♡
if there's one thing team still has yet to get used to about college, it's the parties.
he's adjusted well to his classes, found a schedule that works well for him, and he's even gotten pretty close with his roommate, dean, but the one thing he can't really seem to get adjusted to is the sheer amount of alcohol and bad decisions that his fellow undergrads get into.
now don't get him wrong—team's not a saint my any means, he likes to get drunk at parties, he's even got a good ass fake id that gets him into even the nice bars around campus—but he's not the type to go out every night. he prefers to keep his own bad decisions relegated to saturday nights, but sometimes he gets roped into going out to parties he'd never have gone to by his own volition, dragged there by dean.
the party he's at now is hosted by a group of people he kind of knows from the few meetings he'd gone to for the campus's thailand student association, in celebration of the upcoming winter break. there's a few people here that he recognizes from his classes, but for the most part, he's sat in a circle playing a rousing game of "never have i ever" with a bunch of random people he doesn't know, nursing a cup half full of jungle juice.
and god, he's fucking drunk.
"wait, wait, wait, i got—i got one!"
the girl to team's left—ple, or something. he thinks they have intro to econ together—spills her drink as she thrusts it forward, a slurred challenge on her lips: "never have i ever fucked someone more than ten—" she hiccups, "—ten years older than me!"
a murmur goes through the circle of people, everyone eyeing each other to see who's gonna take a drink, who they can pounce on and press for more, the game having taken on a much more scandalous edge that it had when it started.
team struggles with the mental math for a moment, but then he lifts his cup and takes a long sip.
he's the only one in the group that drinks, and ple is the first to notice, calling him out with a cackle and another slosh of her drink.
"team drank, oh my god!" ple squeals. "he's a milf hunter!"
"dilf hunter, more like," team says, unthinkingly. ple balks at him, eyes wide.
"oh my god!" she exclaims, falling into a fit of giggles.
"we need the story, give us the story!"
"um," team falters, cheeks hot with the realization that suddenly, all eyes are on him. "'s'not really much of a story."
"oh, come on!" dean urges. he's staring at team from across the circle, with a blonde girl that team doesn't recognize seated on his lap. dean's pupils are blown and his own cheeks are flushed, from alcohol rather than embarrassment. "don't hold out on us, teammieee."
"yeah, teammieee," the girl on dean's lap coos. team rolls his eyes.
"fine, okay, whatever," team huffs, bringing his cup to his lips and knocking back what's left inside. he grimaces, everclear burning away what's left of his pride and dignity. liquid courage replenished, team squares his shoulders and says, without shame, "i fucked my best friend's dad."
for the briefest moment, team's admission is met with silence, a modicum of calm before the crowd of people around him burst into an uproar of chatter.
"no way! no way, i'm calling bullshit!" says ple, sticking an accusatory finger into team's shoulder. "you're lying!"
"why would he lie about that?" says beau, a girl team knows from ksa, sat on his right. she reaches out a thin, primly manicured hand, and taps him lightly on the cheek. "that's scandalous, though," she jokes.
team shrugs. "he was hot," he says, like that's that.
another wave of laughter disrupts the group, a few people slapping team on the back, like a weird sort of congratulations. dean ends up shoving another cup of jungle juice into team's hand and team takes it gratefully.
the game moves on now to the boy sitting to ple's left, his turn now to pose a scenario. team stares down into his cup, his thoughts wandering as he stares at the amber colored slurry of a drink.
he thinks of mr phawin, of win, of a hot summer and even hotter sex, of sun-warmed pool water and an achingly cold goodbye. team drinks, and drinks some more.
he blacks out.
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
the last week of classes before winter break comes and goes so fast that it's like team nearly blinks, and next thing he knows, he's packing his bags and calling an uber to pick him up and take him to the train station to catch his train back home.
he and dean had decided that dean was going to come home with team for winter break, since he lives across the country and his own family was going overseas for the holidays and, as dean had so eloquently worded, he "didn't want to have to drop a fuckton of money to fly back home and then have to sit bored as fuck at his grandparents' house in the middle of nowhere in jeju."
team's parents had enthusiastically agreed to host dean for the holidays when team had asked them if it'd be okay, excited to meet one of team's friends from school. team has a sneaking suspicion that his mom just wants to grill dean for information on how team's acclimating, hopeful that dean might divulge details that team would not.
speaking of details that team would never tell to his parents, team forced dean to swear to secrecy in regards to what he now knew about team's summer fling with mr phawin. dean had, as expected, pressed team for more information the next day after the party, when they were alone and hungover in their dorm room, and team had told him everything, with the stipulation that dean would never speak a word of it to anyone else.
dean had promised, with earnest eyes and a lock of their pinkies.
the train ride back home is only two and a half hours, and team sleeps through the majority of it, airpods in and dean drooling on his shoulder. the announcement of the train's arrival wakes team, groggy for a few moments before he comes to and nudges dean to wake him up as well.
the train rolls into their stop about fifteen minutes later, and team texts his mom to let her know they've arrived. she texts back to let him know that she's waiting for them in the main lobby of the train station, followed by a plethora of emojis that team assumes means that she's excited to see them.
they grab their bags from the overheads and make their way out of the traincar, and team spots his mom not too long later. she spots him too, waving excitedly as he and dean approach.
"my teammiee!" she exclaims, pulling him into a tight hug and kissing his cheek. she pulls back and frowns, squeezing at his sides. "you're so skinny! are you eating enough? do we need to upgrade your meal plan?"
team grabs her wrist, rolling his eyes fondly. "i'm eating, mom, i swear," he says. he takes his chance to deflect from the subject, gesturing to dean beside him. "this is my roommate i told you about, dean."
his mother's attention is immediately diverted as she fawns over dean, patting his cheeks and pulling him into a hug like she's known him forever. it's akin to the way she usually greets pharm, and it makes team warm to see dean so quickly accepted into his mother's graces.
"come on, let's get going!" his mother urges. "your father invited some people over for dinner, and they're all so excited to see you."
"momma," team whines.
"oh, quit it," she waves of team's complaints with a wave of her hand. "it's just the neighbors, the rattanons and pharm and his father."
team's face heats, and his heart starts to pound at the mention of mr phawin. dean meets his eye and lifts his eyebrow in question. team nods, and dean grimaces, mouthing yikes.
the drive back home is filled with his mom's excited chatter, and team is sweating bullets at the thought of seeing win again so soon. he knew it'd happen eventually, but he thought he'd have more time to prepare and like, take a shower or something.
thankfully, nobody else besides team's father is at their house when they arrive, his mother having enough sense to give team time to freshen up before he has to start mingling and answering the same repeated questions about how his classes are going, how he's adapting, and if he misses home.
team sighs as he finally closes the door to his bedroom, tossing his backpack onto the bed. dean flops down into the papasan chair that's in the corner, echoing team's exhalation.
"dude," dean says, pulling out his phone, "you good?"
"yeah," team replies, following the path of his backpack onto the bed. "just wasn't expecting my mom to invite the whole neighborhood over for dinner tonight."
"he's gonna be here, right?" dean asks, and when team frowns, dean clarifies: "the dilf you fucked?"
team's cheeks flame. "fuck," he curses, "yeah. he'll be here."
"awkward," dean says, grimacing sympathetically.
"yeah," team agrees. "it wasn't like, a bad breakup or anything but—fuck. it's gonna be so weird to see him again."
dean makes a low noise of understanding, nodding almost too solemnly. "seeing ex hookups is always weird," he says. "can't imagine if my ex hookup was also my best friend's dad."
team sighs. "yeah," he says. "i didn't really make the best judgement call on that one."
dean snorts. "clearly," he says. "but whatever, dude. we'll avoid your ex-dilf at all costs, and sneak into the liquor cabinet. your parents have a liquor cabinet, right?"
team's parents do have a liquor cabinet, and by the time the rattanons arrive and team's mother is carrying three bottles of wine into the den, team has managed to sneak a nearly full bottle of tequila up to his room. dean cheered when team pulled the bottle out from where he'd tucked it in his hoodie, whooping and prompting team to take a shot.
"in celebration of your success," dean says.
team knocks back a shot straight from the bottle, grimacing at the burn. "ugh, that's fucking gross. here," he says, passing the bottle to dean, who takes a large mouthful of his own.
"team, where did you go?" team's mother calls from down the hall, and team scrambles to hide the bottle, stashing it under his pillow just as she pokes her head around the open door. "what are you two doing?" she asks. "pharm and mr phawin just got here. get changed and come downstairs."
she leaves them with a stern flourish of her hand, and team swallows hard. "fuck," he says, grabbing the tequila out from where he stashed it and taking another swig.
