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Phuwin should’ve turned off his notifications the moment the episode dropped.
But of course, he didn’t.
He was already sliding into the passenger seat of Fourth’s car, earbuds in, screen glowing with the chaos of Twitter. The moment the words “uncut version” trended beside Taste Ep 4, he knew there would be no peace. Not for his mentions. And definitely not for his sanity.
It was stupid to look.
He looked anyway.
#TASTE_EP4
#UncutTaste
#PhuwinYouWhore
He winced at that last one. People were too online.
samruay’s aunt @phuwinnymainz
PHUWIN WHAT WAS THAT???? I’m not okay I need holy water 😭😭😭 #TASTE_EP4
TASTE EP 4 OUT NOW @ppwfreaks
no bc why is he so good at it holy fuck why does it look REAL. like this isn’t even a joke anymore I need answers #TASTE_EP4
jelly’s left toenail @dramaslut69
EP 4 out here making me question my sexuality with ONE SCENE this is bisexual propaganda #TASTE_EP4
rip day u served cunt @narababy00
she is so lucky. so. fucking. lucky. I wouldn’t have survived #TASTE_EP4
PHUPHU'S MONTH @fish4ponds
bro if I was pond I’d be shaking rn #TASTE_EP4
aston misser @unholygem
DIESEL BE DOING ALLAT FOR HIS AGE #TASTE_EP4
And then,
ppnaravit @ppnaravit
🔥🔥🔥🔥 #TASTE_EP4
That tweet stopped everything.
Four fire emojis. No words. Just heat.
Phuwin stared. Read it again. Refreshed. Still there. No deleted-tweet moment, Pond had posted it minutes ago.
He liked the tweet with trembling fingers.
Didn’t retweet and didn’t reply. He just couldn’t.
His chest was tight.
“Hey,” Fourth said as he started the engine. “You look like you just saw a ghost. Did they cancel the show?”
Phuwin locked his phone, almost too fast. “No. It’s… nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” Fourth glanced sideways as they pulled onto the main road. “You checking Twitter?”
“No.”
Fourth laughed. “You’re a terrible liar. That scene aired, didn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on. The scene.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I was warned. People said it was intense.”
Phuwin pressed his lips together. “It’s acting.”
“That didn’t look like acting,” Fourth shot back. “I saw a clip.”
“You saw a half-second of me breathing.”
“Yeah. Heavily.” Fourth gave him a look. “You’re lucky I’m driving you home instead of sending you to confession.”
“God, can you not?” Phuwin groaned, pushing his face into his sleeve.
“Sorry, sorry,” Fourth said, laughing. “But for real, the scene was good. Really good, you killed it. Proved your dumb haters wrong again, man.”
“Thanks.” It came out small. Tired.
Fourth didn’t push again. Not right away.
The car fell into a rhythm, city lights blurred past the window. Phuwin could feel the low hum of his phone still buzzing with new reactions, likes, tags.
He didn’t dare open the app again.
He could still feel Pond’s tweet, burned behind his eyelids. The fire emojis felt more like warning signs now. He couldn’t tell if Pond was impressed… or mad, and that terrified him more than anything.
Because they were boyfriends. Secret ones, but boyfriends all the same.
No one knew, not management, not castmates. Only Satang and Fourth know because they caught Pond and Phuwin making out once inside the dressing room.
Their relationship had been quiet. Soft. Hidden.
A thousand glances.
A few drunken nights of honesty.
A hotel room in Chiang Mai with a locked door and Pond’s hands shaking when he touched him.
And ever since, a secret.
Their secret.
Which made this—tonight—so much worse.
Because Pond had watched that scene, and Pond hadn’t messaged him. Not once.
He wasn’t angry, he never got angry at Phuwin anyway.
But he was something.
“You sure you don’t want me to walk you to the door?” Fourth asked, pulling up at the condo entrance. “You look like a puppy about to get yelled at.”
“I’ll be fine.” Phuwin unbuckled, grabbing his hoodie tighter around him. “Thanks for the ride.”
Fourth gave him a small grin. “Good luck surviving the Pond interrogation.”
Phuwin tried to smile back. “Shut up, I don’t think there’ll be one.”
But even as he said it, his chest tightened again.
The elevator ride felt endless. The kind where the lights flicker, and you start to wonder if the universe is trying to make a point.
He ran the passcode into their door, pushed it open gently.
And there he was.
Pond.
On the black leather couch, back tilted slightly, legs spread open in that lazy way he did when he didn’t care who was looking. One hand draped over the couch’s backrest. The other holding a crystal glass of whiskey.
A bottle sat half-finished on the coffee table. The TV was off, so was the music.
The only thing in the room was silence, and Pond.
He was wearing a loose white t-shirt and those gray sweatpants Phuwin always stole when he was feeling clingy. His hair was slightly damp and his mouth was set in something unreadable.
Not a smile. Not even a frown.
Just… nothing.
Their eyes met.
Phuwin hesitated in the doorway.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Pond didn’t answer.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t smile.
That was when Phuwin knew.
He was angry. Maybe not yelling angry. Not confrontational. But he was cold. Cold in the way that Pond only got when he was deeply, silently, deeply hurt.
Phuwin’s feet carried him forward before he could think. “I—uh—Fourth dropped me off. Just now. You were—”
Pond nodded once. No smile. No warmth. Just a slow glance up and down, then back to his drink. He raised his glass to his lips, took a sip, then set it down.
But he wasn’t… himself.
Not with Phuwin.
Normally, he’d tease. Pull him down for a hug. Make some stupid joke about how loud Fourth’s car was or complain about him being late. But tonight, Pond was still. Distant.
Phuwin sat down on the other end of the couch.
Out of the blue, “Good job,” Pond said, voice quiet.
“Thanks,” Phuwin tried to sound neutral. Light.
“You didn’t tell me there’d be an uncut version.”
Silence stretched between them like a tight thread, Phuwin’s fingers curled at his sides. “I didn’t know it’d air tonight. I swear, they didn’t tell me either. I thought it was just for internal—”
“You filmed that,” Pond interrupted, “with no idea it’d be released?”
