jests and teases. This was an anchor, a means of securing oneself and serving as a reminder of where he was before his mind took over to eat him up.  He might not have been adept at controlling his expressions, but right now, he didn't seem to care. Ian's warm, consoling, and secure embrace assured him that he didn't have to care.

“Do you want to go to our spot?”

“Please…”

***

Ian recalled what had transpired in this room. Few students came up here, the most isolated room in the school, unless classes were being held. The distance between the classroom's location and the main buildings made it harder to find, which was ideal for both Ian and Ryan.

Instead of sitting in one of the black chairs Ian was on, Ryan sat on the long table that was painted white. Ryan's legs were swinging and he looked like a child. Adorable.

Ian didn’t bother to hide his stretching smile as he looked up from under his lashes. He gazed at Ryan who was plagued with his own worries. Ian relaxed his shoulders and fell back in his seat, an arm extending so he could hold Ryan’s thigh, grounding him again. Ryan tensed, for some reason, surprised by the contact.

“Are you okay?” Ian asked.

Unlike earlier, Ryan told the truth and shook his head, no.

"Do you want me to help?" Ian made his voice softer.

"....Can you give me a distraction?" Ryan replied after a few minutes, staring at Ian with a shy but determined expression.

"Of course," and the hand on Ryan's thigh moved up. Ian slowly ran his hand up and down Ryan’s thigh, and stopped on the upper part. He kneaded on it gently, careful not to squeeze so hard; all the while he made eye contact with the man in front of him. His other hand reached for Ryan’s chin: the index finger curled just under the chin, and the thumb held the area just below the lip, all which helped to slightly tip his face upwards.

With his one hand still kneading Ryan’s thigh, Ian gingerly presses a soft, still kiss on Ryan’s lips.

Ryan swallowed hard, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip when Ian kicked his chair to make way for himself on the floor, exactly in between Ryan's knees.

Ryan's eyes couldn’t leave the precise movements of Ian's nimble fingers working over the clasp and zipper of his pants, thumbs catching the hem of both his pants and briefs, pulling them off.

Ian leaned in but before warm, soft lips could make contact, Ryan twisted his fingers through Ian's well styled hair as he grabbed his bangs and aggressively tugged them back. In return, Ian stuck out his tongue in the hope of teasing or tasting him, but he was unsuccessful. With a slight scowl on his lips, he snarled at the burn on his head but upon seeing Ryan's smile, his expression relaxed.

Ryan loosened his grasp and gently stroked the sensitive, stinging flesh there. He cupped Ian's chin in his palm and ran calming touches down his face and along his jaw. Ryan tilted Ian's head up and placed a kiss on his forehead, a thank you for allowing this to happen.

Ian kissed Ryan's knee, slowly working his way up. He then went back and started to lick until Ryan’s upper thigh, where he kissed the spot again and again. He felt a thrust from Ryan, and his impatience earned him a hard bite on the soft meat of his inner thigh. Ian nibbled and sucked a line of deep, dark purple bruises up to the base of Ryan's throbbing cock.

Ian licked Ryan's cock from the base then let his tongue flick over the tip to clear it of precum without a single warning.

Ryan struggled against the want to thrust upwards in fear of feeling more teeth against tender flesh. He let out a deep groan and his knuckles turned white.

Ian teases cruelly, grazing his teeth down Ryan's shaft. Ryan's breath catches each time.

Ian widened his mouth to accommodate Ryan's startlingly large size. He licked and sucked Ryan into overexcited pants while concentrating on the head, causing groans. 

Ian could feel Ryan's thighs encircling his shoulders. Every time he bobbed his head, he went deeper and deeper until he could kiss the hilt.

Ryan's hands moved towards the back of Ian's head, entangling soft dark strands around his knuckles. In order to enjoy the warmth wrapping his cock in a manner that Marcus could never, he resisted the impulse to tug.

Ryan was left feeling helpless, shaking, and yearning when Ian sucked the head a few more times before gently drawing away with a wet plop.

"Ian…" Ryan whined, against his self-control, he pushed Ian's head forward, back on his cock. Forcefully thrusting his hips upwards. He relished in how Ian gagged because of the abuse in his throat. Ryan clenches his jaw as he sees Ian's drool start to drip out of his mouth.

Ian gained control when Ryan lost his pace. He swallows around Ryan and realizes it was a mistake.