"come on, dude," dean says, motioning for team to pass him the bottle. "it's probably not even gonna be as bad as you think it is."
team sighs, handing the liquor off to dean. "i know. i'm just—" he makes a vague gesture with his hands—"trying to figure out how to go down there and say hi to him without feeling like i'm gonna puke all over his shoes."
dean snorts, knocking back another shot before he caps the bottle and stashes it under a few blankets piled up on the papasan chair. "damn, now i really wanna meet this dude," he says. "i gotta know what kind of man can make the unflappable team siriyothin lose his shit."
"shut up," team groans, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes until he sees stars. "i'm—fuck. i gotta find something to wear."
black ripped jeans and a soft, oversized blue sweater is what team settles on, fussing over himself in the mirror before dean heaves a long suffering sigh and yanks team out of the room.
low chatter drifts its way up the stairs, and team's heart starts to thud faster, hearing mr phawin's deep, honey-smooth voice amongst the others. he heaves a breath and dean claps him on the shoulder before they both make their way down the stairs.
team's mother has all of the guests gathered in the den, platters of various hors d'oeuvres set out amongst them.
"ah, team, dean," his mother greets excitedly, gesturing for them to come join.
team swallows, the air around him suddenly much too thick. mr and mrs rattanons are sat on the sofa directly in front of team, his mother beside them. to his right sits pharm, patting the open spot on the other sofa next to him, and in the la-z-boy chair in the far corner sits mr phawin, a glass of red wine held halfway to his lips.
their eyes meet and team's whole body goes hot, his lips trembling as he exhales. mr phawin looks— god, he looks better than he ever has, with wire framed glasses perched on his nose, dark hair run through with gray at his temples like tinsel, lips red as his wine.
memories spew into team's mind like a flash flood, raging waters of recollection soaking him before he can even try to build a dam sturdy enough to stop them.
it's mr phawin—it's win— smiling as he hands team a margarita, pool water splashing up in waves of azure. it's the sun, beating down and tanning team's skin, it's win's hands on his body and lips parting as he murmurs baby, come here. it's team's own need, it's the way his hands tremble as he lets himself be led, a breath on his lips that sounds way too much like reverence, like hia.
it's too much. it's—too fucking much, and team can't do it.
"—am? team?" dean's voice, beating through the flood waters. "you gonna introduce me, or what?"
team shakes his head, trying to think through the muddiness. "oh—oh yeah, sorry. um, everyone, this is my roommate from college, dean."
dean is met with polite acknowledgement, greeting everyone back in turn. a heavy hand falls on team's lower back, dean pushing him gently forward. team slaps himself mentally, hating himself for floundering, for getting trapped like a hungry, feral animal in a small, steel cage.
team moves before he can fool himself into chancing another glance over at win—mr phawin, scrambling over to pharm's side and sitting down next to him. dean follows, sitting to team's left, a physical barrier between team and team's forbidden fruit.
"team!" pharm greets him excitedly. "i've missed you so much, man."
team grins, lifted immediately by pharm's unique brand of infectious sunshine. "i missed you too," team says.
"so, roommates?" pharm asks, drawing dean into their conversation.
team nods. "yeah," he says, "we're in the same major, too."
they chat idly for a little while, and team tries to focus on the conversation instead of the burning itch in the back of his mind that's begging him to turn and look at mr phawin again. he wants to look him in the eye and force win to acknowledge him. he wants to be cornered in the kitchen again, just like the first time, nose to nose with desire almost tangible between them.
he wants to ask win if he missed him, if he thinks about him, if he touches himself to memories of slick mouths and flushed skin, like team still does.
"dude, you and dean should totally crash at my house tonight!" pharm suggests, eyes bright. "i got this sick new sound editing software for my macbook that you guys gotta check out."
team flounders, but thankfully dean is there to save him. "dude, yeah," dean says. he leans closer to pharm, speaking low so only pharm and team hear him. "team swiped a bottle of his mom's tequila, too."
pharm's face opens in surprise, before he schools his expression into something less suspicious. "hell yeah," pharm says, eyes bright with anticipation.
"don't sound so excited," team says, "because it's the cheap stuff and it's fucking nasty."
"tequila is tequila," dean interjects. team rolls his eyes.
"i'm gonna go get a drink," he says. "you want anything?"
dean asks for a soda and pharm nods towards the glass of water he must've gotten from team's mother when he arrived, sitting on the side table next to the couch. team gets up from his seat and makes his way into the kitchen, over to the fridge to grab his and dean's drinks.
either team is more preoccupied by searching for two cans of coke than he thought he was, or he's a lot less aware of his own surroundings that he thought he was, because he doesn't hear anyone else enter the kitchen until said person clears their throat behind him, and team jumps, nearly bouncing his skull off the fridge door.
"jesus, what the fu—" team whirls around, ready to be annoyed at who he assumes his pharm or dean, but as he turns to face the person, the wind knocks out of his sails, and his words get stuck in his throat.
mr phawin stands in the doorway, one hand itching at his neck sheepishly. "sorry," he says, and god, his voice makes tingles go down team's spine, deep like mahogany. "i didn't mean to scare you."
team runs his tongue over his bottom lip, mouth suddenly gone dry. "it's—it's okay."
mr phawin shifts his weight, glancing around the kitchen, awkward in a way team's never seen him. he flounders, like he's trying to figure out what to say. team's hands go clammy.
"win, i—"
"how have you been?"
team stops, mouth still half open, caught on a sentence he hasn't quite fully formed yet. "um," he says. "i, uh, good? yeah, good. i'm good."
a small smile curves win's lips. "good," he echoes. "and how's school?"
"it's good," team repeats.
win nods his head, tucking his hands into his pockets. "i'm glad to hear it," he says.
team purses his lips, the soda cold in his hands but not cold enough to distract him from the sheer tense awkwardness filling the space between him and win.
team was expecting this, but it doesn't make things any less painful.
and it is painful, standing with win in front of him, so close yet so far out of team's reach. team's skin prickles, a ghost of a touch, of warm bath water and a firm chest, reverent kisses and sun-warmed concrete leaving goosebumps in their wake.
"so, dean, he's your roommate?" win asks.
team swallows. "yeah," he says. "he had uh, some family stuff going on, so i asked if he wanted to stay with me for winter break."
"ah," win hums, nodding again. "that's very sweet of you, team."
team flushes, heat in his cheeks before he can help it. "thanks," he says. "um, speaking of dean, i should—go bring him his drink." team raises the can of coke, as if that'll explain his sudden and awkward ploy for a way out.
win's lips purse, an unreadable expression on his face. "of course," win says, stepping aside from the doorway so team can pass.
their arms brush as team leaves the kitchen, and the featherlight touch feels just as electric as the first time win put his hands on team's skin.
team hears mr phawin's sharp inhale, and it takes every ounce of willpower team has to continue making his way back into the den instead of dropping the drinks where he stands and begging mr phawin to kiss him, touch him, fuck him, anything.
"sorry," team squeaks as he all but runs back to the den, ignoring the knowing look on dean's face as he hands him his soda and sits back down.
the rest of the evening passes relatively uneventfully. team and mr phawin make some tense eye contact from across the table a few times during dinner, but other than that, pharm's chatter and the rattanons questions about his experience with university so far keep him occupied well enough.
after dinner, they kill a couple more hours mingling, but then team, dean, and pharm skip out back to pharm's house, sure to pit stop up to team's room to grab the bottle of tequila, stuffing it into what team's mom thinks is just his overnight bag.
being back in pharm's house wracks team with so much déjà vu that he feels nauseous, the last time he was here being the day he and mr phawin called it quits. while he and pharm had hung out at the pool a couple times before team left for college, team always made it a point to have pharm stay the night at his house.
there's a new couch in the living room, team noticing it as they walk by. his cheeks flame, realizing that mr phawin must not have been able to get the stains out of the cushions like he thought he could.
"so, dad's probably gonna be at your place for another couple hours, and i doubt he'll come check on us when he gets back," pharm says, flopping onto his bed once they get into his room.
"sweet," dean says, taking up residence in the giant bean bag chair on the other side of pharm's room, groaning happily as he sinks into its center.
"careful in the foof, dude," team warns, grabbing the bottle out of his bag and settling on the bed next to pharm. "many have climbed inside it, never to be seen again."
"the foof?" dean asks.