“I—no—I mean, yes, I filmed it knowing they might. But they didn’t say when.”
“Right, that makes sense,” Pond’s tone was dry. Not sarcastic. Not angry, just… distant.
Phuwin felt the urge to kneel just to close the space between them.
Pond didn’t look at him, he just leaned back. Spread his thighs wider, let his arm hang over the backrest like a king on a throne.
And then, he said it.
“Get on your knees.”
Phuwin blinked. “What?”
Pond’s eyes finally met his. “Get on your knees. In front of me.”
The world paused.
Phuwin’s mouth opened. Closed.
This was different. Not like the nights when they snuck kisses in their bedroom. Not like the quiet mornings where Pond made coffee with sleep-sticky eyes. Not even like the times when Pond fucked him gently, whispering love into his skin.
This was… sharp.
Tense.
Punishment.
“Pond—” he swallowed.
Pond didn’t flinch. “I said,” he repeated, voice low, “get on your knees.”
Phuwin’s breath caught in his throat. His heart beat once, hard, then again. He didn’t move.
Not out of refusal, out of something else; shame, anticipation, fear.
This wasn’t playful. This wasn’t one of their hidden jokes. Pond wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t blushing or teasing or waiting for Phuwin to push back.
He was looking at him like he owned him.
Phuwin’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.
“Now,” Pond added, voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t ask twice.”
Phuwin didn’t ask again. He slid off the couch slowly, his knees hitting the rug with a soft sound. His palms pressed against his thighs. He looked up at Pond, unsure if he should speak.
Pond didn’t say a word.
He just sipped his drink again, gaze steady. He stared down at him. No smile. Just quiet, simmering heat.
Phuwin’s heart thundered in his chest.
They were boyfriends. Lovers. But tonight, Pond wasn’t treating him like that.
And somehow, Phuwin didn’t want him to.
Not tonight.
Phuwin stayed still, knees pressed into the rug, legs tucked neatly beneath him, palms resting on his thighs as if he were waiting for prayer.
He didn’t dare speak.
The room was heavy with silence, but it wasn’t empty. It was filled with Pond’s presence—the quiet click of the glass being set down, the rustle of sweatpants shifting against leather, the low sound of Pond exhaling through his nose as he stared down at him.
Phuwin kept his eyes lowered. He wasn’t sure if he should meet Pond’s gaze.
He didn’t know which would be worse: seeing anger or seeing nothing at all.
Then—
A touch.
Pond’s fingers brushed under his chin. Light. Measured. A contrast to the tension that buzzed under Phuwin’s skin like static. He flinched, barely, but Pond didn’t pull back.
Instead, he pressed upward—guiding.
Phuwin let him.
His face tilted slowly, lifted by those fingers until his gaze met Pond’s.
Their eyes locked.
Pond’s were unreadable. Not soft, not harsh. Just steady. Calm in the way that made Phuwin feel like a child about to be disciplined.
A thumb brushed the edge of his jaw. Then the curve of his lower lip.
Phuwin sucked in a breath.
Pond’s expression didn’t change.
He shifted forward slightly on the couch, knees spread just a little wider. The movement pulled his sweatpants tighter over the curve of his thighs. The loose white t-shirt bunched around his hips, riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin.
Then, wordlessly, Pond’s thumb slid downward.
His fingers curled gently along Phuwin’s jaw, anchoring it, and he pressed his thumb just under Phuwin’s bottom lip.
Down.
It was a subtle command.
Open.
Phuwin’s lips parted instinctively, mouth falling slack under the pressure.
His breathing hitched as Pond’s eyes flicked downward, watching the slow reveal of his tongue, the glint of wetness behind his teeth.
Pond didn’t say a word.
His thumb lingered on the inside of Phuwin’s lip, the pad of it brushing against his teeth, firm but not painful.
Phuwin’s lips trembled.
Then—softly, firmly—Pond pulled his jaw down farther.
His mouth opened wide.
Vulnerable. Empty.
Pond held it there for a beat too long. Like he was studying the shape of him. Like he was admiring something delicate, something raw.
Phuwin’s mouth was dry despite the ache of anticipation building at the back of his throat.
He wanted to ask what Pond wanted.
But the weight of that single hand, the absence of words—it was enough to make him obey.
Pond’s fingers shifted again, and his palm tilted slightly to the side, angling Phuwin’s face.
And then, finally, Pond spoke.
“Tongue.”
The word was quiet. Low. Not barked, not rushed.
Phuwin hesitated—just a second.
Then he let his tongue slide out slowly, heat rising up his chest as the cool air kissed the wet muscle. He stuck it out further, inch by inch, letting it rest on his bottom lip, pink and glistening, exposed.
Pond’s expression didn’t flicker.
He simply looked.
At him. At his mouth. At the tongue he’d asked for and was now presented with, like a gift offered silently.
Phuwin didn’t blink. His breath stuttered, shallow and tight in his lungs.
And then—slowly, almost lazily—Pond reached for the waistband of his sweatpants.
His hand dipped beneath the loose fabric, knuckles brushing over the hard shape outlined beneath.
Phuwin’s eyes widened slightly, tongue still obediently extended.
He couldn’t look away.
Pond was hard.
He didn’t rush. Just shifted his hips a little forward, pulled the waistband down, and freed himself in one smooth, practiced motion.
His cock stood hard and flushed, thick and aching, twitching just once in the air between them. It curved upward slightly, tip glossy, skin taut and veined.
Phuwin’s throat clenched.
He’d seen it countless times. Touched it. Taken it. But never like this.
Never with Pond still fully dressed, not even undressing him. Never while kneeling like this, told to open his mouth like a pet waiting to be fed.
Pond’s fingers curled loosely around the base. He didn’t stroke. Didn’t pump. Just held himself, still.
Then, finally—he spoke again.
“What are you waiting for? A command? You already know what to do.”
Phuwin’s body shivered.
Not from fear. Not from shame.
From recognition.
He did know.
Of course he did.
His knees edged forward slightly, the carpet rough against his skin. His hands shifted off his thighs and planted on the rug for balance. His mouth stayed open. His tongue stayed out.