"Ian—Ian, I'm gonna cum! Sto—fuck!"

Ian ignored his warning, still sucking and going over the entire length of Ryan's cock with his tongue.

"Ian, fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck, please! Fu—" Ryan keened above Ian, his fingers gripped so tightly on Ian's hair.

Ryan's thighs were threatening to squeeze shut and they would have were it not for Ian holding them firmly apart.

"Ian! Ian! Stop!—shit!" Shivers wrecked Ryan's core, his entire body spasmed in ecstasy. He yanks Ian back and completely by accident although now it was more a miracle, he came with a shout. His cum not only shot inside Ian's still open and waiting mouth but also his glasses, dirtying them and almost covering his entire line of sight.

Ian, once Ryan let him go, reached for them. Ryan half expected him to complain, he bets it would be difficult to clean.

Until Ian proved him wrong by licking a long strip across the lens, audibly swallowing the cum he'd gathered.

Ryan gawked at him, utterly baffled at the action.

"Did you like it?" Ian asked before repeating, flattening the pad of his tongue on the lenses until they were clean.

"Fuck," Ryan stopped holding himself up and dropped. His back hit the table, making a loud bang in the room.

His heart swelled in adoration as he heard Ian chuckle at him. Ian then kissed both of Ryan’s thighs softly, then slowly licked each from the middle to the upper area.

Ryan whimpered in response. Ian gently massaged—not knead—one of Ryan’s thighs as he leaned over the collapsed man. He pressed his lips against the other; both men’s hearts fluttered as their lips moved, as Ryan tried to match Ian’s pace. Ryan moaned as he tasted himself on Ian; not entirely sweet but not an abhorrent taste either.

Fucking hell, that was most definitely a distraction.

Ryan let out a giggle, Ian's glasses looked foggy. Like they haven't been cleaned in ages.

"Do you want to go to the washroom?" He said in between chuckles.

It took a while for Ian to reply, maybe deciding whether or not he was willing to give up their comfortable position.

"Fine" Ian moved to stand, his legs wobbling when he did.

"Can you even see?" Ryan asked.

"Nope." Ian bubbled with laughter. Ryan followed suit, hopping down from the table and made his way towards the door.

"I can't— ah!" Ryan startled at the bang when Ian's face hit the door frame, stopping Ian mid sentence.

"Are you okay?" He laughed louder than he had earlier.

"I can't see!" Ian slipped his fingers under his glasses to rub his eye and thought it best to just take them off for now.

"C'mon, grandpa."

"I'm four-eyed, not old. And aren't you older than me?" Ryan didn't provide an answer to the question, instead taking Ian's hand to intertwine their fingers, giggling still.

The washroom was almost beside the classroom and there were no staircases or steps needed to take, making it easy for Ryan to guide a practically blind Ian.

"Careful, watch your face," Ryan joked.

"How am I supposed to watch my face and I can barely see yours!" There was no true irritation in Ian's tone so Ryan took it as an invitation to keep teasing.

Because of Ryan's carelessness and the joyful tears blurring his vision, he nearly pulled Ian straight into a wall.

"Oh, shit! Sorry!" Ryan burst into another fit of laughter.

“The washroom is not even that far. Why are you having a hard time with this?” Ian, in reflex, planted the palm of his hand on the wall, pushing himself away from it.

"You're bigger than—shut up. You're taller than me" Ryan rephrased when he heard Ian stifle a laugh.

Turning to the right, Ryan let go of Ian's hand rather reluctantly.

"Shouldn't you just take your glasses off?"

A quiet, almost whispered reply came from Ian, "I liked holding your hand."

In fondness, Ryan shook his head although the smile gracing his lips slowly turned to a frown.

"My ex called me a while ago" Ryan went back to Ian's previous question.

"Oh? What did he say, are you okay?" Ian walked to the sink and turned the faucet on, placing his glasses underneath the softly running water.

"I'm okay now, just stressed"

"Well, if you're still thinking about it. I didn't distract you enough," the suggestive tone in Ian's voice did not go unnoticed.

"I'm not having sex with you in a bathroom stall," Ryan replied with a deadpan expression

"What? No!" When the water stopped flowing, their teasing ended and there was a long silence.

"I'm just worried. We're friends," Ian took a few seconds to even process what he'd said.

Friends. They were friends.