"that's its name," pharm explains. "team named it that during sophomore year. i'm not really sure where the name came from either."
"because it's a foof," team says.
"yeah, sure, if you say so," dean shrugs. " any ways, where's the tequila?"
team passes dean the liquor and dean twists the cap off, bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a mouthful. he swallows and grimaces, handing the bottle back to team.
pharm pulls up the music editing software he'd mentioned earlier, and they pass the bottle around between them while pharm mixes beats, freestyling absentmindedly. team and dean join in every so often, and as the liquor levels in the bottle get lower, the verses get more and more slurred until all they're saying is nonsense, slurred between giggles.
"ugh, dude, i missed you," pharm whines, flopping back against the pillows, his macbook balancing precariously on his chest. "it's been so long since we hung out."
team giggles, taking the bottle as dean passes it back to him. "'s only been like, a couple months."
"five! five months, dude," pharm corrects, waving his hands wildly. his macbook topples off his chest, falling onto the bed and snapping shut, the music cutting off mid-bridge. "we like—lived in each other's back yard forever and now you're so far away."
team coos at pharm, crawling over the bed and flopping into pharm's lap, loose limbed and nearly smacking pharm in the face with the bottle of tequila.
"dude, gimme that before you knock him out, or
somethin'," dean says, trying to get up out of the foof, only to fall back in, groaning in defeat. "this fucking thing," he curses.
"told you! the foof is deadly."
"ugh," dean groans. "i'm—too drunk for this. somebody help me get out."
team comes to dean's aid, leaving nearly empty bottle next to pharm on the bed as he goes to rescue dean from the foof's clutches.
"grab my hands," team says, reaching out to dean, who does as he's told, wrapping his fingers around team's wrist.
team heaves back as dean lurches forward, and while it gets dean up and out of the foof, the momentum keeps him going, and next thing team knows, they're tumbling to the floor, dean landing right on top of him.
" jesus," team wheezes.
pharm snickers from the bed, bottle help halfway to his lips. "smooth moves," he says, and takes another shot.
"dude, your knee went right into my dick," dean wheezes, grimacing against the pain.
"sorry," team apologizes. "at least you're outta the foof."
dean rolls his eyes, crawling off of team, one of his hands cradling his crotch. "i gotta piss. where's your bathroom, pharm?"
"use the downstairs one," pharm says. "there's a hallway at the bottom of the stairs, and it's the last door on the right."
it's also right across from mr phawin's home office, but team doesn't say that out loud.
dean nods, wobbling on unsteady feet as he ducks out of pharm's room.
once dean's out the door and out of earshot, pharm nudges team with his foot and says, "so."
"so?" team parrots, getting up from the floor and climbing back onto pharm's bed.
"you and dean," pharm clarifies. "are you guys like—" he makes an odd gesture with his hands—"a thing?"
team's brow furrows for a second before he gets it, the tequila making him a little slow. "are we—oh, no, no, definitely not. dean's straight and i don't like him like that."
"oh," pharm says, passing team the bottle. "sorry, i just thought—you guys seem close, 's all."
"we're good friends," team says, taking a swig from the bottle, grimacing from the burn. "he likes a lot of the same things i like, so we got pretty close pretty quick. but we're not—we're not like, fucking, or anything."
pharm wheezes, snatching the tequila back from team. "jesus, okay," he says, knocking back another mouthful.
"sorry," team giggles.
dean stumbles his way back into the room, making team and pharm jump. he looks frazzled, his eyes wide, breathing heavy, like he'd run back up the stairs.
"your dad's home," dean says, flopping back down into the foof. "he stopped me when i left the bathroom 'n he asked me if we needed anything. god, i hope he didn't realize that i'm fuckin' smashed."
pharm's face goes a little gray. "shit," he says. "i didn't even hear him come in."
"d'you think he'll care that we're drunk?" dean asks.
pharm shrugs his shoulders and team, the idiot that he is, says, "nah, he won't care."
both pharm and dean turn to stare at him, questions in both their expressions. pharm's is more confused while dean's is frantic, one of them being privy to a dirty secret that the other is not.
"i, uh, i mean, he would give me beer sometimes? when i would come over to—to swim during summer? he—he made me a margarita once," team explains, trying to cover his tracks.
thankfully, blissfully, pharm seems to accept team's explanation with little fanfare. "ah, yeah," pharm mumbles. "'s long as we're in the house, i don't think he'll be mad."
team lets out the breath he'd been holding, relief flooding his system. "yeah," he agrees, grateful that the moment has passed. he meets dean's gaze and dean raises an eyebrow. team shrugs, looking away before pharm can catch on to their wordless exchange.
"dude, i'm tired," pharm says, flopping back against the pillows. "what time 's'it?"
"like, midnight," dean says offhandedly. "i think 'm sleepin' on the foof tonight."
pharm caps the now-empty bottle of tequila and drops it onto the floor with a muffled thud. "y'want the outside?" he asks, and it takes team a second to realize that pharm's speaking to him.
"what? oh, yeah, thanks," he says. pharm scoots over towards the wall, leaving the other side of the bed open for team. he pats the mattress, but team shakes his head. "gotta pee," he explains.
pharm just mumbles something intelligible, and when team looks over to dean, he's already knocked out on the foof, mouth open, drooling a bit. team slides off the bed, knees a little shaky as he pads across the floor and out of pharm's room.
he heads down the hallway to the stairs, socked feet making nary a sound as he pads down to the bathroom. the door is ajar like it always is, and team finds the light switch easily, flicking it on and closing the door behind him.
he empties his bladder, flushing the toilet and grabbing the handle of the faucet to turn the water on. he stares at himself in the mirror, seeing for the first time what a mess he looks like.
there's a red flush to his face, high on his cheekbones, and his lips are raw from where he'd been biting them, picking at the dead skin. his pupils are blown wide despite the bright light of the bathroom, and his hair is stuck up in random directions.
frankly, he looks like he just got fucked, and the thought makes heat curl low in his belly, his mind drifting into dangerous territory.
one of the first nights team had spent in this house, alone with mr phawin, they had showered together in this bathroom, washing the chlorine from the pool off their bodies. mr phawin—win, god, win— had run shampoo-covered hands through team's hair and kissed him until he was breathless.
team's toes curl as he remembers it, hot water slouching over them both as win worked team open and then took him against the shower wall, team's sounds of pleasure and desperation reverberating around them, so loud in his memory that team can almost hear them now.
heat courses through team's body. his fingers curl into fists against the sink, and it only takes him a second to decide that he's about to make a bad, bad decision, and another second to decide that he doesn't care.
team shuts the faucet off and dries his hands on the towel, skin still a little damp as he leaves the bathroom and turns off the light.
across the hall sits win's home office. the door is closed, but team can see the light peeking out from under it, a beacon in the otherwise dark hallway.
team pads over to the door, wobbling a little. he steadies himself against the doorframe, and on his next breath, he grips the handle and pushes the door open.
win sits at his desk, glasses low on his nose, pencil in hand as he writes notes in the margin of a blueprint. he doesn't notice team at first so team just watches him, heart thudding in his chest.
win startles slightly when he fnally spots team in the doorway, pressing a hand to his chest as he exhales shakily. "jesus, team," win breathes, setting his pencil down. "you scared me."
"payback," team murmurs and win chuckles.
"ah," win hums, pulling his glasses from his face and hooking them into the collar of his shirt. he's still wearing the same button down he had on at team's house, only he's loosened the top few buttons. the peek of his strong chest makes team's mouth water. "d'you need something, team?"
team shrugs, stepping into the office and closing the door behind him. "not particularly," he says, walking slowly over to win, running his fingers over the bookshelves that line the office walls, over win's desk when he gets close enough.
win watches him warily, lips pressed into a thin line. "team—"
"do you think about me?" team asks, liquor making him bold.
win sighs. "we shouldn't be having this conversation," he says.
"why not?" team asks. he meets win's eyes. "we're not doing anything wrong. it's just a question."
another sigh, and win rubs a hand through his hair. "a question, but a loaded one," he says.
team huffs. "why are you being so—so— cold?" he asks, frustration leaking into his voice.
"team," win says, and god, team hates the tone of his voice. he sounds like he's speaking to a child, trying to placate a tantrum before it happens. it makes team feel small, and then it makes him feel angry.