He could smell Pond now—musk and warmth, faintly clean, slightly bitter from the whiskey. His breath fogged faintly on the air between them.
He looked up again, waiting for permission he hadn’t been given aloud.
Pond didn’t nod.
But his cock twitched in his hand—just once.
That was enough.
Phuwin leaned forward, slow, reverent, and let his tongue graze the very tip.
Phuwin’s tongue trembled as it licked up the underside of Pond’s cock, warm and solid against his mouth. He could taste the faint salt of skin and the lingering sharpness of sweat, his lips barely brushing the shaft as he moved slowly—carefully—like anything more than gentleness would be too much, too fast.
Pond still hadn’t spoken.
Above him, he could hear the soft clink of ice in a glass—Pond’s whiskey, untouched for a while, now lifted again to his lips. The sip was slow. Lazy. As if nothing about this moment was unusual.
As if it wasn’t his boyfriend, kneeling bare-mouthed in front of him, tongue flicking soft circles against the head of his cock with glassy, reverent eyes.
Phuwin took him into his mouth—just the tip, shallow. He swirled his tongue along the ridge, sucking tenderly, lips barely closing around him.
Pond exhaled softly.
Still no words.
Still no affection.
Phuwin swallowed around the dryness in his throat and pulled back slightly, licking down the length again before pressing a slow kiss to the base. His hands gripped Pond’s thighs, fingers flexing where they met soft cotton and skin. His head dipped again, mouth returning to the shaft with open-mouth kisses, wet and worshipful.
Pond stayed still, his cock twitching with every gentle suck, but his body relaxed into the couch. One arm slung casually over the backrest. The other lifted again to drink. He didn’t look down.
It was that indifference that made Phuwin’s chest ache most.
He wanted praise. He wanted warmth.
He didn’t deserve either.
Not tonight.
He let the flat of his tongue press along the underside and slid further, sucking more of Pond in until the tip brushed past his teeth. His lips stretched, cheeks hollowing, breathing shallow through his nose.
Then finally, finally, a sound.
Pond set his glass down.
It landed softly on the table with a dull clink, half-empty now. The silence that followed was more tense than before.
A second later, Phuwin felt it:
Pond’s hand in his hair.
Not pulling. Not yanking.
Just resting.
Fingers curled loosely into the dark strands, sliding through the soft layers with slow, almost affectionate pressure. The pads of his fingertips massaged gently, sinking into his scalp, then retreating, then returning again in the same rhythm.
Phuwin let out a shaky breath around his mouthful.
The warmth of that touch undid something in him. His lashes fluttered. His jaw relaxed. His eyes prickled with wetness, though no tears spilled yet.
He pulled back to lick the head again, tongue teasing the slit, then slid back down, deeper this time. His nose brushed Pond’s skin. He moaned softly around him, desperate to be good.
Pond inhaled. Finally, he spoke.
“You enjoy this?”
Phuwin froze.
The voice wasn’t angry.
It wasn’t even sharp.
Just quiet. Calm. That terrifying Pond-calm that meant something worse than rage.
Phuwin slowly pulled off, lips slipping wetly from Pond’s cock, and looked up, mouth open, chin glossy, breath shaking. “What…?”
Pond met his gaze, thumb brushing a damp strand from his cheek.
“Just a question,” he murmured.
Phuwin swallowed.
“What else do you enjoy doing?” Pond asked, the words low and mocking.
Phuwin blinked, shame and heat colliding in his throat. “It was—It’s acting—”
“I didn't even say anything about that, Phuwin…” Pond interrupted, voice still calm. “You must like that scene so much, you can't get it out from your head.”
Phuwin’s lips trembled.
Pond leaned forward slightly, hand still petting through his hair.
“You really sold it,” he said, voice like velvet over knives. “Whole country’s jerking off to your voice right now.”
Phuwin couldn’t breathe.
“I watched it with the sound on,” Pond added, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Didn’t even mute it, heard everything.”
A tear slipped down Phuwin’s cheek. He didn’t wipe it.
Pond tilted his head, mock-pity in his eyes.
“You moan for me like that, too,” he whispered.
“I—I wasn’t thinking—”
“No. You weren’t.” Pond leaned back again, slowly. “But I was.”
Silence pulsed again between them. Heavy. Dripping with the weight of everything unspoken.
Then, a thumb to Phuwin’s cheek, wiping the tear roughly.
“You’re gonna fix it.”
Phuwin’s breath hitched. “I—”
“You’re gonna open that mouth,” Pond said, adjusting himself lazily in the seat, cock glistening, hard and heavy again, “and make it mine again.”
Phuwin nodded.
His lips parted instantly.
He leaned back in.
And this time, when he took Pond into his mouth—deeper now, throat relaxing—he let the tears fall freely.
He sucked him slowly. Obedient, lips sliding, tongue working every inch like a penance.
Pond didn’t stop him.
Just kept stroking his hair, sipping his whiskey.
And reclaiming him. Inch by inch.
Phuwin’s lips stretched wide around Pond’s cock, tongue pressing flat as he bobbed slowly, cheeks flushed, tears sliding freely down his face now in quiet surrender.
Pond watched him silently, fingers tangled deep in his hair, absently stroking as if petting something docile. His breath came a little heavier, but he hadn’t made a sound in minutes.
Then, a shift.
Pond’s grip tightened—not roughly, but with intent. His hand stilled Phuwin’s motion for a second, fingers firm at the crown of his head. Phuwin froze.
Pond’s voice came low, like a murmur behind a smirk.
“Deeper.”
Phuwin nodded around his length, then tried—easing lower, relaxing his jaw, letting the tip press farther into his throat.
But Pond wanted more.
He pushed.
Slowly at first. Just enough to make Phuwin whimper, the sound muffled and wet. The head of Pond’s cock hit the back of his throat, and Phuwin coughed once, but didn’t pull away.
Pond pushed again, eyes narrowed—not with cruelty, but with something closer to hunger. Control. Possession.
“There you go,” he whispered, watching as the head slipped in fully, his cock swallowed halfway into heat and spit and breathless devotion.