Ryan's fingers purposefully brushed Ian's hand briefly as he took his glasses, saying, "You don't need to be. Here, let me."

"What did your ex say?" Ian repeated his question. He still felt Ryan's fingers ghosting over his hand. It was a feeling he wanted to hold onto.

"He told me to get rid of his girlfriend"

"Get rid?" Ian asked, his eyes widened in confusion.

"Okay, not rid but he wants me to help him break up with her," Ryan explained.

Ian took a step behind Ryan and pressed his chest on Ryan's back, saying, "You don't...”

Ian's arms made their way to Ryan's front, locking his hands together.

Ryan felt the heat of Ian's breath on the crook of his neck and he smiled, closing his eyes and tipping his head back, leaning on Ian's shoulder.

"You don't have to feel obligated to do anything for him. If you don't want to do it, don't. Especially him, if you don't feel comfortable doing it, don't, okay?" Ryan's very soul was melted by Ian's deep, reassuring tone. Before his thoughts abruptly halted the moment, he silently wished for more as he took in the calm, secure presence behind him.

"We're still in the washroom. Here." Ryan did his best in turning around with Ian's arms still around him.

"Thank you," with a softness in his gaze, Ian mouthed, for some reason, his voice didn't follow. The reply was silent. Merely the click of his tongue was heard.

***

Ian nearly ran straight into the closed classroom door, completely forgetting to open it. He'd forgotten by accident the class he was supposed to teach. Now he was in a state of panic and late by 45 minutes.

"Hi, hello, guys! I'm so sorry for being uh… forty-five minutes late," Ian checked his watch, wincing at the time presented.

"That is completely my fault," He murmured as he walked forward, down the line where the seats were separated in the middle with his laptop and notebook in hand.

"Okay, so," Ian began his lecture only for the rest of his sentence to be cut off by a loud ding that echoed in the classroom.

"Can you put your phones on silent, please? Thank you," Ian rounded the table, opting to sit on the front of it rather than the chair provided like he always did.

The papers he had stacked beside him in a slightly messy pile fell when he tried moving backwards just a bit more to be comfortable.

"Sorry, uhm… Who's supposed to present next today?" Ian tried to recall which group of his students were presenting the next literary criticism.

Five students stood, albeit unsurely.

"Okay, what's your topic?" Ian gathered the papers and put them on the table again before repeating his actions and sitting where he wanted to.

"Marxism, teacher," One replied.

"Go ahead and begin when you're ready," Ian pushed himself off the table and walked to the back, leaning on the wall there to give room for them.

Another ding came from a cell phone.

"Guys, I said to turn your phones off," Ian said in a firmer tone, eyed his students and watched as they adjusted the settings on their devices.

The five students, two girls and three boys, fixed their setup. After just a while, a title card entitled Marxism appeared on the screen of the sleek black smart TV monitor.

“Good afternoon, everyone! Today we’ll be presenting Marxism, as well as the story Bread of Salt. Next slide, please,” a lean boy of average height and neat hair began their introduction.

It must’ve been around three minutes when another ding resounded throughout the room. The shortest girl that just started quizzing her classmates looked at the brown wooden teacher’s table beside her when she had heard the sound. Her eyes widened.

The class became deathly quiet and every student was looking at each other in suspicion and confusion.

Ian exhaled sharply; his shoulders rose and fell quickly. He crossed his arms as he addressed the class.

“Guys, what did I say? I believe I gave sufficient warnings alrea—”

“I think it’s yours.”

All eyes snapped to the front, to the shortest girl in class.

Ian didn’t want to believe it. He was so sure that his phone was on mute. But as he made eye contact with the girl, his class beadle, who had her thumb pointed at his phone, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

He quickly approached the table in front of the room and snatched his phone. As his phone’s light reflected on his glasses, his eyes widened and his mouth pulled into a grimace. He briefly made eye contact with his class beadle and his features softened a bit.

He remembered asking this girl to be class beadle, a class president or representative, if you will, because she seemed to be the most responsible person in her batch. Her consistent on-time submissions were proof of that. He deemed her to be the student who was the most interested in his class, too. Her constant recitation and questions were proof of that. She was also the only person that he trusted who wouldn’t tell other teachers that sometimes he sends emergency messages out of office hours; obviously not allowed but he needed to do it, sometimes.