"don't talk to me like that," he spits, and watches with satisfaction as surprise colors win's expression. "don't talk to me like i'm a kid."
win leans back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. he looks tired. "i'm not," he says. "i know you're not a kid, team."
team purses his lips. "good," he says. he lets his fingers walk across win's desk as he gets closer, close enough that he can feel the heat of win's body, can hear the barely-audible hitch of win's breath when team throws a leg over his lap, straddling him. team sits, right on win's thighs, moaning at the feel of win under him, strong and sure.
"what are you doing?" win hisses, his irritation tampered by the way his hands come up to grab team's waist, pulling him closer like a reflex.
"remember the last time we were in here together?" team breathes, flexing his thighs, rutting down against win's lap. win grunts, hands squeezing team's hips like he wants to stop him, but he doesn't. "'cause i do. i remember—sitting on your cock while you worked, while you ignored me. 'n then when you were done, you fucked me so good. you remember, don't you, hia?"
"team, you reek like tequila," win says. "you're drunk."
"so?" team asks, eyes narrowing. "that never stopped you before."
win's expression clouds, and he rolls his chair back, using the grip he has on team's hips to push team off his lap, so forcefully that team stumbles and nearly falls.
"what the fuck?" team grumbles, trying to crawl back into win's lap but win gets to his feet, placing a hand on team's chest.
they stand nose to nose, team staring defiantly up at win. "don't push me away," win says. "i know you wanna fuck me. 'i'm so tight, hia, i saved myself for you. don't you wanna feel me?"
win sucks a sharp breath in through his nose, eyes narrowing. "go to bed, team," win says, his voice even but dangerously low.
team squares his jaw. "fine," he says. irritation makes his skin crawl, and rejection makes him angry. "if you don't want to, i'll just let dean fuck me instead."
win's nostrils flare, and he looks like he's about to say something else, but team doesn't give him the chance. he slaps win's hand away from his chest, stumbling a little as he turns himself away, but he doesn't look back as he all but stomps out of win's office.
dean and pharm are both passed out when team gets back to pharm's room, and pharm barely stirs when team crawls into bed.
he plays it over and over in his head, the conversation—argument? god, what even was that?—in win's office. his heart pounds and his hands shake, and he tries desperately to fight the rejection-fueled stinging in his eyes.
team squeezes his eyes shut and buries his face into the pillow. blissfully, the tequila made him more tired than he'd realized, and he's asleep within minutes, the last thought on his mind being what win was going to say before team walked out.
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
team wakes up with a pounding headache, pharm's knee shoved into his back, and the acrid taste of regret in his mouth.
groaning, he pats around the bed for his phone, finding it teetering precariously on the edge of the mattress, half tangled in the sheet that's been pulled off the corner.
checking the time tells him it's just past eight am, way too fucking early for team's eyes to be open. his battery percentage is on three percent, and he yanks pharm's phone off the charger to plug his own in.
dean's snoring in the foof and pharm somehow managed to flip to the other side of the bed in his sleep, his feet now up near team's face. team grimaces, smushing his face into the pillow.
he sleeps for a few more hours, waking up next time to pharm prodding him in the cheek.
"team, wake up," pharm says, voice rough with sleep. team grumbles, so pharm pokes him again.
"'m 'wake," team mumbles, swatting pharm's hand away.
"hurry up," pharm urges. "dad made pancakes."
team's heart falls into his stomach, and then his stomach falls straight into his ass. flashes from last night flickering through his mind like a horribly ruinous slide show, and he buries his face in the pillow again.
"hey, come on," pharm groans. "dad had to leave to go to a job site so if you don't get up and eat now, the pancakes are gonna get cold."
team perks back up, relief feeling like cold water feels to a parched throat. "he left?" team asks.
"dude, do you listen to me at all?" pharm huffs. "yeah, he cooked before he left, and he woke me up to tell me. so get your lazy ass up and let's go eat."
dean's already in the kitchen when pharm and team stroll in, pouring syrup over the stack of pancakes on his plate. he grunts at them in acknowledgement, an expression on his face that team's come to know very well after many mornings shared together in the wake of a frat party, after too much jungle juice and the sick realization that it's thursday and they both have nine ams.
the rolling of team's stomach feels better after he eats and chugs a few glasses of orange juice. his mom texts him as he's clearing his second plate of pancakes, asking when he and dean will be coming back.
he texts her back to say that they're eating breakfast at pharm's and will be back soon, and that seems to placate her well enough. team helps pharm rinse the dishes and stack them into the dishwasher, he and dean heading out soon after.
"dude," dean says as he flops onto team's bed, "i'm never drinking shitty tequila again. i think i left part of my soul in the foof."
team snorts, falling into bed next to dean. he stares at the ceiling as his stomach turns, and he feels queasy all over again.
"i think i fucked up last night," team says quietly.
"dude, me too," dean says, not quite catching on. "feels like i got my ass kicked by el destilador."
team sighs, rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes, like somehow that'll make him forget what an idiot he is. "not just that, dean. like—did you know that pharm's bathroom is right across from his dad's home office?"
"why would i— oh," dean says, voice dropping low when he finally gets it. "team, you didn't."
team groans, pushing his hands into his eyes until he sees stars. "i'm so stupid," he says. "i fucking—i just threw myself at him, and he—he flat out rejected me, dean."
dean sighs. "that's like, probably a good thing," he says.
team takes a deep breath, dropping his hands from his eyes. his vision is still a little spotty when he turns his head to look at dean. "can i tell you a secret?"
dean gives him a small smile, crooked and dimpled. "you know i'm good for it," he says.
team's gaze flicks back to the ceiling, blood rushing to his cheeks. "i don't think i'm ever gonna get over him," he says, sullen.
"team," dean says softly. "you just gotta give it time."
team gives a small, frustrated sigh. "it's been four months. i thought i'd be fine, and look what happened. i feel—i'm so stupid. like, we didn't even date, we just fucked around for a week and here i am, making a fool of myself for him all over again."
"in your defense," dean says, "from what you told me, it was more than just a week of fucking."
"i guess," team says, mulling it over. "but it's never gonna be more than what it was, y'know? that's what's so shitty about how bad i still want him."
dean's fingers dip between team's, and he gives a reassuring squeeze. "well, you know what you gotta do then, right?"
there's a lilt to dean's voice, so team humors him. "what's that?"
dean grins at him. "we're gonna go back to the original plan of avoiding mr phawin like that plague, and then when we get back to school, we're gonna find you a nice new dad to fuck."
a noise of disgust bursts from between team's lips before he can stop it, and dean cackles, tossing his head back against the pillows.
"i'll pass," team says.
"fine, fine," dean acquiesces, "we don't have to find you another dad to fuck, we'll just avoid the one you already did."
"yeah," team sighs. "i don't think that'll be an issue, not with what i said to him last night."
dean raises an eyebrow. "oh?" he asks.
team feels his cheeks go hot, and he refuses to meet dean's eye as he says, sheepishly, "i kinda told win that if he didn't wanna fuck me, i was just gonna go fuck you."
dean lets out a choked sound, somewhere between scandal and disbelief. "oh my god, team, he's gonna come for my neck."
team lets out a laugh—an ugly, snorty kind of sound. "he won't," team says. "he made it pretty clear that he doesn't want me, so he doesn't get to be mad about me hooking up with someone else."
"you better be right," dean says, "'cause i'm not trying to get my ass beat when we're not even actually fucking."
team rolls onto his side, resting his head on dean's chest. "win wouldn't do that," he says.
dean's fingers curl into team's hair, scratching gently at his scalp. team hums, letting his eyes fall closed.
they end up napping for the majority of the day, waking only when team's mom calls them down for dinner.
the rest of the week passes in a similar fashion; they laze around in team's room, making sure to invite pharm over to team's place instead of the other way around. pharm doesn't seem to mind, happy to come and chill, killing days playing call of duty and recording songs.
that's what they're doing today—pharm and dean are currently mowing down a hoard of zombies while team absentmindedly mixes a beat on his macbook, humming and mumbling along absentmindedly.
pharm's phone suddenly rings, startling him. he fumbles to pick it up and subsequently drops his controller. his character on screen stops shooting, and dean screeches as both of their avatars are mauled to death by the zombies.
"dude, what the hell?" dean exclaims, pharm mouthing sorry as he picks up the call.
"dad, hey," pharm says, and team taps the spacebar to pause his beat. "yeah, we're here. huh? oh, okay, yeah i can grab some. okay—yeah, no problem, see you in a bit. bye."
pharm hangs up the call, and before team can ask what it was about, pharm says, "so dad went shopping for the party tomorrow and apparently forgot everything he needed for the eggnog, minus the bourbon. you guys wanna come with on a grocery run?"
