Caught in Possession

Through Black Holes

What is love? At twenty one years old, Gulf had never been 'in love' before. He hadn't known it - but now that he did, it was something that couldn't be unknown, unthought or unfelt.

Because he really was hopelessly, helplessly, head over heels in love with Mew and...did the world have a rose pink tint to it these days? Did the sun's rays dazzle that bit brighter, partnering moon caressing cheeks as coolest, silken silver thread? Dawn chorus choir tweeting more harmoniously, those melodic, feathered angels of nature?

Damn, he was getting fucking poetic. Is that what falling in love did to a person?

Gulf's heart felt...bigger, braver, prouder - loudly resonating every pounding beat and somersaulting flutter.

And he wasn't entirely certain what to do with that yet. Sure, his Phi had confessed his own love - but once only, almost by force, squeezed between the dangerous aftershocks of a moment of perilous mortality. In reality, neither man's tongue was yet truly smooth in the serenading songs of the heart. Apprentices of love.

So for the time being, Gulf kept that love as treasure, a seedling to nurture and protect, secretly blooming within his greenhouse soul as a radiant, regal flower with petals of brilliant, golden light and warmth. Dok tantawan, a sunflower.

//

As calendars turned their page to August with the universe's unstoppable tide of time, Mew and Gulf's days on native soil were sorrowfully numbered. The Chelsea FC pre-season training camp would commence within a week, both required to report for duty back in London for the busy preparation schedule.

They'd spent their time at that rural retreat with Bow, Mild and Paithoon - off grid, away from prying eyes of celebrity status and Kraisee Lang loyalists - just being simply together, for a while...

"Uuuiii I'm as stuffed as a mooyor", Mild sighed in contentment, patting his happily protruding stomach as he leant back against the delicately embroidered cushions lining the dining corner of Bow's downstairs living room. The low table was surrounded by its cross-legged diners and laden with the remains of the fruits of Gulf's labour: khao soi gai and krabong, along with sticky rice and technicolour dipping sauces magicked from every herb and spice that could be sourced from the bountiful garden beyond. The Traipipattanapong siblings had taken turns to cook over the weeks of the visit, a magical mystery tour of Northern Thai cuisine for the capital city palates of Mew, Mild and Paithoon.

"My baby's a master chef", Mew concurred smugly - arms opening in invitation to Gulf as he re-entered the room from the kitchen, sucking remainders of coconut curry broth from his fingers before cleansing more thoroughly with a hot towel, discarded to the table as he relaxed down into the nest space offered - betwixt Mew's legs, resting back against the elder man's chest.

"It's not fair, what have you ever done to deserve such Michelin starred cuisine?", Mild teased with a mischievous pout, arms folded across his chest, "As your loyal comrade, I think you should share Nong Gulf's skills, really-"

"-No", Mew interrupted his friend - smile calm, yet words firm - "Nong Gulf is all for me", and his arms encircled the younger to pull him still tighter back into himself, lips finding the crook of his neck to seal the claim with a tender nuzzle and kiss.

Gulf giggled even as his sister rolled her eyes, tutting, tongue against the backs of upper teeth:

"So possessive yet sickly sweet", Bow muttered wearily - though an edge of pride could be faintly detected - as she began stacking the messy plates, Mild rising hastily (if a little rotundly) to assist.