Phuwin’s nails dug into his thighs, trying to steady himself.
His throat worked to accommodate him, gagging softly, eyes squeezed shut as he breathed through his nose. His lashes were wet. His face was flushed.
Pond groaned then—finally. A low, guttural sound from his chest as he stared down at the mess Phuwin had become.
His hand cradled the back of his head, thumb brushing sweat-damp strands away from his temple.
“Stay just like that,” he murmured. “Don’t move.”
Phuwin obeyed.
His tongue flattened again under the shaft. His jaw ached. His throat pulsed.
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe for more than a few seconds at a time, but he held still—eyes locked on Pond’s belly, mouth stretched, spit dripping down his chin.
Pond’s hips moved just once—forward.
Not fast. Just a slow press deeper.
Phuwin gagged again, the sound desperate and raw, but he didn’t pull away.
Pond’s fingers flexed.
Then his body tensed.
“Fuck—”
It came out hoarse, low, as he pushed in just a bit more.
And then he came.
Hot, sudden, thick pulses flooding the back of Phuwin’s throat, filling him fast. Phuwin whimpered—mouth still open, throat tight—but swallowed as best as he could, some of it slipping past his lips, warm and slick down his chin.
Pond didn’t move.
He just breathed—slow, controlled—as he emptied into him.
Only when the last shudder left his body did he finally ease his grip, slowly guiding Phuwin back. His cock slipped from his lips with a wet pop.
Phuwin gasped. His chin glistened. His eyes were red, his mouth still parted, tongue peeking as he struggled to swallow the rest.
He looked up.
Pond leaned down, brushed a thumb across his lips, wiped the spill from his cheek.
Then, quietly,
“Still mine.”
Phuwin nodded.
Tears still on his lashes.
Cum still on his tongue.
Phuwin didn’t move. Not yet.
His legs trembled where they were folded under him, knees still planted in the same spot he’d sunk into long minutes ago. His lips were parted, tongue thick with the taste of Pond—bitter, salty, and sticky with something rawer than just sex. His chin was wet. His eyes burned.
He was still trying to swallow all of it.
Not just the cum.
The silence.
The way Pond had finished inside him without a single word of praise or affection.
The emptiness that followed.
Pond still hadn’t looked at him.
He just reached lazily for his glass and brought it to his lips, tilting the golden liquid past his mouth with all the calm detachment of someone watching a slow burn, not the boy on his knees.
Phuwin’s throat tightened.
He shifted slightly, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand—though it didn’t help much. The mess lingered. His chest ached.
Then Pond looked at him.
Finally.
Their eyes met for the first time since it happened.
And Pond—without breaking eye contact—took another long sip of whiskey.
Phuwin flinched when Pond set the glass down. But the older boy didn’t scold. Didn’t speak, just leaned forward, reaching out.
A hand curled under Phuwin’s jaw again, fingers sticky now from sweat and skin. He tilted Phuwin’s face up, angling his chin slightly higher, like examining a display. Phuwin’s mouth opened without being told to.
Pond leaned in, not for a kiss, but with his own mouth still holding the burn of liquor.
And then he let it spill.
The whiskey poured straight into Phuwin’s mouth—sharp and hot, trailing past his lips and tongue in a controlled stream. Some of it dripped instantly, leaking from his bottom lip down his chin, mixing with the cum still coating his mouth.
He gasped against it.
He nearly choked.
The taste was intense—smoke and fire and salt and shame. His lips were shaking. His hands clenched against his thighs.
Pond sat back again, quiet.
“Drink it,” he said, softly now, like the order had never left.
Phuwin obeyed.
He swallowed.
Another tremble.
His tongue darted out to lick what he could, but the mixture still clung to him. His mouth felt too full, and his chest too empty.
Pond took another sip himself.
And again—he leaned in.
This time, his mouth pressed harder. Not quite a kiss, well, not yet.
The whiskey was hotter now. Or maybe it just felt that way, trailing from Pond’s lips to his, into the bruised and used cavern of Phuwin’s mouth like a second invasion. It stung behind his teeth. It burned as it mixed with slick and tears.
Phuwin whimpered.
Pond’s hand slid down his jaw, gripping his neck lightly now, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth like he was wiping it clean—but not really trying.
Then, slowly, he pulled him closer by the chin.
Their foreheads touched.
And Pond whispered, “You look better like this.”
Phuwin’s breath caught. “Like what?”
But Pond didn’t answer.
He grabbed him—suddenly, forcefully—under both arms, fingers gripping the smaller boy’s sides as if he weighed nothing.
Phuwin gasped as he was lifted up and forward, knees leaving the floor, body straddling Pond’s lap before he could even process it.
He landed with a thud—sprawled across Pond’s thighs, legs spread awkwardly, chest heaving against Pond’s as they collided.
Then—
Pond kissed him.
Hard.
Open.
Messy.
Like the silence had snapped all at once.
Phuwin moaned into his mouth, arms looping around Pond’s shoulders, fingers digging into the soft fabric of his shirt. His hips twitched against Pond’s lap, grinding instinctively, seeking friction—seeking warmth, seeking him.
Their mouths were a mess of heat and breath, tongue and teeth. The whiskey was still on Pond’s tongue, and Phuwin licked into it greedily, kissing him with open need, like the desperation could be erased if he just kissed hard enough.
Pond let him.
For a moment.
Then he took over.
His hands gripped Phuwin’s waist, guiding him down harder, grinding him against the bulge still half-hard in his sweatpants. One hand trailed up his spine, fingers curling into his hair again, tugging back slightly to expose his throat.
Phuwin gasped at the stretch.
Pond kissed down his jaw, along his neck, biting once, just hard enough to make him whimper. Then he licked over the mark like an apology he didn’t mean.
“You’re hard,” he murmured against his skin.
Phuwin nodded helplessly. “I can’t—”
Pond licked his way back up to his ear.
“Wrong answer.”
Another grind.
Phuwin’s thighs shook.
Their mouths collided again, wet and open and unforgiving. Pond kissed like he owned the silence, like he knew every shaky breath Phuwin took was permission he didn’t need.
Their lips dragged. Their tongues fought.