He internally praised himself for choosing the right person. He thought, if it were a different student, maybe they wouldn’t have told him it was his, or they would’ve even blurted out whatever the content of his notification was.

He shook that last thought out of his mind.

“Sorry, guys. That was mine, I should’ve double checked. My deepest apologies, please continue,” Ian gave a deep bow and stepped aside, letting his students resume their presentation, but not before mouthing a thank you to the class beadle who gave a sad smile. He didn’t know why. Unbeknownst to him, she saw the content of the notification: who it was from and what it said.

Ian dismissed them exactly at the 2-hour mark. He fixed his belongings and addressed concerns from students who remained in the room. He was the last one to leave the room.

“Wow.”

He was surprised to see the class beadle still outside.

“Huh?”

“You and Sir Ryan?” She smiled slightly.

“Uh—”

“Nah, it’s fine, teacher. I won’t judge.”

Ian smiled. “Thanks. Will you be going home?”

She laughed. “Actually, yeah. My mom’s on her way, so I think I’mma go down now. You should go to Sir Ryan, I think he needs you right now.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks. Take care, okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Oh, there’s something on your pants, by the way.” She smirked this time before rushing down the stairs. “Okay, bye!”

He looked at the translucent stain on his pants before touching it. As soon as he felt the dampness and slight stickiness, he immediately redrew his hand.

“Damn you!” he exclaimed.

He looked at his phone; it was a message from Ryan.

It read: Help, I'm in the third floor bathroom.

The next message was a screenshot of a conversation. Ian clicked on it only to find out it was a conversation between Ryan and Marcus.

That fucker.

Ian hurried to close the classroom's door and rushed his way down the staircase, nearly bumping into a few students. Nearly gasping for air, Ian burst into the bathroom in a state of panic. He heard the immediate sobs that reached his ears and knocked on that stall.

"Ryan?" Ian knocked again when all he received in reply was another choked sob.

He leaned on the door stall this time. “Hey, shhh. It’s okay, I’m here,” he said gently and softly.

"Ian… please. Ian," the said man felt a hand clench his heart, squeezing it until it felt ready to break.

“May I come in?”

Click. The metal lock against the wooden door rang throughout the room. The door slowly opened to reveal a distraught Ryan: tears like mini waterfalls, hair like a jungle, and eyes red like strawberries.

“Hey,” Ian immediately entered and locked the door once again. He carefully held Ryan’s head in his hands, pressing a long kiss onto the crying man’s forehead. Ryan felt warmth spread in his being with the kiss; he felt safe and his breathing started to regulate.

Shortly after letting go, Ian felt the warmth of a body cling unto him. He hugged Ryan back, caressing the man’s hair and rubbing his back.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

And for a few minutes there was silence in the room, except for the near-quiet sobs of Ryan and Ian’s constant shushing and reassuring.

“What’s up?” Ian asked.

Right when Ryan was about to muster up a response, his phone alerted him of another notification.

"Don't answer it, Ian—Ian, please don't answer it." Ryan was barely blinking, Ian noticed. His pupils were dilated and his breathing was erratic as if he were having a panic attack.

"Please, don't answer it. I don't wanna help, I don't wanna help him, Ian—Ia—" Ryan hid his face in Ian's clothed chest, staining the white shirt with his tears.

"Please, don't answer it," He repeated, his voice now nothing but a whisper and it was like Ryan was saying it more to himself than Ian.

Ian, whose heartstrings were being tugged heavily at the moment, held onto the man clinging on him. He kissed Ryan’s head then his shoulder.

“I won’t, okay? I won’t, promise.” With one hand he continued to caress the other man’s hair, and with the other he gently stroked the other man’s cheek.

He resumed his assurance. “You don’t have to answer him, okay? You don’t have to help because he doesn’t deserve you or your help. You aren’t responsible for him. You don’t deserve to be played on; you deserve the best love.”

Ryan, in the midst of panic, mistakenly hears it as you deserve the best, love. And in a desperate attempt to feel that statement, Ryan moved his hands from where they were hugging Ian to his collar and tugged Ian down to match his level.

Ryan tilted his head up even more, nearly craning his neck just to place a deep kiss on Ian's lips, tasting him in ways different from when they have sex. This was a new kind of intimacy, one reserved for—dare Ryan say it—lovers.

