The Way A Lover Holds His Heart

I.

Sleeping at Pran's flat, in his bed, right next to him with their limbs entangled, is just about the best thing Pat ever experienced. Unfortunately, it comes at the high price of being woken up by him way before any human being should ever be awake and made to get up to shower and get a proper breakfast before class. Pat admires Pran's discipline. He also wishes he'd not hold Pat to the same standards and instead let him sleep in just once.

He's still half asleep, padding over to the bed in search of his shirt and ready to fall right back into it. But he's got an early practice session in less than an hour and Pran is already putting his lunch into his bag, ready to leave for a lecture, so he throws on the tank top he wore last night. Pat slumps down on the edge of the bed, wanting to relax for just one minute, and rubs his eyes, yawning heartily and scratching his belly when he notices Pran's eyes on him.

They're resting on the patch of exposed skin as if transfixed, then move up to Pat's chest, his shoulders, slowly travelling down his naked arms and studying their form, almost contemplating, sizing him up. Pat feels suddenly exposed under Pran's gaze, feels it prickle on his skin as if Pran's fingers were ghosting over it, almost touching him, but not quite. There's darkness in Pran's eyes, hunger, and when he looks up to meet Pat's, the desire he finds there is palpable. And suddenly, Pat is wide awake.

Pran holds his gaze for a long moment, his lips slightly parted, and his tongue flicks out to wet them unconsciously. Pat's breath hitches at the sight, and something warm and ravenous starts simmering below his navel, a spark ready to ignite a furnace.

Across the room, Pran lets his bag slide off his shoulder and drop to the ground, books and pencils falling out, but despite usually being so neat and organised, he doesn't seem to care. Instead, he walks over to the bed in slow strides, determined, his eyes never leaving Pat's. He moves closer until their toes touch and Pat has to crane his neck up to look at him, until he can feel the warmth of Pran's body just out of reach, so close but not close enough. Pat wants to reach out to bask in it, but something in the way Pran looks at him keeps him in place, waiting, anticipating his next move.

Slowly, Pran leans forward, lets his palms rest on Pat's chest, and digs his fingers into the flesh, pushing him backwards, further and further, until Pat is resting on his elbows. Their lips are inches apart, Pran's breath brushing over his skin, and Pat can feel the anticipation rising in his stomach, liquid heat bubbling higher and higher, spreading through his rib cage, and igniting his heart. He surges forward in one quick movement, eager to capture those tantalising lips between his own, but Pran is quicker. He pulls away and smirks, then bunches Pat's shirt up in his fists as if to hold him in place, and slowly crawls over him until his thighs are caging Pat in and his groin is mere inches away from Pat's own.

Then he pulls, one sharp snap of his hands in Pat's shirt, and it brings them flush together, chest to chest, their noses brushing against each other and Pran's breath hot on his cheek. He's looking at Pat as if he's taunting him, daring him to move, to take what they both know Pat wants. But Pat doesn't want to give him the satisfaction just yet.

Instead, he slides his hands over Pran's thighs, his fingers digging into lean muscles as they move upwards, over his hips and the small of his back, until they reach his waist. He tightens his grip and digs his fingers in to make sure Pran can feel every spot where Pat is touching him, before letting them drop lower again. Finally, he grabs Pran's ass, pushes him closer to where he wants him most, and groans when he can feel that Pran is as hard as he is himself. Above him, he can hear Pran's sharp intake of breath, and feel him squirm in his lap until he settles, pressing himself against Pat.

"Kiss me," Pran murmurs, his voice low and commanding despite his quiet tone, and Pat is more than willing to obey.

Pran's lips taste like coffee and toast, bitter and sweet, with a hint of mint from his toothpaste. His kiss is demanding, a challenge, biting and overpowering. He lets go of Pat's shirt, slides his hands over his shoulders and to the back of his neck, tangling his fingers in his hair and tugging, making Pat moan. He moves even closer, wraps his arms fully around Pat's neck and deepens the kiss, his tongue persistent against Pat's lips until Pat grants him access and lets his own tongue tangle with Pran's, tasting him, gasping in between when Pran allows him a second of reprieve.