"uh, yeah, sure," team says. "you driving?"
"yeah," pharm says, getting up from the floor. "i just gotta run home and grab my keys. i'll come scoop you guys."
with that, pharm ducks out of team's room. dean turns to win almost immediately once pharm's out if earshot. "a party?"
"yeah," team says, chewing on his bottom lip. "win throws a christmas eve eve party every year."
"dude, christmas eve eve is tomorrow," dean points out.
"i know," team sighs. "i was gonna try to dip by faking sick, or something."
dean rolls his eyes. "team, i've known your mom for all of like, five days, and even i know there's no way she'd let you dip out of a neighborhood christmas party, even if you were deathly ill."
"ugh, i know," team repeats. "just—don't let me drink too much eggnog, okay?"
"no promises," dean snickers.
a horn honking outside grabs their attention, both of them getting up and scrambling downstairs to throw their shoes and coats on. pharm is waiting for them in the driveway; team surrenders shotgun to dean after dean calls it, climbing into the back seat.
the grocery trip is quick, and they pitstop at mcdonald's on the way back to pick up a family box. pharm drops team and dean back at team's house, coming back once he's taken the groceries back to mr phawin.
team and dean boot up black ops again and dive into the box, divvying up the food while they wait for pharm to get back.
pharm pops in a couple minutes later, greeted by dean chucking a cheeseburger at him. pharm catches it one handed, exalting in victory as he plops down onto team's bed.
"my dad is fucking scrambling," he says, unwrapping the burger and taking a bite. "he's like—trying to cook a million things and clean the house and i'm just like dude, chill."
"he does that every year though," team comments, lining up a headshot on the zombie that's advancing towards him and pulling the trigger.
"yeah, and i don't know why," pharm says, words muffled as he chews. "it's not like anyone new is coming this year. like, who's gonna give a fuck if he doesn't have four different kinds of stuffed olives?"
dean snorts, knifing the zombie in front of him. "do i not count as someone new?"
pharm rolls his eyes. "do you care how many kinds of stuffed olives there are?"
"nah," dean shrugs.
"my point exactly," says pharm, shoving the remaining bit of his burger into his mouth. "team, gimme some fries."
team feels around blindly for pharm's requested fries, handing them over. pharm makes a happy noise, and comes to join them on the floor. "dibs on the controller from whoever dies first," he says.
turns out it's team who dies first, taken out by a hoard of zombies that he had no chance against. he passes the controller to pharm, grabbing some fries for himself and settling down on his bed.
they play for a few more hours, running through the different maps, swapping out when one of them dies. pharm's phone buzzes with a text around eight, and he bids them goodbye, explaining that mr phawin's finally beckoned him back home for help. "see you guys tomorrow," he says, team and dean both calling out their goodbyes as he leaves.
team and dean end up finally getting to sleep around two am, after successfully clearing blood of the dead. they crawl into win's bed, exhausted, and they both fall asleep in only minutes.
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
if there's one thing team's mother can't stand, it's being late to social events, so when she storms into team's room and wakes team and dean like she has a personal vendetta against them, team's really not surprised.
"it's one in the afternoon, team," she scolds, pulling the blankets off of them. "mr phawin said to come over at four, so you better get up and make yourself decent. you too, dean."
dean mutters a sheepish acknowledgement, not used to his mother's wrath the way that team is. team promises her that they're getting up; that seems to quell her for the time being, and she traipses out of his room with one final warning: "four o'clock, team."
"god, your mom is scary," dean says, shuddering for dramatic effect.
"she doesn't like to be late to things," team explains, rubbing the grogginess from his eyes.
team lets dean use the shower first, hopping in after he's done, washing his hair and letting the conditioner sit while he scrubs himself down, rinsing his hair and getting out when he's done.
he wipes his hand over the sink mirror so he can see himself, and grabs another towel to dry his dripping hair. he looks a little tired, dark circles under his eyes, and wonders if it'd be too much to put some makeup on just to go to the phawin's'.
he throws on his sweatpants and makes his way back to his room, where he finds dean puzzling over something laid out on team's bed.
"what're you looking at?" team asks, wandering over to his dresser to grab some jeans.
"two of the most heinous ugly christmas sweaters that i've ever seen," dean laments. "why didn't you tell me this was an ugly sweater party?"
team snickers. "it's tradition," team explains. "i pick out mom and dad's sweaters, and they pick mine. mom was excited to get to pick one for you this year, too."
dean just stares at the sweaters in silence.
"i'll let you pick which one you want?" team offers, like an olive branch.
by the time they're done getting ready and dean's accepted his fate, it's 3:54 and team's mom is nearly chomping at the bit when they finally make their way down the stairs.
her mood brightens immediately when she sees them in their sweaters, cooing at them as she looks them over. "so cute," she gushes.
team looks down at himself, at the elf that's stuck to the front of his sweater, the stitched suspenders that make it look like the elf is sitting in a baby carrier, and then to dean, who's trying his best to look happy in his own horrendous christmas-themed taco cat sweater.
"thanks, mom," team says. "you picked good ones this year."
his mom beams. "you too. though your father had to look up the meme because we didn't get it." she pronounces meme like me-me.
speaking of team's father, he traipses into the living room like he'd been called, carrying a tray full of different cubed cheeses and crackers. "are we ready?" he asks, looking over to team and dean.
team nods and grabs for his shoes, slipping them on. dean does the same as well, and once everyone is situated, team's father leads them out the door.
the walk over to mr phawin's house is quick—they're neighbors, after all—so team doesn't have much time to hype himself up before they're walking up to the porch, his mother knocking on the door.
thankfully it's pharm and not mr phawin that meets them at the door. he grins as he greets them, taking the cheese tray from team's father and ushering them inside.
there's a few people scattered about the house already, and his mother beelines over to mrs rattanon once she spots her in the foyer, his father following. it leaves team, dean, and pharm standing together, with pharm leading them into the kitchen where all the hors d'oeuvres have been placed.
"your mom did you dirty with the sweater this year," pharm says as he sets the cheese tray down next to a platter of stuffed green olives.
"she did," team agrees. he nods to pharm's own sweater. "yours is pretty good."
pharm grins, grabbing the hem of the sweater and holding it out, looking down at the design. it's a deer sporting a pair of sunglasses, christmas lights slung through its antlers, with the words "let it glow" on the bottom. the sleeves are done in a classic ugly sweater pattern, red, green, and black.
"it's funny," pharm says, "dad picked an elf sweater, too. you guys should take a picture together."
team hums noncommittally. "yeah, sure," he says. "where, um, where is your dad anyways?"
"in the living room," pharm says. "the wanuts got here like, super early, and he got roped into some weird conversation about model airplanes by mr wanut."
"oh god," team says. mr wanut is quite eccentric—he's a newly retired astrophysicist who used to spend time making collages out of old magazines, and apparently he's now moved on to model airplanes.
"dad poured up a huge mug of eggnog before we went in there, so hopefully he's not suffering too much," pharm snickers.
"speaking of," dean pipes up, "where is the eggnog?"
a sly grin lifts pharm's lips. "the virgin stuff is over there—" he points to a crystal punch bowl, filled high, a ladle resting on the edge— "but the real stuff is in the fridge so it stays chilled."
"nice," dean says, grabbing a cup from next to the punch bowl, traipsing to the fridge and tugging the door open. he fills his cup and hands it off to team, grabbing another to fill for pharm, and then for himself.
pharm leads them into the den, where a fire is burning in the fireplace, a small christmas tree lit up in the corner by the loveseat. team can hear the chatter coming from the living room as more and more of the neighbors arrive, and he assumes it's only a matter of time before the party spills into the den too, and team has to face mr phawin again.
he takes a nice long sip of his eggnog, settling into the cozy la-z-boy chair next to the fireplace. dean and pharm take up in the loveseat, pharm tucking his feet under himself. he's got ugly christmas socks on, too.
the den is warm and cozy with the fire burning. it smells like cinnamon, likely due to the candles burning on the mantle. team takes another sip of his eggnog.
they get only about twenty minutes or so alone in the den before more people join them. team's mother is among them, and she urges them out into the living room, so team can mingle and introduce dean to the neighbors that team hasn't yet seen since he's been home.
the living room is well filled, and team waves to mr and mrs rattanon when he sees them. he's almost pulled into a side conversation by mr wanut but then rescued by pharm, who tugs him and dean into the kitchen.