Phuwin moaned into it—shattered and wanton—like a boy who had been emptied but never satisfied.
And Pond drank it in.
Every sound.
Every twitch.
Every gasp.
Until Phuwin was breathless and writhing in his lap, head pressed to Pond’s shoulder, whispering brokenly, “Please, Pond… please…”
Pond is still quiet, still in complete control.
Phuwin didn’t know when the kiss had become sobs.
Or maybe it had always been both—his mouth desperate, trembling under Pond’s, their breaths mixing, wet with whiskey and want and something far uglier than lust.
Pond didn’t soften. Not once. He kissed like he was silencing Phuwin’s cries rather than answering them, his tongue pushing in deeper, stealing the breath from Phuwin’s throat. His hands were firm on Phuwin’s hips, not moving, not comforting—just holding him in place, like he was something fragile and pathetic and his.
Phuwin moaned into his mouth, the sound cracked and damp with tears. He didn’t even know when he’d started crying, only that now it wouldn’t stop. His cheeks were hot, his jaw aching. Still, he kissed back—messy, frantic, clinging with both hands twisted in Pond’s hair. He pulled him closer. Closer. Like he could pull warmth out of the silence. Like he could make Pond speak. Forgive. Feel.
He couldn’t.
Pond sucked his tongue.
It was sudden. Slow. Drawn-out. He wrapped his lips around it mid-kiss and pulled it into his mouth, sucking with a calm cruelty that made Phuwin shudder. He whimpered, whole body tense in Pond’s lap, his cock twitching uselessly between them.
Pond pulled back just slightly, lips brushing his. He was breathing harder now, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were still cold.
"Take this off," he said, tugging at the collar of Phuwin’s hoodie.
Phuwin obeyed. Wordless. Shaking fingers dragging the fabric up over his head, hair sticking to his damp forehead as he yanked the hoodie off and tossed it to the side.
Pond’s hands didn’t help. They just waited.
The shirt came next. A plain tee. Thin with sweat, clinging to his chest. Phuwin peeled it off, exposing skin—soft, flushed, sticky.
Pond looked at him like he was something less than naked. Like he was still hiding.
Phuwin looked down. His fingers found the hem of Pond’s shirt, hesitant.
Pond said nothing. Just lifted his arms slightly.
Permission.
Phuwin pulled it off. Slowly. Revealing Pond’s skin inch by inch—his chest, his neck, his shoulders. Familiar. Intimidating.
They kissed again before he could think.
Skin to skin now—Phuwin’s chest pressed against Pond’s, breath catching as nipples grazed, as Pond’s hand finally moved, fingers trailing up his spine.
Pond broke the kiss first.
"Up."
Phuwin blinked. “W-what?”
Pond tapped his thigh. “Lift up.”
Phuwin did. He rose just enough for Pond to slip his fingers into the waistband of his shorts, and then slowly—agonizingly slowly—Pond dragged them down.
He didn’t touch him. Not where Phuwin wanted. Just peeled the shorts off, letting them drop past his knees, his ankles, onto the floor.
Now he was bare.
Fully naked.
Straddling Pond’s lap, thighs trembling, cock flushed and leaking, his whole body taut with need and shame.
Pond, still dressed from the waist down, reached forward.
Two fingers, that’s all. He brought them up to Phuwin’s mouth.
“Open.”
Phuwin obeyed.
Pond slid the fingers in slowly, pressing past his lips. Phuwin’s mouth welcomed them, tongue swirling instantly, cheeks hollowing as he sucked—wet, eager, humiliated.
His eyes fluttered shut.
He moaned.
Pond didn’t praise him.
He just watched.
Silent. Cold.
And Phuwin sucked harder, sucked eagerly on Pond’s fingers, mouth wet and open, tongue pressing along the length of them like it was second nature. His cheeks hollowed with every slow pull, every obedient swirl of his tongue around Pond’s knuckles.
Tears were already brimming at the corners of his eyes again—less from emotion now, more from how deeply he took them, how hard he was trying to be good.
Pond watched him silently, unmoving, the weight of his gaze cold and unreadable. The only sign of approval, if it could even be called that, was the way he slowly dragged those spit-slick fingers from Phuwin’s mouth and brought them down behind him.
Phuwin’s breath hitched. He knew what was coming, and still his thighs trembled when he felt the first wet circle traced against his entrance. No warning. No teasing words. Just pressure.
Then Pond leaned in, lips brushing the underside of his jaw. The heat of his breath was the only thing soft left between them.
He kissed his neck—then sucked. Hard.
Phuwin cried out, hands clutching weakly at Pond’s shoulders as his skin was marked, bruised, claimed. The first hickey bloomed red and violet near his pulse point, throbbing almost immediately. The second came lower. Slower. Deeper.
He whimpered. “Pond…”
Pond didn’t answer.
A finger pushed in.
Phuwin gasped, his mouth falling open as he instinctively pushed back. The intrusion was slow, precise—stretching him with steady pressure while Pond’s mouth stayed on his neck, sucking, licking, biting again. The marks left behind felt like heat seared into his skin.
He sobbed into the quiet.
Another kiss. Another bruise. Just under his collarbone now, where no amount of makeup could hide it. Each one more deliberate than the last.
Their sex had never been like this.
Pond had always kissed him like he was precious. Praised him with every movement. Touched him like something to be cherished.
Now he touched him like something that was already his.
The second finger slid in without ceremony. Phuwin gasped, his back arching, his hips rocking involuntarily in Pond’s lap. The stretch burned just enough to remind him how real it was.
Still, Pond said nothing.
His free hand stayed on Phuwin’s hip, holding him in place. His lips traveled lower—down to his chest now, leaving a trail of dark marks, purple and angry and permanent.
Phuwin bit down on a moan when the fingers began to scissor, slow and unforgiving. He felt his own cock twitch between their bodies, untouched, throbbing. Pond hadn’t spared it a glance.
“Please,” he breathed out, voice hoarse. He didn’t know what he was asking for. More? Mercy?
Pond didn’t answer. He curled his fingers instead, brushing right over that spot that made Phuwin keen.