Instinctively, Ian held both of Ryan’s cheeks and returned the kiss. Ryan pressed more to deepen the kiss, but he felt the warmth and smoothness of the other’s lips disappear in a flash.

“Ryan, wait. You’re not in the right mind right now,” Ian said cautiously.

Ryan’s hands dropped and his eyebrows furrowed. He began to breathe heavily. He could feel his eyes becoming warm again. Was his vision getting blurry?

“I—ha—what?” Was all he could manage. He couldn’t understand the man in front of him right now. Did he not feel the same way?

“You’re in distress right now, so your mind might not assess the situation well. You might do something you might regret. I’m sorry,” Ian didn’t want to say it, but he had to. It was true, Ryan’s mind wasn’t very clear at the moment, he might regret some things later on if he acts on his thoughts now.

At this point Ryan could barely see Ian or anything for that matter; all he could make out were vague shapes and colors. So, he turned and felt for the door, unlocked it, and stepped out.

“Ryan, I’m sorry, please.” Ian closed his hand around Ryan’s wrist while trying to rub soothing circles on it.

Ryan couldn’t hold it in, anymore. He snatched his hand away from the other man and cradled his wrist on his other hand. Step by step he started to leave the restroom, half hoping that Ian would try to make him stay, but he didn’t. Ryan crossed the threshold into the world where no one cared; he didn’t turn back. He ignored the feeling of Ian's sad eyes staring holes into the back of his head.

The last sound he heard before he was out of earshot was Ian’s heavy sigh.

[mnnulat]

House of Memories

Fandom: KinnPorsche the Series

Prompt: domestic (from @augustwritingchallenge)

Warnings: hurt and/or slight angst (also English isn't my first language and I'm not Thai so there might be some language and cultural inaccuracies)

Summary: Now that Porsche Kittisawasd is the new head the Minor Family, his younger brother Porchay heads back to their old home to pack up the rest of their belongings. Unfortunately, Kim Theerapanyakul is the only person available to help him.

Porchay hasn't seen his childhood home for quite some time, not since he got kidnapped. But now that his brother is the head of the Minor Family (also, the boyfriend of the Main Family head), Chay will stay his brother at the Minor Family mansion. Now, he just has to get the rest of their stuff from their old home.

In his former bedroom, Chay stares at his idol wall decorated with pictures of Wik—ah, well, P'Kim. The colorful photogenic pictures of the local indie artist are spread out but culminate towrard the desk pushed against the wall.

He sighs heavily, suddenly remembering the same man is currently downstairs in the living room. Not that he wanted him within his vicinity, anyway.

"Chay," Porsche calls.

Chay looks up from his phone, "Hmm?"

"Take Kim to help you with the stuff."

The younger brother accidentally drops his phone on the bed. "What?! You know just one of the bodyguards is enough, right? Can't P'Arm come instead?"

"There's a really important meeting later, and I don't trust the other bodyguards enough to go with you. Kim isn't really involved with the family business, anyway."

The younger boy pulls a slight grimace, but he eventually nods at his brother.

Chay pinches the bridge of his nose at the memory. "Ay, Hia," he says.

He starts to carefully remove the pictures from the wall. But the more pictures he takes down, the more memories flash into his mind: their dates, the food they shared, and the music they jammed together to. He's so blinded by the past playing like a reel in his mind, he hasn't noticed that he's nearly tearing the photographs as he's removing them from the wall.

He's mind has stopped replaying the memories now. He touches his cheeks finding them wet, before looking down at his desk where he finds several pictures slightly crumpled or slightly torn.

His knees buckle, making him crumble to the floor as he silently bawls his eyes out.

Meanwhile downstairs in the living room, Kim starts to pack the fragile items. After putting away a lamp, several vases, and other ceramic works, he stumbles upon a framed picture of Porsche and Chay, happily sitting together side-by-side.

Porsche and Kim sit in the living room of the Main Family. The former, with arms crossed, roots himself in front of the youngest Theerapanyakul in the house, who fidgets with his hands.

"Just help Chay with the packing and cleaning. That's it," Porsche says firmly as he glares at Kim.

"Don't worry," Kim replies calmly, "I already know he doesn't want to talk to me."

"Good. You deserve it."

Kim groans at the memory and smacks his forehead. It's true that he was looking into his father's many secrets, which included Porsche, but he really did—no—does love Chay.

