Honeymoon Drinks

Colorful flags sway and twirl around with the easterly winds, hanging on the fishing boats moored at the dock. Restless waves provide the beat. A playful moon overhead casts a silvery light, engrossed in a game of hide-and-seek with huge dark clouds.

Prank takes a sip from his beer, his hand is wet from the condensation around the can. He's not drunk. Like Pat, he's only had a couple of beers. There are still four unopened cans in the plastic bag lodged between the rocks.

A pleasant buzz swims in his blood. It's making him feel extra giggly inside. Truth be told, only 10% causing it is the alcohol while the 90% is Pat.

Pran releases a silent sigh. Thinking about Pat makes his cheeks hurt. It can rain lava and hail stones but Pran doubts he'll notice when he's with Pat. Even when he's at his lowest, Pat is there to comfort him. The one who catches his tears before they fall in to the abyss. The one who holds his hand and doesn't let go.

Pat also fills his life with smiles and laughter even when he's being an annoying little shit, especially when he's an annoying little shit. His boyfriend is unbearably cute. But for fuck's sake don't tell him that!

Tonight's game was unexpectedly enlightening. Pran can't deny that his heart fluttered. He fakes being unaffected but, for some reason, he can't keep a stoic face. It must be the beer because a smile blossomed on his face without his permission. That's why it's important to drink moderately. Oh, wait. He is drinking moderately. Fuck.

Pran crushes the empty can in his hand before placing with the other empty cans between them. Pat is still nursing his second beer. Well, when you talk too much, it's hard to drink at the same time.

The moon is nowhere to be found now, Pran notices. Sometimes, Pran feels like the moon hiding his thoughts but Pat has always found his way around the clouds. He knows that if Pat had allowed him to continue ignoring their feelings for each other, it might have strained or ruined whatever they had in a way that couldn't be fixed.

He's a work in progress, Pran knows this. So is Pat. Relationships always takes effort, always. He also knows there's no one else that suits him better like Pat does. They are alike and different at the same time. Their similarity allows them to understand each other easier. They're so in sync that they don't even need words, one look and they burst into giggles. Their polarity allows them to give strength where the other is weak. Pat's spontaneity gives Pran the much needed breaks that his rigidity wouldn't have permitted. Pran brings order and efficiency into Pat's messy and chaotic world. In other words, they are a perfect fit for each other.

"Can I kiss you?"

Pran feels his heart skip a beat under Pat's steady gaze. They've exchanged a lot of kisses already. It's impossible to count them anymore. They've even had sex many times. And yet... and yet, Pat still manages to floor him with a simple question. Goddamnit.

"Isn't it my turn?" Pran asks, a picture of sultry innocence.

"I know," Pat says. "I just wanted to ask you that."

Pran's lips take a dangerous curve and his eyebrows twitch.

"No."

Waiting for the disappointment to show on Pat's face is like expecting Wai to grow some angel wings. Pat wears patience when it suits him, and now he's simply waiting for Pran to explain.

And, damn it, Pran finds it utterly horrible that it's little things like this that makes him fall in love all over again.

The naked trust that Pat lays at his feet is overwhelmingly. It's pulling him to the crest of a wave. And when he falls, Pran wordlessly hooks a hand behind Pat's neck and drags his face close. His breath probably stinks of beer but Pat is not complaining. Pat's breath stinks like beer too. He stares at Pat, their lips separated only by a couple of inches. He thinks he sees the reflection of the moon in Pat's eyes. Pran reminds himself to breathe. He's in control, he's setting the pace. He lets the anticipation build, teasing Pat but he ends up giving in.