His thighs clamped tighter around Pond’s lap, his whole body shivering from the inside out.
More kisses. More bites. More silence.
The prep continued slowly, thoroughly, methodically.
And Phuwin took it all—shaking, crying, burning with the bruises that Pond was leaving behind.
Phuwin turned his head, breath catching against Pond’s ear. “I’m ready,” he whispered.
For a moment, Pond stilled. His fingers stayed buried deep, but he finally leaned in and kissed Phuwin again. No warning. Just mouths crashing together, tongues tangling, breath harsh between them. It was still rough, but something in it shook—like restraint finally threatening to break.
Phuwin whimpered into the kiss, hips rolling instinctively. His thighs shook where they straddled Pond, every part of him burning. The fingers stayed inside him as they kissed, stretching him even as he sobbed into Pond’s mouth.
Then, without a word, Pond withdrew his fingers, wrapped an arm around Phuwin’s waist, and stood.
“Hmmm….” Phuwin clung to him, arms around his shoulders, legs locking instinctively around his hips. He was weightless in Pond’s arms, light and messy and bare. His cock brushed against Pond’s stomach, smearing precum onto soft cotton. His body trembled with every step.
Pond didn’t falter. He carried him down the hall, silent but sure. Their mouths stayed pressed together, messily kissing between gasps, the air thick with sweat and heat. Phuwin moaned softly into him, fingers tugging weakly at Pond’s hair.
By the time they reached the bedroom, his head was spinning.
Pond laid him down without ceremony.
The sheets were cold against Phuwin’s back, and the contrast made him shiver. His body was flushed, damp, covered in angry bruises. His hair clung to his forehead in soaked strands, eyes wide and glassy. His lips were swollen from kissing, and his chest rose and fell with ragged desperation.
He looked wrecked.
Pond stood over him, expression unreadable, chest heaving as he looked down at Phuwin like something he wasn’t sure he deserved to want this badly.
And Phuwin, tears still gathered in his lashes, spread his legs for him without a word.
Pond stood at the edge of the bed, watching Phuwin’s flushed, trembling body laid out beneath him—chest heaving, lashes damp, thighs still parted in silent invitation.
Without a word, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his gray sweatpants and pulled them down, the fabric dragging slowly over his hips. His hard cock sprang free, red at the tip, veins standing against the flushed skin, the kind of thick that always made Phuwin ache in anticipation.
He turned slightly, opening the drawer beside the bed. The sound of it sliding open filled the silence like thunder. He grabbed a condom, tore the foil with practiced precision, and rolled it down over his length in one smooth motion.
Then came the bottle of lube—cool against his palm, viscous and glossy. He coated himself in it, spreading the slick over his cock in slow, tight strokes from base to tip. He hissed quietly at the sensation, his jaw twitching with the effort of control.
Phuwin’s eyes followed the motion, wide and helpless. His legs shifted on the sheets, toes curling as the anticipation made his thighs shake.
Then Pond reached between Phuwin’s legs again, and the first touch of lube against his entrance made Phuwin cry out softly. Pond didn’t react, just spread the slick mess over his hole, working it in with careful circles, the press of his fingers calculated and methodical.
Phuwin whimpered. “So cold,” he gasped, his voice trembling.
Pond leaned in at last, his face close, and kissed him. Their mouths met with heat and noise, a clashing of breath and spit and tension. Phuwin moaned into him, one shaky hand reaching up to tangle in Pond’s hair, anchoring himself to the only thing keeping him grounded.
The kiss turned hungrier. Their lips parted, and Pond sucked at Phuwin’s lower lip, then bit it just enough to make him gasp. When Phuwin cried out again, Pond swallowed it whole.
“Please, baby…” Phuwin panted between kisses. “Please, I need it. I’m ready, Pond—ngh—want you inside me, please—”
Pond didn’t say anything back, but his hands spoke for him. One slid under Phuwin’s thigh and hooked it higher, the other guided his cock into place. He pressed the head to Phuwin’s entrance, letting it rest there for a moment as they kissed again—slower now, deeper.
Phuwin trembled, breath hitching. “You make me feel like I’m losing my mind,” he whispered against Pond’s lips.
Pond’s hand cupped the back of his neck, steady and warm. “Then hold on to me.”
“I already am,” Phuwin said, voice breaking.
He felt the push.
A stretch, sudden and blinding. The first few inches sank in slowly, and Phuwin’s mouth fell open in a broken moan. “F-Fuck—fuck—it’s so—”
His hips bucked up instinctively, trying to take more, but Pond’s grip kept him down.
“Don’t move,” he said quietly.
Phuwin whined but obeyed. His chest was heaving now, a flush spreading all the way to his throat. His fingers dug into the sheets as Pond pushed in deeper—inch by torturous inch—until he bottomed out.
“You’re taking me so well,” Pond murmured, almost absentmindedly. Like he wasn’t even talking to Phuwin, just thinking out loud.
Phuwin’s thighs were trembling around him. His body was tight, filled to the brim, barely able to breathe through the pressure.
“Pond—ngh—it’s so deep—” he moaned. “You’re so deep inside—”
Pond leaned over him again, kissing his open mouth, swallowing every sound. His hips stayed still, letting Phuwin feel the full weight of him seated inside, letting the stretch and the pressure melt into something hotter.
“You’re okay,” Pond said softly.
Phuwin nodded quickly, tears spilling at the corners of his eyes. “Move—please move—I need it so bad—please—”
His words dissolved into another kiss, messier this time, all tongue and gasps and little whimpering noises that made Pond's cock twitch inside him.
Then finally, finally, Pond pulled his hips back just an inch—and thrust forward again, slow and heavy.
Phuwin cried out, arching into the motion. “Ah—God—again, do it again—”
Pond obeyed. Thrusting again. Deep, unhurried, devastating.
Their bodies rocked in a slow, burning rhythm. The air filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, of Phuwin’s breathless moans, and the deep grunts that slipped from Pond’s throat with each push.
Phuwin looked up at him, eyes glazed. “You feel so good,” he whispered. “You always do. But this—this is…”
He didn’t finish. Pond kissed him instead.
