Friends with Benefits... and Feelings?

Begin Again 🔞

"Oh—shit... Oh, Fuck," Aiah moaned, squeezing her eyes shut, lips parting with every shuddering breath. The air around them felt electric, prickling against her skin as she struggled to draw in more oxygen.

Her body arched, trembling, as her partner's thrusts grew deeper, harder, more desperate.

"Ate Aiah," came the low, breathless grunt behind her—voice thick with need—as strong arms wrapped possessively around her hips, grounding her.

Their breaths mingled, ragged and synced.

Her partner hissed through her teeth as Aiah tightened around her, the heat, the grip, driving her nearly mad. Her cock twitched with anticipation when Aiah let out a desperate whine, nails clawing down the sheets in surrender.

"I—I'm so close," Aiah gasped, voice breaking like glass.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Aiah had just arrived in Manila. She had barely finished unpacking in her new apartment. Her supposed moving buddy wasn't meant to end up tangled in her sheets—definitely not meant to be the source of the kind of sex that left her breathless and aching in all the best ways.

But, well... plans changed.

---------------

Eight hours earlier.

"Thanks, Mikhs, for helping me move in. Busy kasi 'yung ibang girls."

"No problem, Ate Aiah. Plus, I promised you, didn't I?" Mikha said, flashing her that familiar grin.

"Ang aga mo nga, eh. Nagulat ako na you weren't late as always."

"Grabe ka naman sa'kin, Ate Aiah," Mikha pouted, mock-offended. "Bagong buhay na ako, no."

Aiah chuckled. "Pansin ko nga."

But it wasn't just Mikha's punctuality she noticed. Something had shifted—subtle, yet impossible to ignore.

Mikha's frame had filled out, arms flexing beneath a muscle tee as she carried boxes from the van like they weighed nothing. Her biceps, more defined than she remembered, strained against the cotton, and Aiah's gaze lingered just a second too long.

"You've been working out," she said, trying for casual. She failed.

Mikha smirked and set the box down, casually flexing again as if to say yeah, I know.

Heat flared in Aiah's cheeks. She looked away, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself grounded.

Mikha had always been the little sister type. They met back in college—same org, same barkada of eight girls—but over time, they became inseparable.

There were signs, even back then: how Mikha always looked out for her, drove her home after late meetings, brought her snacks during hell weeks, gave her that fraying denim jacket during a surprise downpour.

There was affection, but nothing ever came of it.

Aiah had a boyfriend at the time—a manchild, in hindsight—who didn't take well to her moving back to Cebu when her parents got sick. That relationship didn't survive.

Now, she was back in Manila. Starting over. Picking up the threads of her old modeling career and launching a clothing line with her friend Debbie.

And here was Mikha again.

Her Babi Mikha.

The same girl who once tearfully confessed, voice trembling, that she was different. That she had a penis, even though she was a girl. Aiah had never forgotten that night. The vulnerability. The trust.