"dad, look," pharm says and team feels the color drain from his cheeks. "check out team's sweater."
mr phawin turns his head, looking up from where he's fixing a stack of cocktail napkins. his expression pinches for a minute second before he smooths it into something more appropriate, a small smile that team sees through like it's crystal.
"an elf," mr phawin says. "a good choice."
he gestures to his own sweater, and team's cheeks heat when he reads what it says. it's much more scandalous that what team thought mr phawin would pick to wear—the elf on his sweater is stuck heinously close to his crotch, and the sweater reads when i think about you i touch my elf.
the elf on mr phawin's sweater looks like it's dangling in hell or limbo, and team feels the same. he drinks more of his eggnog, scrambling for something to say.
"oh, it's like that song by the divinyls," dean says, saving win just in time.
"you know it?" mr phawin asks, and if team's not mistaken, his expression pinches up again, just a hair, when he addresses dean.
"yeah," dean says. "my mom loves her nineties music, so she listens to them a lot."
"ah," mr phawin hums. he looks back to pharm. "did you boys get some food yet?"
team doesn't think pharm or dean notice, but it's quite clear to team that he's being strategically ignored, and his skin prickles with annoyance. he barely hears what pharm and mr phawin are talking about, too focused on the way his palms get clammy; he tastes rust, and realizes he's worried his bottom lip between his teeth enough that it's started to bleed.
team bring his cup to his lips and downs the rest of what's inside.
"dude, slow your roll," dean murmurs, nudging team with his elbow, a reminder.
"well, take what you want, there's plenty of food," mr phawin says, gesturing to the hors d'oeuvres table. there's a knock at the door, and mr phawin leaves them to go answer it, walking past team to get out of the kitchen.
team holds his breath as he passes, an unpleasant feeling settling in his stomach as mr phawin purposely seems to make himself smaller so he doesn't brush against team as he goes by.
"let's grab some food," dean says, putting a hand on team's back and nudging him towards the table.
team fills up a plate and refills his cup. dean glares at him and makes him promise to drink slower this time, and team nods, swearing he will.
turns out team is a liar.
he tries to pace himself, he does, but every time he and mr phawin meet eyes from across the room and team watches, sullen, as mr phawin tears his gaze away and stares adamantly at something or someone else, the pit in his stomach gets heavier and heavier and his mouth grows dry, and he drinks to try to soothe it.
luckily for him, the adults all seem to be onto the same train of thought he is, and as he gets more buzzed,
so do they, so they don't notice that team's getting drunker as the night grows older, when team was supposed to have been drinking the non-alcoholic eggnog.
dean and pharm are in a similar state to team—dean having given up on policing team and choosing instead to watch the drama unfold, like a bad soap opera, and pharm because he's a lightweight. even mr phawin's cheeks have gotten redder, his words a little more slurred than they were a couple hours ago.
"win, dear, where did you get this sofa?" mrs rattanon asks. "it's lovely."
"uh," mr phawin hesitates, and team's drawn to the conversation. the sofa mrs rattanon sits on just so happens to be the one mr phawin had bought to replace the one he'd fucked team on last summer, the one irrevocably stained with their come. "i ordered it from wayfair," he says.
"cute," mrs rattanon coos.
team gets the sudden feeling that he's being watched, and when he flicks his gaze from the sofa back to mr phawin, he finds that he's right.
mr phawin is staring, quite blatantly, lips pressed into a thin line. team's eyes very deliberately move to the sofa and then back to mr phawin, and he raises an eyebrow.
dean mutters something that team can't quite make out, so he turns his head and leans in closer to hear. turns out dean was commenting on mr and mrs wanut, the latter of which seems to be trying to fold a used cocktail napkin into an origami crane as his wife watches, a small, happy smile on her red lips.
it's actually kind of endearing, team thinks. he giggles and lets his head drop onto dean's shoulder, watching the wanuts for just a bit longer until that nagging feeling that he's being stared at returns.
team doesn't bother to lift his head, just sweeps his gaze over the room until, once more, he's looking right and mr phawin and finds mr phawin looking at him, too.
and, to put it frankly, mr phawin looks like someone just spit in his eggnog.
if team didn't know better, he'd say that mr phawin looks jealous.
his eyes are dark and his lips are pressed into a thin line, knuckles white where he grips his mug. his other hand curls into a fist against his thigh, and team is suddenly reminded of the first time he and win had sex, when mr phawin had him pressed up against the counter and he'd asked do you know what it's like? to wake up one morning and realize that you want to fuck the nineteen year old neighbor boy?
the intensity in mr phawin's eyes now is the same is it was then and, foolish as he is, team decides to push.
with his head still on dean's shoulder, team turns to press his face into the side of dean's neck, and his hand slides to rest high on dean's thighs.
"team," dean murmurs, low so only team hears him, "what're you doing?"
"just roll with it," team breathes. "win's looking."
dean gives a long suffering sigh. "you're playing with fire," he says. "don't come and whine to me if you get burned."
team huffs, rolling his eyes. "i know what i'm doing," he says.
"sure," dean says, skepticism clear in his tone. either way he does as team asked and rolls with it, his own hand coming to rest over team's own, and he gives it a squeeze.
team looks back to mr phawin and finds that he's since pulled his gaze away, but the hard set of his jaw tells team everything he needs to know.
"'m gonna run to the bathroom," team says, getting up from the sofa.
he walks out of the living room, sure to walk right past mr phawin as he leaves. he swears mr phawin's eyes burn him as he walks by.
team meanders a bit, dragging his feet as he walks. most of the other neighbors have left already, just team's parents and the rattanons left, so every other room in the house is currently empty.
the door to the downstairs bathroom is wide open, and team considers it for a moment before he decides he'd rather use the one upstairs. it's smaller and the toilet is pinched awkwardly close to the sink, but something in team tells him to go to that one instead.
he turns on his heel and heads up the stairs, socked feet thumping quietly against the hardwood. he finds the bathroom easily enough, ducking inside and locking the door behind him.
he does his business, stopping to wash his hands when he's done. he stares at his own reflection as he dries his hands, scanning the planes of his own face. his cheeks are flushed red and his lips are a little raw where he's been biting at them, though his dark circles have gotten a tad bit lighter. he pats down a bit of his hair that's sticking up before he folds the hand towel and puts it back on the rack.
team gives himself one final once over, smoothing down his obnoxious sweater, before he unlocks the door and steps out of the bathroom.
and subsequently walks right into mr phawin.
"oh!" he squeaks, stumbling backwards. "win—mr phawin, i'm sorry."
"it's fine," mr phawin murmurs.
"sorry," team says again, and tries to go around mr phawin, who doesn't move an inch.
"team," mr phawin says lowly, reaching out and wrapping a hand around team's upper arm. "what do you think you're doing?"
team frowns. his skin burns where mr phawin touches him. "going back to the party?" he says, feigning disinterest.
"you know that's not what i'm asking," mr phawin says, eyes narrowing.
"i don't know what you're talking about," team says, sticking his chin out.
something flashes in mr phawin's eyes and team sees his other hand curl into a fist, like he's fighting the urge to grab team's chin and pop him on the mouth for being so defiant.
"stop lying," mr phawin hisses, using the grip he has on team's arm to draw him closer, close enough that they're nearly nose to nose. team's struck with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and he sways a bit where he stands. "i can see right through you."
"oh yeah?" team gripes. "then tell me, win, what am i trying to do?"
win flinches, clearly not expecting team to call him by his name, nor use it in such a biting fashion.
"why are you being like this?" win snaps. "i thought we had an understanding—"
"i understand!" team cuts him off, jerking his arm to get it out of win's grip. "i understand that you don't want me, and you made that very clear, so i'm trying to fucking—move on, okay?"
"with dean?" win squeezes harder, refusing to let team go. "with a guy you met, what, four months ago?"
"why do you care?" team asks, voice growing thin with exasperation. "you rejected me!"
"because you were drunk!" win spits. "we hadn't seen each other since you left for school, and the first night you're back, you get shitfaced and try to get me to fuck you? we hadn't even had a proper conversation, team."
"so what? if we had talked, you would've fucked me?" team questions, irritation making his voice high, reedy. "that's bullshit, win, and you know it."
"for fuck's sake, i was trying to be good," win finally lets go of team, stepping back just a fraction and scrubbing a hand over his face. "i was trying to be good, and leave you be like i said i was going to. being with you turned my whole goddamn world upside down, team, and i still haven't fucking—figured it all out yet."
almost instantly, the wind whooshes out of team's sails, his anger once on the edge of boiling reducing to barely a simmer.