He feels like banging his head on a wall. Of course Chay would be hurt after responding to his "have you ever loved me" with "I'm sorry". Of course Chay wouldn't want to talk to him.

You're such an idiot.

He continues packing things away in boxes, all the while his heart, full of regret, beating heavily and his mind re-playing every single moment they shared.

It's almost 11:30 in the morning, almost time for lunch. Kim hasn't seen Chay come down yet, so he decided to make some grub for themselves. He carefully threads through the sea of large brown boxes and finds himself at the kitchen. He browses through the cupboards, finding a small sack of rice there that he then places on the kitchen counter. He then searches the fridge; he found some bits of papaya, a coconut, cabbage, and—oh, some eggs.

He gets an idea. And he hopes that it's a good one.

He brings out all the ingredients and items he's going to need. He hopes Chay will like this.

Unbeknownst to him, Chay could actually hear him busy himself in the kitchen. But whatever, he just shurgs and continues sweeping his bedroom floor, making sure to get the spot under the few boxes that contain his other belongings. After a few minutes, he glances around his room; it's probably the last time he'll be in this room.

He then lies down on his bare mattress, pulling out his phone.

It must've been almost 30 minutes when he suddenly heard a loud ow! from downstairs.

He jumps out of his bed—well, mattress—and rushes down the stairs, skipping every other step as he goes.

"P'Kim?" He looks around the first floor but halts when he sees Kim keeping his hand under the faucet's running water.

The older man in question uses his other hand to wave embarrassingly at Chay. "Hey, uh, I made lunch...it's on the table."

Chay inches closer to the four-seater dining table, where he finds two plates at the opposite ends of the table. He gasps as he sees the sunny-side up egg on top of rice, with a smiley face made out of ketchup—the same food he made for P'Kim the day he got kidnapped.

"Oh," Chay says, "thank you."

He then sits down, at first just staring at his food before digging in.

Kim soon follows suit, sans the staring at his food.

A few minutes have passed and both of them have been quiet so far. Chay has been keeping his eyes trained on his food only, in contrast to Kim who keeps shifting his glance from his food to the boy in front of him. Nothing could be heard in the room, really, just the scraping and slight clanging of stainless steel utensils against porcelain plates and the occasional horns from the vehicles outside.

It didn't take long for Chay to finish his food, just as he was about to bring his empty plate to the sink, Kim speaks up.

"No, I'll do it."

"Oh," Chay lets out, "are you sure? I can just wash mine."

Kim stands out, holding his plate, then grabbing Chay's. "No, it's alright, really." He brings their dirty dishes to the sink then turns on the faucet.

Chay watches Kim as the youngest member of the Main Family cleans up. Should he accept P'Kim's apology? He sure seemed like he means it. But then again he never made it clear what he was apologizing for, he never answered his question, and he was still nosy even after they have stopped talking.

"P'Kim?"

The man has just finished drying his hands on a nearby hand towel. "Yeah?"

"Could you help me with the boxes upstairs, please?"

Kim has to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling. The little smitten boy inside him is dancing and whooping for joy. Chay trusts him enough to help him!

He clears his throat. "Ah, yes, sure. Come on."

It doesn't take long for them to bring all the boxes downstairs since some of Chay's stuff are at the Main Family's house already. Soon, they've started to sweep the first floor, making sure to get under the boxes. Nothing could be heard except for the occasional shifting of the boxes or furniture. After a while, Kim decides to break the tension.

"Chay, I'm sorry."

The other boy has been expecting this and already has an idea what this will be about, still he asks. "About what?"

Kim collapses on the nearby sofa. "How I just left you there, hanging. I really did love you, Chay; I just couldn't bring myself to say it that day, but that isn't an excuse. I followed you into that club and Yok's bar because I cared about you—I wanted to keep you safe. But I also know now that I should've respected your choice to keep your distance from me, especially when you blocked me. I'm really sorry that I hurt you."

He looks up at Chay, who's been standing in front of him, looking down. Kim bites his lips again, but this time the little smitten boy inside him is cowering from Chay's glare.

Despite his harsh and cold demeanor, Chay's voice came out small. "Do you really mean that? Do you still care about me?"

Kim edges closer to him. "Of course! Of course to both questions, Chay."

Chay looks at him, all the memories running through his mind like a movie that's on fast forward. Eventually he asks.

"Do you want to try again?"

Kim gives a small smile. "Yes, let's take it slow."