Phuwin clung to him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other gripping his shoulder as his whole body rocked with the motion.
“Harder,” he begged, voice shaking. “I can take it—please, Pond, just—fuck me—”
Pond’s restraint shattered in the next thrust. He pulled back—deep, slow—and then slammed into Phuwin with enough force to make the headboard jolt. Phuwin screamed, loud and unfiltered, his back arching clean off the mattress.
Again and again. Pond’s hips snapped forward in brutal rhythm, the slick sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room, loud and obscene.
“F-Fuck!” Phuwin cried out, hands scrabbling at Pond’s back, at the sheets, at anything he could hold. “Pond—it’s too—nghh—s-so deep—”
But Pond didn’t slow down. He was fucking him like he was nothing but a toy, his grip bruising at Phuwin’s hips, forcing him to take every inch. Every punishing thrust sent Phuwin’s voice higher, his moans pitched and helpless, stuttering between cries and sobs.
“You feel this?” Pond finally spoke, voice low, rough in his throat. “This is what happens when you act like you’re not mine.”
Phuwin shook his head frantically, lips trembling. “I—n-no, I’m yours, I swear—”
Pond growled under his breath, barely listening. His thrusts sped up—slamming in so hard the whole bed creaked. Phuwin’s thighs fell open wider, the stretch unbearable and perfect all at once, his legs trembling from being held in place.
“You play Diesel so well,” Pond murmured darkly into his ear. “So cocky. So smug. You think your fans would still see you that way if they saw you like this?”
Phuwin choked on a moan, shaking his head, eyes wide and teary. “Pond—don’t—”
Pond grabbed both of his wrists and pinned them above his head, his body pressing down hard against him, cock driving in deeper than before.
“If they saw the real you—moaning under me, begging to be fucked—like a cock-hungry little slut,” he whispered, voice venomous and calm. “Think they’d still say Diesel’s their favorite?”
Phuwin sobbed. His cock twitched helplessly, hard and leaking between them. “S-Stop—Pond—please—”
“You like it,” Pond snarled. “Your body’s dripping.”
Phuwin moaned, head tilting back into the pillow, exposing his neck. His skin was flushed red, covered in bruises and sweat, his lips swollen and trembling.
“I c-can’t—Pond, I’m gonna—”
Pond released his wrists and grabbed his thighs instead, folding him in half. He changed the angle, slamming in deeper, harder, until Phuwin screamed again.
“You take it so well,” Pond hissed. “You always do.”
Phuwin cried out, tears streaming now, his voice hoarse. “I-I love you,” he gasped, the confession slipping out between sobs. “Please, please don’t stop—fuck—I love you—”
Pond didn’t reply. He kissed him instead—harsh and devouring—as he fucked him into the mattress like he was trying to burn the memory into every inch of Phuwin’s body.
Pond didn’t stop. If anything, he grew more relentless.
The pace of his thrusts bordered on brutal now, every drag of his cock inside Phuwin making the younger boy cry out louder than before, the kind of sound that could shatter something soft.
His body jolted with every snap of Pond’s hips, legs trembling where they were pinned wide open. The bed creaked under them, frame tapping rhythmically against the wall like a war drum.
Phuwin wasn’t even able to form full words anymore. His moans were broken things—pitched high, desperate, stuffed full of breathless sobs and ragged gasps. His eyes were glassy, tears smudged at the corners. His arms had long since stopped clutching; now they just lay beside his head, fingers twitching, useless.
He wasn’t moving anymore—wasn’t fighting it, wasn’t rocking back. He just took it. Open and messy and silent except for the sounds being fucked out of him. A toy. A hole.
“Look at you,” Pond gritted, breathing ragged, sweat dripping from his temple. “You were so loud earlier, now you can’t even speak.”
Phuwin whined, mouth falling open like he wanted to say something—but the next thrust knocked the air from his lungs. His eyes rolled back, his head turning to the side as a cry escaped, weak and half-spoken.
“I was jealous,” Pond growled suddenly. “Watching people thirst over you. That episode. Those tweets. All of them seeing you like that—pretending to fuck some girl like you meant it.”
He thrust deeper, making Phuwin jolt. “Nghh—”
“If only I could drag you off set that night,” he went on, voice thick, barely steady. “Bend you over a table and fuck you while the crew watched. Make them see who you really belong to.”
Phuwin whimpered loudly, his lips trembling. “P-Pond—”
“You think I didn’t notice how many takes they needed for that scene?” Pond's voice was low, dangerous. “How you came home flushed and quiet? Thinking I’d ignore it?”
His hips snapped again, slamming into Phuwin, pushing a scream from his throat.
Pond grabbed under Phuwin’s thighs, tilting his hips up, fucking into him deeper, harder. The angle had Phuwin gasping—eyes wide, mouth forming a silent scream.
“I wanted to mark you right there on set. Put hickeys on your neck so deep the makeup team couldn’t cover them,” Pond hissed, sweat dripping onto Phuwin’s chest. “I wanted the fans who tweeted your name to know what your moans really sound like.”
Phuwin sobbed, head shaking, face red and wet. “Pond—I-I can’t—s’too much—I—”
“You can, baby,” Pond bit out. “You’ve taken it before, remember?”
He leaned in, mouths brushing but not kissing, and continued to fuck him—mercilessly, rhythm sharp and fast, balls slapping against skin, cock pistoning in and out with obscene sounds.
Phuwin couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. His throat burned with every scream, but he didn’t want it to stop. He wanted more. Wanted to feel owned, ruined, shattered until there was nothing left but Pond inside him.
And Pond gave it.
He gave all of it.
Until their bodies were slick with sweat, until the sheets were ruined beneath them, until Phuwin’s legs shook uncontrollably and he couldn’t breathe between moans.
Pond kept going—fucking like a man possessed, like jealousy and lust had eaten every ounce of patience inside him.
“If I was there… I would've taken you to the dressing room,” he hissed. “Right after your scene, still on your clothes for filming, on your knees with my cock in your mouth while everyone waited outside.”
Phuwin moaned again—broken, high, needy.