"win," team says, inching forward to close the distance between them, staying silent until win looks him in the eye. "if i ask you a question, will you tell me the truth?"
win's eyebrows pull together, noticing the sudden change in team's demeanor. "of course," win says, honest.
"do you still want me?" team asks, a little breathy, a little scared of win's answer.
win doesn't answer right away; waiting makes team's palms go clammy.
what he doesn't expect is for win's own hands to suddenly be on him, palms warm as he cups team's cheeks. win leans in, bending down until their foreheads touch, and when he speaks, team can feel the warmth of win's breath on his lips.
"i do," win murmurs. " god, team, i do."
"kiss me," team begs, heat searing his veins, months of repression flooding back all at once. "please, please kiss me."
"team, we can't," win breathes and team whimpers, his own hands curling into the front of win's sweater.
"please," team begs again, pressing himself closer until he's nearly plastered against win's front. their lips brush, but win still won't give him the real contact that he wants, that he craves. he hates to feel like he's trapping win, but he can feel the tension he's holding, and he knows all win needs is a nudge. team closes his eyes, pushes up against win's chest, and murmurs, "hia."
team feels the sharp breath win sucks in more so than he hears it, and in another breath, team's being kissed.
it's one of those kisses that team thought only happened in shitty romcoms in the middle of a torrential downpour but here he is, standing in the middle of an open hallway, with win kissing him like he's trying to devour him and god, it's everything that team wanted.
team gasps against win's lips and win uses that as an excuse to slip his tongue into team's mouth. team moans, trying to hitch himself closer to win, trying to get more.
win's hands leave team's face to trail down his body, over his chest, down his sides, his lower back, his ass. team moans when win squeezes.
win begins to move backwards and team stumbles with him, breaking from the kiss to mouth wetly at win's neck. win groans and fumbles with the handle of the first door he finds, and they nearly fall in when the door opens.
team closes the door behind them and, for good measure, flicks the lock. it takes him a second to realize they've stumbled into pharm's room, and he's about to be worried that win's own realization will make him want to stop, but his fears are quelled when win picks him up like he's weightless, and tosses him onto pharm's bed.
"we don't have much time, baby," win breathes, already working to pop the button on team's jeans.
team's heart thuds against his sternum, tingles in his belly from hearing win finally call him baby again.
team helps win strip his jeans down his legs, a needy sound escaping him as win palms at his thighs, fingers dimpling his skin.
"i've missed this," win murmurs, ducking down to let his lips drag over team's inner thighs.
"did you think about me?" team asks, voice hitching when win begins to suck a mark into his skin.
"fuck, i thought about you so much," win admits, nosing his way up to team's hips, lifting his sweater so he can dip his tongue into team's navel. "practically every night, baby."
"you touched yourself?" team gasps as win bites the soft skin of his belly.
win lifts his head, raising an eyebrow. "would it make you happy to know that i did? that i jerked off every night like i was a teenager again, thinking about how sweet you looked when i fucked you?"
team groans, gripping win's sweater to haul him into another kiss, whimpering when he feels how hard win is, cock pressed against team's hip.
win pulls back just long enough to help team strip out of his sweater and team falls back against the pillows, nearly completely naked while win still hasn't removed a single piece of clothing.
hands span team's chest, dragging over his ribs, and win leans down to suck one of team's nipples into his mouth.
team's poor cock is already drooling all over the inside of his briefs, win's weight keeping him pinned to the bed, unable to chase the friction he's so desperate for. "please," team whimpers. "please, hia, i need you."
"god, that's—" win groans, slipping a hand between their bodies to palm team's cock—"tell hia what you want, baby."
"your cock," team says bluntly, no time to beat around the bush. "i want it in me, please."
"you want me to fuck you, right here?" win asks. "on pharm's bed?"
team pouts, rolling his hips up into win's grip. "he doesn't have to know," he says.
win's eyes go dark. "no he doesn't, does he?"
as win pulls away, the sudden lack of body heat makes team's nipples pebble up. he whines at the lost contact, but win shushes him. he grabs team's hips and yanks him down the mattress, until team's flat on his back, win standing at the edge of the mattress with team's legs around his hips.
win hooks his fingers in the waistband of team's briefs and tugs them down, team lifting his hips to help. it make his cheeks burn, being completely exposed while win's still fully dressed; the inherent power imbalance makes him tingle.
"baby, check pharm's nightstand for a condom and lube," win says.
team frowns. he gets the need for lube, but "a condom?" he asks. "but i want—i want you to cum in me."
win coos at him, rubbing his hand over team's navel before he grabs team's cock. "believe me, baby, i want that, too," he says, "but i don't think it's a good idea for you to go back to the party still dripping with my cum."
team shivers. he wants that— god, he fucking wants that—but he understands, and decides he'd be content with a compromise. "you could—pull out and cum in my mouth?" team offers. "i just—it's been so long, hia. i wanna feel you."
win shudders, giving team's cock a small squeeze before he strokes him, twisting his hand over the head. he kisses team to swallow the noise team makes, and pulls away again to say: "find us some lube, then, baby."
team scrambles to pharm's nightstand, where he knows for a fact pharm keeps a bottle of lube. he pulls the drawer open and digs around until he finds it, making a triumphant little noise as he shows it to win.
"good boy," win murmurs, taking the lube from team's hands. "spread your legs for me, sweetheart."
doing as he's told, team lets his thighs fall open. win pops the cap on the lube, team watching with bated breath as he slicks his fingers.
win grabs team's thigh with his clean hand, hiking team's leg up to spread him even wider. he rubs over team's hole with his lubed fingers to slick him before he pushed two inside, knuckle deep.
team cries out, whimpering as win's fingers curl up against his prostate. win shushes him, reminding him of the guests still downstairs.
"fuck, you're tight," win groans, squeezing a third finger in next to his other two. he dips down so he can nuzzle team's belly, licking wetly over his skin. he noses over to team's cock and pressed a hot kiss over the head, plush lips sweet like rapture on team's needy flesh.
" a-ah, win," team whines, squirming on win's fingers.
"shhh, just a little more," win murmurs.
'just a little more' turns out to be win's pinkie finger, pushed into team's hole alongside the other three. the stretch stings but team's cock is still drooling, leaving a puddle of slick under his navel.
finally, finally, win pulls his fingers out and grabs the lube again. he looks puzzled for a moment, staring down at his slicked hand and then to team. team gets it when win waggles his slicked fingers, pointing down towards the fly of his jeans.
"oh!" team squeaks, propping himself up so he can pop the button on win's jeans, yanking the zipper down and hooking his fingers into the waistband, tugging until win's jeans are down around his thighs. win's boxer briefs are next, and team actually begins to salivate when he pulls the waistband down and win's cock springs out.
team can't resist wrapping his hand around it, stroking a few times to watch as precome beads at the head, sliding down the shaft. team chases it with his tongue, licking a broad stripe up win's cock before he wraps his lips around the head.
win only lets team suck for a moment before he's coaxing him off. "as much as i'd love to let you suck my cock, we don't really have time for that if you still want me to fuck you, baby," he says.
team whimpers before he can stop himself, but he still falls back against the pillows again, open for win's taking.
"so pretty," win murmurs, almost absentmindedly, as he grabs the lube again and using it to slick his cock.
team's breath hitches as win pressed his cock to team's hole, holding for just a moment before he pushes inside.
a noise that he can't force down escapes team's lips, and win pulls him into a kiss as he sinks inside his body. it's like— god, team can't even begin to describe the way it feels to have win deep inside him again. it's like coming home and eloping to paradise, all wrapped together in one heady, thick feeling that settles in team's chest.
"hia," team breathes, lips against lips. "you feel so good."
"yeah?" win says, rocking into team's body, cock snug inside him like it's always meant to be there. "you missed my cock, sweetheart?"
"yes," team gasps as win pulls out almost completely before he fucks back in, cock bumping against team's prostate. "so much, i missed it so much."
"did you think about me?" win asks, leaning in to team's space, until they're nose to nose, win's breath hot on his lips. "did you think about how i fucked you when you were with other boys? did you think about me when you were fucking dean?"
the questions hangs heavy in the air between them, and win's thrusts become deeper, rougher as he waits for team's answer.
team's words get clogged in his throat, his body being shunted up the bed from how roughly win is screwing him. he whimpers, hands curling weakly into win's hair.
"tell me," win demands. "tell me, team. did he fuck you like i do?"
