Please || WatTine

🔞Message🔞

It was Monday, just a day more and his Wat would be here with him. Just the thought of having Wat all to himself, Tine feels giddy, sheer happiness bloom within his heart, making him feel all sorts of tingles running through his body.

He's now twentyseven but it still feels like he's the same twenty years old Tine that would go blushing all hues of red whenever Sarawat would show sublte gestures of affection or whenever he tried to openly flirt with him. It had taken him very long to realise and grasp the small hints that his Wat would leave showing his feelings for him.

No offence but Tine was that dumb fucker who was smart but, also dense, oblivious and incognizant at the same time. It had taken Sarawat an ocean of intrepidity to finally elucidate the dense, thickhead Tine that he loved him, cliche may it sound, loved at first sight.

It wasn't love for Tine at first. It was true though, that he was somehow, fortutiously captivated towards Wat, that he would perpetually seek his attention. He still remembers how his insides would burn, how it felt so much perturb and uneasy whenever he saw someone, anyone at that, close to Wat.

How he felt piqued and wanted Wat all to himself as if Wat was only for him and him alone. How he would sulk and brood for petty reasons with Wat and how he used to feel the urge to cling onto him, touch him for no reason. He was falling for Wat without himself knowing it.

Tine, in his living room is now settled on a daybed, cold air invading through the window blowing his hair in all directions. It is dark outside, at nine in the evening, moon camouflaged with the dark clouds. He smiles at how almost all of the things in their small apartment held a distinctive memory, all these things emotive.

That day, they were shopping for furniture to fill up their rather empty Apartment, as it wasn't fully furnished. Wat had suddenly pushed him. He had fallen backfirst with a loud thud, followed by Wat hovering over him on that same daybed with the obvious excuse of checking the softness, casually as if they weren't in public.

That fucker had some nerves. All hail to god that they were the only ones on that specific section of Mall.

His gaze is now hypnotized by the big LED TV, gracefully attached to the wall standing tall and proud, beaming in whites. His eyes are filled with vim and vigor, stimulation visible, watching someone particularly tall, lean yet muscular man standing proud in all his glory. Loud squeals coming through the speakers almost annoy him.

Sarawat's late night gig recorded, is playing. But looking at Sarawat on that dimly, decorated stage, the low lights highlighting his soft features while his long, collaused fingers play the strings with perfection as the guitar vibrates, he finds himself drifting towards another dreamland, some other universe.

A universe with those long fingers gripping his shaft tightly, or moving inside his hole, opening him up, searching for a home. That sinful pouty mouth licking and biting his perky buds and those cherry red cupid's bow wrapping his cock, enveloping all of him inside that warmth while he fucks his mouth.

Fuck. Sarawat isn't the actual sex addict horny bitch here. That much is proved. Tine is a slut, a slut for Sarawat. His thirst for Sarawat is almost insatiable. Sarawat would ram his fat dick raw and rough until he would come bursting white liquids inside him, filling him up and Tine would still ask for more. Oouf...Sarawat!!!