Work Text:
Tonfah should, after over two years of dating, have gotten used to how cute Typhoon looked in his pyjamas; but the truth was that Tonfah hadn’t gotten used to how cute Typhoon looked at any other point of the day, either, and a tired, bed-ready Typhoon blank-screened his brain with such immediacy, that all that was left was the need to go over and touch him, right that very moment.
“P’Fah!” Phoon exclaimed, when Tonfah shot up from the bed and wound his arms around Typhoon’s waist, but it wasn’t really a complaint.
“Phoon looks so cute today,” Tonfah said, and pressed a kiss to Typhoon’s cheek.
Typhoon scrunched up his nose, but he looked pleased. “P’Fah always says that,” he said.
“It’s always true,” Tonfah said, and pressed the next kiss to the corner of Typhoon’s lips. “My little Phoon is very cute. Always so so cute.” He pecked Typhoon’s lips. “The cutest.”
“P’Fah.”
“And,” Tonfah said, “he would make the cutest little mother.”
“Don’t say that,” Typhoon protested, in that way that meant he was shy, not that he actually wanted Tonfah to stop. He’d gotten much less shy over the time they’d been dating, but this topic still always made his cheeks burn red. It was unbearably adorable, and made Tonfah want to bring it up all the time, or at least more often than he actually did.
“But it’s true,” Tonfah said. “Didn’t Phoon say so himself? Hm?”
“Phoon didn’t say anything,” Typhoon lied, looking away.
“Tonfah remembers Phoon saying he’d like to have my child,” Tonfah purred. Both when Phoon had been drunk, and, of course, during their sober conversation after: when they’d talked about the fact that they did want children, eventually, when Tonfah had earned enough money to put to the side to provide for a family while taking a step back from working, so he could actually be present. They hadn’t mentioned it much since – mostly a throw-away line here or there, about the family they wanted to have eventually – but Tonfah thought about it a lot.
Especially in the evenings, when Typhoon looked adorable and tired and soft, his stomach slightly round from dinner. Tonfah liked to think about what else could round it out, leave Typhoon’s soft belly swelling.
“Phoon would look so good with P’Fah’s child in him,” Tonfah said, winding his arms around Typhoon more firmly. “Everyone would know what you’re giving me, that you’re growing our family.”
“P’Fah…” Typhoon said, but it was a soft, gentle protest; not much of a protest at all.
“Sometimes P’Fah can’t wait. Sometimes P’Fah thinks he should fill Phoon up and get him pregnant right now,” Tonfah said, biting Typhoon’s earlobe. Typhoon gasped beautifully.
His friends joked about him being a ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing,’ but he knew they still believed that he wasn’t as bad as them. Tonfah sometimes thought that he was probably worse than all of them combined.
He wasn’t as blatant about it as Arthit or Johan, maybe, but he wanted Typhoon, all of the time. He wanted to have him, and to fill him, and to take him apart, to keep him covered in bruises and filled with his cum. If he could get him pregnant; if he could have Typhoon round with his child, blatant in what he’d let Tonfah do to him, showing off that they were a family; Tonfah would both want to show him off to everyone, and never let him leave the bed again. Sometimes he thought it was good that he couldn’t actually get Typhoon pregnant, because if he could, he’d keep him pregnant all the time, put one baby after another into him, an immutable sign of belonging, of Tonfah’s ownership. And Typhoon was so tiny: a baby belly would look huge on him. It would be impossible to overlook.
Typhoon was trembling gently, fingers clutching at the collar of Tonfah’s shirt, and Tonfah threw his patience to the side and pushed Typhoon towards and onto the bed. He looked so good on Tonfah’s bed. He should always be in Tonfah’s bed, looking up at him out of wide, brown eyes, cheeks flushed, Tonfah thought wildly, and climbed in after him, kissing him hard.
Typhoon made a little mewling sound under him, grabbed at Tonfah’s shirt again, and melted into him. He was so cute. He was so tiny and cute and all Tonfah’s. Impossibly, he wanted Tonfah, all of Tonfah, not just the studious and smart Tonfah, but also the tired Tonfah, the annoyed Tonfah, the possessive Tonfah that couldn’t suppress a jealous streak sometimes, even though he was entirely secure in their relationship, and the Tonfah that wanted to maul him and fuck him and fill him with his cum until Typhoon was dripping and too sore to walk.
He’d gotten so fucking lucky.
Typhoon looked adorable in his pyjamas, even more so because Tonfah had bought them for him, and any other evening Tonfah might have taken a moment to admire the view; but right now Tonfah wanted him naked, immediately. He had to interrupt their kiss to impatiently take the pyjamas off Typhoon. But as impatient as he felt, he couldn’t help but take the time to softly stroke the soft skin of Typhoon’s waist and stomach as he did so, and Typhoon sighed contentedly and arched into the touch. Tonfah wanted to take him apart.
“P’Fah really can’t take it anymore,” Tonfah said. “P’Fah wants to fill Phoon until he’s dripping with it.”
Typhoon made a quiet little noise, a beautiful thing, and Tonfah put his mouth down against Typhoon’s stomach and bit.
“P’Fah!” Typhoon protested. Tonfah kissed the mark soothingly. Typhoon’s skin was already starting to flush where he’d bitten down. Typhoon always bruised so beautifully; it really was a shame that nobody would see the imprint of Tonfah’s teeth on his skin, but the mere idea of someone else seeing Typhoon’s beautiful soft stomach made Tonfah feel slightly murderous.