"no," team gasps, finding his words once more. "he never—dean, he never—never fucked me. i lied, i w-wanted to make you jealous. nobody's—nobody's fucked me since you."
that makes win take pause, and his hips stutter for a moment before they regain their deep, smooth rhythm. "baby," win breathes, an emotion in his voice that team can't quite place, "were you saving yourself for me?"
"it's stupid," team says, cheeks pinking and eyes falling closed. "i tried once, when i first got to school, but it was—so bad. he couldn't—he couldn't fuck me like you did."
"that's right, baby," win says. " nobody can fuck you like i do."
win reaches between their bodies and cups team's cock, a punched out noise escaping team as win strokes him. it's quick, rough, team's toes curling, head going a little fuzzy.
"f-fuck, hia, i'm—" team whines, torn between fucking up into win's fist or down onto his cock— "'m gonna—'m gonna cum."
"yeah?" win breathes, "let me see you, sweetheart."
team whimpers, pulling win into another kiss. he moans against win's mouth, panting like he's fevered, noises teetering on the edge of too loud, desperation making him selfish. win lets go of his cock for to hike his legs up onto the crook of his elbows, ducking down to his kiss him again, bending team nearly in half, knees to ears.
the angle changes as win's cock pounds right up against team's prostate. pleasure floods team's body in waves, his hands dropping from win's hair to scrabble desperately over win's shoulders, his chest.
his cock is throbbing, his balls drawing up tighter as win's cock abuses his prostate. god, it's been so long since someone else has made team cum, and win's about to make team bust his load all over himself, without even having to pay an ounce of attention to team's drooling cock.
"fuck, yes, yes, hia, 'm gonna cum, 'm gonna cum, f-fu—ah!"
team's orgasm wracks through him almost violently, cock lurching against his belly as he covers himself in his own release. win fists his cock to jerk him off through the tail end of it, and team whines, high and reedy, when win keeps stroking him even after he's gone oversensitive.
"so fucking pretty when you cum, baby," win says, voice so low and rough that he nearly growls it. "wish i had time to make you cum over and over."
"n-next time," team says.
whether win realizes the implication or not, team doesn't think it matters, not when win presses their foreheads together and agrees, "next time."
sensitivity sets his nerves on live wire, team whining and whimpering almost uncontrollably as win keeps fucking him, chasing his own orgasm with team's willing body.
"you're close?" team breathes, voice small. "are y'gonna—gonna cum, hia?"
win groans, dropping his head to mouth along team's collarbones. "f-fuck yeah, i'm gonna—" win grunts, biting into team's skin as his hips stutter, and when he pulls back next, he pulls out completely. "get on your knees," win commands, stepping back to give team space, fisting his cock in his hand.
team scrambles up as quickly as he can, dropping to the floor, knobby knees thumping against the carpet. win's on him immediately, fisting team's hair with his free hand and shoving his cock between team's parted lips.
team gags, not entirely prepared for win's cock down his throat. win doesn't seem to care, gripping team's hair to keep him where he wants him while he fucks team's mouth.
"shit, shit, baby, you're so good," win groans, cock throbbing against team's tongue. team moans, squeezing his eyes shut, and win curses again, pulling his cock out.
eyes closed, team can't see it, but he can hear the slick sounds as win jerks himself off, and the way he moans before team's face is being covered in cum. it stripes over team's lips, his cheek, his eyelid, team opening his mouth to catch the last few spurts on his tongue.
win's moans stutter off as he jerks the last few drops of cum from his cock, pushing it back inside team's mouth for just a moment before he pulls out again. "show me," win says.
team opens his mouth, sticking his tongue out so win can see the cum pooled there. win curses, and then there are fingers scooping the cum from his cheek and out of his eyelashes, win pushing them into his mouth so he can lick them clean.
they sit silent for a moment, just breathing in each other's space, before win breaks the moment with an embarrassed chuckle.
"let me find you a tissue," he says, and when team finally cracks an eye open, he sees win rummaging around pharm's room, jeans still undone and cock still out. team giggles, a bit hysterical, suddenly struck by how ridiculous the situation here.
win makes a small, victorious noise as he locates a small, travel sized pack of tissues in pharm's sock drawer. he tears the pack open and hands a couple of the tissues to team, who takes them gratefully.
team wipes at the stickiness on his face, watching idly as win tucks his cock back into his jeans and adjusts the rest of his outfit. he runs a hand through his hair, tousling it. it almost pisses team off, how put together win can look only minutes after they just got done fucking like a pair of rabbits.
win gathers team's clothes, and offers them to him once he's finished wiping himself off.
"sorry i made such a mess of you," win says, a sheepish smile on his face.
"'s okay," team says, standing so he can start to put his clothes back on. he starts with his briefs, then his jeans, and then his obnoxious sweater. win watches him dresses, eyes half lidded. "i liked it."
"mm, come here," win says, opening his arms. tam does as he's told, getting wrapped up in win's embrace and tugged into a chaste kiss. when they part, win stares at him for a moment, brows furrowed. "we should probably talk about this—" team frowns, and win soothes his expression— "hey, stop that. it's not a bad thing, just—if we're gonna do this, we need to figure some stuff out."
if we're gonna do this. team mulls that over. he's not exactly sure what win means by this— just fucking? dating? keeping it casual?—but the potential is enough to make butterflies flutter in team's belly.
"yeah," team says, "you're right."
win smiles sweetly at him. "it can wait though, until next time. we should really get back to the party, before someone comes looking for us."
team nods, a small flush coloring his cheeks. "do i look okay?"
win hums, reaching up to smooth team's hair. "you look lovely," he says.
team ducks out of pharm's room first, win trailing behind him. when they get downstairs, team can hear the chatter coming from the living room, grateful that nobody seems to have noticed their abnormally long absence.
team rounds the corner back into the living room, and almost instantly meets dean's eyes. his expression is full of questions, and his eyes nearly bug out of his skull when he sees win come in after team, putting two and two together.
team scrambles back to the couch, sitting down on it and trying to ignore the way dean's gaze is burning a hole in the side of his head.
"where'd pharm go?" team asks, trying to sound nonchalant. he watches win takes a seat next to team's mother on the other sofa and that's—a little
to weird for team to see at the moment. win catches his eye and shrugs, a light pink flush on his cheeks.
"kitchen," dean says, following team's gaze. "oh my god, team. you didn't."
"i don't know what you're talking about," team says, feigning innocence.
"jesus christ. you did, didn't you?" dean's tone is stuck somewhere between disbelief and idolatry. "you totally just got fucked by pharm's dad. at a christmas party."
dean whispers the last part, voice so thin it's nearly a hiss. team's cheeks burn.
"shut up," team says.
"oh my god," dean repeats. "i don't know if i should be appalled or extremely proud of you. i think i'm somewhere in between."
pharm chooses that moment to come back into the living room, carrying another plate of food, so team chooses to shoot dean a look that he hopes dean reads as stop talking right now or i'll literally kill you instead of responding out loud.
"oh, there you are!" pharm says as he sits back down. "i started to wonder where you got off to."
dean makes a choking sound, and team feels himself flush even hotter.
"i, uh, had to go to the bathroom," he says. "i got sidetracked on the way back by your dad. we uh, talked about how college has been."
"oh, cool," pharm says, accepting the lie with ease, and team deflates, relief flooding through him. dean has nearly gone purple with how hard he's trying to hold in his laugh.
thankfully, the party winds down without another incident. team's mother decides when it's time to go as well when mr and mrs rattanon announce that they're leaving, bidding win and pharm polite goodbyes as she ushers team, dean, and team's father to the door.
team purposely drags his feet as he's getting his shoes on, making it so his mom and dad have already walked out onto the porch before him. dean catches on to what he's doing and rolls his eyes before he leaves team to his devices.
"bye, pharm," team calls. "bye, mr phawin."
"bye!" pharm chirps from the sofa.
win meets team's eyes, a sly grin on his face. "goodbye, team," he says. "see you next time."
team's cheeks go hot, and he scurries out the door before he can make a fool of himself, the promise of next time burning in his veins.
team catches up to dean and his parents, feeling airy, like he's walking on cloud nine. dean just shakes his head.
as he's walking into the front door and tugging his shoes off, his phone buzzes in his pocket. he pulls it out, pulse thudding in his ears when he sees who the message is from.
mr phawin (8:17PM):
• so, about next time.....
mr phawin (8:18PM):
• i was thinking i'd come visit you at school
team grins, tapping out a reply and hitting send.
team (8:18PM):
• looking forward to it, hia