“Would you like that?” Pond asked, finally slowing his thrusts but making them heavier, deeper. “Letting them hear you choke on it?”
Phuwin’s fingers curled into the sheets. “Y-Yes—yes, please, anything—just don’t stop—”
“Fuck—I’m not planning to.”
“Thank yo—thank you,” Phuwin sobbed, arching under him.
Pond growled low in his throat—and fucked him harder.
Pond did what phuwin requested, he really didn't stop.
Even after the begging, even after the sobs, even when Phuwin’s voice went hoarse from how long he’d been moaning, Pond just kept going. Each thrust was soaked with raw intensity, his hips snapping forward like he was chasing something just out of reach—like he was chasing control that had long since slipped through his fingers.
Phuwin was wrecked. Sweat clung to his skin, his body flushed and trembling. His moans came out in whimpers now, his lips parted with every gasping breath. He was clinging to Pond’s shoulders with the last bit of strength he had left, his legs still open and trembling around Pond’s waist, taking everything—every inch, every rough grind of his cock, every punishing thrust.
Pond buried himself to the hilt again and again, the slap of skin against skin getting louder, wetter, more desperate. He leaned down, forehead pressing into Phuwin’s shoulder as his breaths came in ragged, uneven pants. His body was soaked, muscles trembling.
Phuwin whimpered beneath him, voice barely audible. “P-Pond… I can’t…”
“You're doing good, you're taking me well,” Pond grunted, not stopping. “Almost there,” he rasped.
His thrusts grew shallower, faster. The bed creaked violently beneath them, and Phuwin could barely form words anymore—just little, broken noises that sounded somewhere between pleasure and tears. His cock twitched against his belly, untouched and leaking, overstimulated from being filled and rubbed raw.
Pond snapped his hips one more time—deep and brutal—and then groaned into Phuwin’s skin as his orgasm crashed through him. He shuddered, muscles locking, cock throbbing inside the condom as he spilled.
Phuwin felt it. Felt the twitch, the way Pond trembled above him, how his body collapsed just slightly as the heat drained from him.
They stayed like that for a moment. Quiet, broken only by their breathing.
Then Pond slowly pulled out, carefully, as if the reality of what he’d done was settling into his bones. He tossed the condom into the trash beside the bed and sat back on his heels, panting. Sweat dripped from his chin.
Phuwin lay sprawled across the sheets—legs spread, body shaking, skin covered in hickeys and smudged tears. His hair was plastered to his forehead, lips red and bitten. There were scratches on his back, bruises blooming across his thighs and neck. He looked… wrecked. Ruined. Like he’d been used and left empty.
Pond swallowed hard. His heart twisted.
“Fuck…” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m… fuck, I’m sorry.” He reached out, but hesitated. His hand trembled mid-air.
Phuwin blinked slowly, dazed but conscious. His eyes met Pond’s, glassy but focused. He gave a soft smile, barely there. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Really.”
Pond let out a shaky breath. He slid closer, finally brushing his fingers gently against Phuwin’s cheek.
“I didn’t mean to be so rough…” he murmured. “I just—that scene. I felt like I was going insane. And when you came home, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you. About everyone else seeing you like that.”
Phuwin turned his face into Pond’s palm. “You were just jealous.”
Pond shut his eyes. “That’s not an excuse.”
“I liked it,” Phuwin whispered. “I mean it. Even if it was rough, I felt everything, I knew it was you. I would've slapped you if I really wanted you to stop, idiot.”
Pond opened his eyes, guilt still heavy in them. “I should've stopped… You should've slapped me hard or—,” he said softly.
“I would’ve,” Phuwin replied. “If I wanted to.”
They stayed quiet for a moment. The air in the room was heavy, the aftermath thick with emotion.
Then Pond leaned in, finally, and kissed him. Slow. Gentle. The opposite of everything from before. His fingers cupped the back of Phuwin’s head like he was scared of breaking him.
“I love you,” Pond whispered. “I'm really sorry, I love you so much.”
Phuwin smiled, eyes fluttering closed. “I love you too.”
Pond wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him in. Carefully. Tenderly. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces now, even in the silence.
He buried his face into Phuwin’s hair.
“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured. “I promise.”
And Phuwin believed him.
Even if he was sore and aching and every nerve in his body was still pulsing from being stretched and claimed—he believed him.
Because it was Pond.
And Pond had never once let him fall.
Bonus.
Much later, when Pond was fast asleep—chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of a man completely spent—Phuwin reached blindly for his phone beside the bed. His thighs still ached when he moved, and he hissed under his breath, carefully adjusting so he didn’t wake the sleeping furnace beside him.
He opened Line and hit call on one name without even thinking.
Fourth picked up on the second ring. “Bro, it’s 2 a.m. You alive?”
Phuwin snorted, voice scratchy. “Barely.”
Fourth yawned dramatically. “Why are you whispering? Did Pond finally kill you?”
“More like rearranged my fucking organs.”
A pause. Then, “OH MY GOD, HE DID?!?!”
Phuwin pressed his face into the pillow, trying not to giggle. “You don’t even know! Like, rough! He was all quiet, and then suddenly I’m on my knees, and now I think my legs are permanently useless.”
Fourth howled. “I knew he was plotting something! He was scary.”
“I think I saw God.”
Fourth wheezed. “You better be seeing a chiropractor.”
“And,” Phuwin groaned. “He brought up Taste Ep 4 while I was choking on his dick.”
“STOP. STOP IT. YOU’RE LYING.”
“I’m not! He was like, ‘Think your fans would still love Diesel if they saw you like this?’ while dicking me down.”
“I’m gonna throw up.”
Phuwin giggled quietly. “Anyway, Pond’s asleep. Snoring even. Bastard fucked the soul out of me then had the audacity to look cuddly.”
“You’re disgusting,” Fourth said lovingly. “I’m hanging up. Don’t call me for sex trauma unless there’s a PowerPoint involved.”
“Deal. Love you.”
Fourth sighed. “Love you too, freak.”
The call ended. Phuwin grinned, turned over carefully, and tucked himself back against Pond’s chest.
Yeah. He was definitely ruined.
And he definitely didn’t mind.