“P’Fah really, really can’t take it anymore,” Tonfah said, spread Typhoon’s legs and lifted them over his shoulders so he could kiss his perfect tight little hole. Typhoon shuddered, and Tonfah started licking him properly, getting him wet. He loved this; loved tasting Typhoon like this, loved how Typhoon gasped and mewled under him, loved how Typhoon’s legs shook. Loved how desperate it got Typhoon: he started licking into him, and Typhoon clenched his hands in the bedsheets and threw his head back, flushed all the way down his chest. Typhoon was so perfect. And he was all Tonfah’s; nobody else had ever seen him like this, and nobody ever would.
“P’Fah, please,” Typhoon moaned above him: sounding almost wanton. It drove Tonfah wild, how much more open Typhoon had become with his pleasure. The first few times they’d done this, Typhoon had been so much shyer, but now he would sometimes actually beg, would ask for things, would initiate things. Tonfah wanted to eat him up.
He licked into Typhoon more insistently, and Typhoon’s legs trembled harder.
“Please, ah! – please,” he Typhoon begged, and Tonfah gave in. He drew back, spit on his fingers, and pushed one into Typhoon’s tight hole.
“P’Fah is going to fill Phoon up,” Tonfah said. “P’Fah is going to fuck his little one until he’s pregnant, and then again.” He thrust a second finger in. He should probably take more time for this; but he was impatient, and all he wanted was to be inside Typhoon, and despite all his protestations, Typhoon had also made it more than clear that he actually liked how rough and insatiable Tonfah was with him in bed – verbally, in the very beginning, after Tonfah had managed a brief but intense guilt spiral – so Tonfah saw no reason to take it slow, not when he could barely manage even this much patience.
Two fingers was just barely on the edge of enough, but it had to suffice, because Tonfah felt close to snapping; he tore off his own clothes, which he was stupidly still wearing, grabbed the lube, squeezed it so impatiently he accidentally used way more than he needed to, pushed a pillow under Typhoon’s ass and readjusted his legs, and thrust in.
Typhoon was impossibly tight. Typhoon felt incredible. He always, always felt incredible. How was Tonfah supposed to control himself, to not want this all the time, when Typhoon looked so tiny and cute and felt like this?
He pressed his forehead against Typhoon’s, groaned, and started fucking into him, hard. Taking it any slower was impossible. He wanted Typhoon to feel it in his entire body; he wanted to fill Typhoon, and then fuck him and fill him again, wanted his stomach to bulge with Tonfah’s cum until he looked pregnant.
Typhoon wound his arms around Tonfah, and Tonfah could feel his fingers dig into his skin, his short nails leaving little crescent marks. Tonfah moaned, and fucked him even harder.
“Phoon feels so good like this,” he said, feeling slightly delirious. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying; wasn’t certain it mattered all that much. “Phoon was made for this. Phoon was made to be fucked and filled by P’Fah. Phoon wants this. P’Fah knows Phoon wants this. Wants P’Fah to get him pregnant and carry our children. Wants to be P’Fah’s good little wife. Phoon would look so good pregnant. Phoon would make the best mother.”
Typhoon whimpered again, and scratched at his back. “P’Fah would make such a good dad,” Typhoon said, voice high and needy, the words sinking in like a punch to the chest, and Tonfah’s brain screeched to a complete and immediate halt as his orgasm rushed over him, suddenly and inexorably.
“Phoon,” murmured, burying his face against Typhoon’s chest. He felt slightly light-headed. It took him a moment to recover before he could look up again: at Typhoon’s flushed, needy face. Typhoon was still hard.
“P’Fah apologises,” Tonfah said, slightly sheepish. “Phoon is just so –” He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he wrapped a hand around Typhoon’s dick and stroked it gently. Typhoon twitched in his hand.
“P’Fah is so mean. This isn’t fair, P’Fah,” Typhoon whined. “Phoon needs to be filled.”
“P’Fah did fill Phoon,” Tonfah said gently, stroking him a little faster, smearing Typhoon’s pre-cum around to make the glide smoother.
“Not – not anymore,” Typhoon whined, and Tonfah realised Typhoon meant Tonfah’s softening cock, which had started to slip out of him, along with some of his cum, leaking out likewise. He groaned; his cock gave a very interested, very painful twitch as it valiantly tried to get hard again immediately, and he drew out all the way, replacing his cock with three of his fingers before Typhoon could protest too loudly, pushing his cum back inside.
Typhoon pushed into the touch immediately. He was so cute, so perfect, so hot. Tonfah still couldn’t believe that he was real, and that Tonfah had wasted so many years not realising that he needed Typhoon like this, not as a friend, or a younger brother figure, but like this.
He pressed his fingers against Typhoon’s prostate, rubbing, while increasing the pace of his hand on Typhoon’s cock, and Typhoon let out several noises somewhere between a gasp and a moan, tensed up, and came all over himself.
Tonfah stroked him through it, then took his hand off Typhoon’s cock, but left his fingers inside him. He softly kissed Typhoon’s forehead.
“Phoon is so perfect,” he praised. “Absolutely perfect.”
Typhoon, coming back to awareness enough to regain some shyness, flushed slightly, but didn’t duck away or protest, like he would’ve at the start of their relationship. Instead, he cuddled into Tonfah.
“P’Fah always says that,” he said.
“P’Fah always means it,” Tonfah replied, pressing another kiss to Typhoon’s forehead.
Typhoon was silent for a short while, then he said, “Phoon also really likes the idea of P’Fah getting him pregnant,” and Tonfah groaned loudly as he rolled Typhoon onto his stomach to better get at his hole and fuck him a second time, this time properly.