Want (Completed)

Want (When a Superstar meets an Ordinary guy)

New Years Eve is a crap time to end up as a third wheel on your friend's date night, Arthit thinks as he watches Tob run a predatorial hand over one of Knott's many muscles. Subtly, Arthit begins a retreat, siding his way along the bar until he is a good three-person gap from his friends and signalling to the bartender that he'd like one more.

Around him, the club is jumping, disco lights flashing over the bare walls which are so in fashion right now. It's the kind of modern place that Arthit tends to dislike, mostly because of the pretentious people who inhabit it, but also because places like these tend to bring out his deep set insecurities that he's been trying to hide for years.

He reaches for the glass of whiskey and swallows down a mouthful, tingles running up and down his arms as he feels the heavy weight of eyes watching him.

The only other person in sight is a guy leaning on the bar to Arthit's right. He's probably an inch taller than him, with messy dark hair and hooded eyes. He's holding a glass the same as Arthit's and as he catches him looking, the stranger tilts it towards him and then lifts it to his mouth, taking a swallow, eyes never moving away from his.

Arthit swallows hard and then catches himself, turning back to his own glass of amber liquid and tipping the last of it down his throat. When he looks back, the stranger has slid a foot closer and is motioning towards the guy behind the bar.

Arthit frowns at the second glass which is placed in front of him. "I didn't order this," he tells the staff, but they nod towards the other customer who is now so close their elbows could touch.

"You look like I feel," he says in a rich, velvety voice, "I thought we could drink away our sorrows together?"

Arthit's frown deepens and he considers the offer. He glances over his shoulder and sees that Tob has moved on in her flirting and is now devouring Knott, their bodies so close he can't distinguish where one begins and the other ends.

What harm can one drink do? He thinks, lifting the glass to his lips and sucking it down..

..A whole lot, apparently, he finds out.

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He and Kob, he thinks that was his name, end up smashed together in the backseat of a taxi. Arthit is twisted so that his back is against the glass and Kob is a long lean line down his front, holding him in place.

His hands are warm and firmly placed - one on his hip, the other cradling Arthit's cheek as he's dragged forward into kiss after mind-melting kiss.

Considering he's only had six whiskeys, Arthit thinks he's participating rather well, even if his fingers are fumbling to grasp onto Kob who's turned all slippery in his grasp and seems to have two heads and about twelve arms the way he is all over Arthit - not that he minds since Kob is quite the talented kisser and the way he's caressing Arthit's skin is utterly perfect.

For a moment Arthit feels frozen as he's kissed and touched, but then he engages his brain and moves back in and gets involved again.

He's just trying out the tongue thing that his sometime-lover, Namtarn, enjoys, and Kob is moaning heavily into his mouth, when the taxi slides to a halt and the cabbie calls out the price.

Arthit is bundled out of the cab by Kob (who pays the fare and doesn't even try to get Arthit to contribute), and then he's sliding a key into a lock and pushing Arthit inside and then they're kissing even more frantically and pushing each other into annoying pieces of furniture that have no business being in their way, banging elbows and knees and causing bruises that Arthit knows from experience will sting and turn purple by morning.