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“We’ve got to get them while we’re here. It’s like, an unspoken rule!”

 

Jaehyun says it with such earnest conviction, Taeyong can’t ruin his fun. And it’s not a completely terrible idea – after all the intense sightseeing they’ve done, he could definitely use a little break.

 

He lets Jaehyun pull him by the arm to a modestly decorated parlor sandwiched between two larger buildings, easy to miss in a city like Bangkok if they weren’t searching for it. The interior is less humble, silk curtains draped over two hallways, mahogany floors and deep velvet walls lit only by warm candlelight. There are paintings with gold trim hanging from the wall that Taeyong can’t make heads or tails of, and a golden sculpture of a strange serpent in one corner of the room.

 

It’s not the first time today Taeyong is glad Jaehyun’s parents are paying for this trip. His wallet is frightened at the sight of the place.

 

Eager to see anything and everything new, Jaehyun rushes past the startled receptionist to marvel at the sculpture, then to another side of the room to run his fingers over one of the curtains, then to an end table beside the couch to sniff a scented candle. Taeyong stands stiffly by the door, only bowing politely when the receptionist glances his way. He barely knows enough Thai or English to find the bathroom, holding a full conversation is out of the question.

 

Once his curiosity is sated, Jaehyun returns to the front desk and greets the receptionist in English. Taeyong doesn’t have a clue what they’re saying, but he sees Jaehyun gesture to both of them and pay the receptionist smoothly.

 

They bow to each other again and Jaehyun comes over to Taeyong with a giddy grin. “She says our masseuses are getting our rooms ready. This is so cool! Oh my God, do you think they’ll walk on our backs too?” he asks, bouncing on his toes.

 

Taeyong smiles with a quirked eyebrow. “Why do you want someone to step on your back? Don’t you like breathing?”

 

“I’ve seen them do it on TV!” Jaehyun argues. “They’re supposed to be so good with their toes, it’s like fingers, except on their feet.”

 

“Then why can’t they just hand massage you?”

 

“It’s not the same,” Jaehyun whines, jostling Taeyong’s shoulder while Taeyong snickers. “You just have to wait until they do it to you, you’ll see.”

 

Taeyong snorts, “I’ll pass on that. I just want a regular, hand massage.” He holds up his hands and wiggles his fingers.

 

Jaehyun is ready to complain before the receptionist steps around the desk to approach them with a clipboard in hand. She explains each section of the form in English, Jaehyun nodding and apparently forgetting to be a good translator since Taeyong is still in the dark. The only words he understood were “choose” and “signature”, which doesn’t help out a lot.

 

Jaehyun marks through the form with ease and hands it back to the receptionist, who glances at it before calling out to back of the parlor. A small woman emerges from behind one of the curtains, holding a folded towel and a robe in her arms. Jaehyun smiles shyly when she bows to him, then the color suddenly drains from his face.

 

He looks back to Taeyong in panic. “Is she…she’s not gonna see me naked, is she?” he quivers, and Taeyong laughs so hard he can’t get a word out before the small woman is leading a nervous Jaehyun to one of the back rooms.

 

By the time he recovers, the receptionist has a fresh form ready for him to sign as well. He tries not to look too lost while he scans the writing, trying to find any words he knows, but it’s pretty hopeless from the start. He checks a few boxes and signs his name at the bottom, praying he hasn’t signed his life away.

 

The receptionist looks over it just as quickly as she had Jaehyun and calls out to the back rooms again. This time, a man steps out from the other hallway, also holding a folded towel and robe. His black hair stands tall and the sides of his head are artistically shaven – a little odd, but Taeyong’s been sporting a lavender dye job for a few weeks now, so he’s got no place to judge. He’s wearing what looks like a gaudy dropped armhole tank top made from a tiger’s pelt, which Taeyong can judge, and tight white shorts that show off a pair of muscled thighs.

 

Taeyong swallows thickly, choking just a bit. They’re pretty much the same size. If this guy tries to walk on his back, his poor spine won’t survive.

 

The man tilts his head forward and grins charmingly. “Hello! I’m Chittaphon,” he greets in what little Thai Taeyong has learned.

 

“T-Taeyong,” he stutters out, and just to be safe he adds, “Um, please no…back…walk,” while gesturing to his back, hoping one of them can make out his questionable speaking skill.

 

The receptionist and Chittaphon glance at each other and laugh. Taeyong flushes red, but at least he knows he’s not in danger when he follows Chittaphon further into the parlor, behind one of the lavish curtains.

 

They don’t walk far down the sparsely lit corridor before Chittaphon pushes past a door on their left. It’s a room with an in-ground stone bathtub, scented candles perched on every surface and the tub lined with more colorful soaps than Taeyong’s ever seen. Knowing Jaehyun, he’s probably pouring half of every bottle into his own water right about now.

 

Chittaphon sets the towel and robe at the corner of the bath before bowing out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Taeyong’s stare lingers on the door for a moment, the picture of his admittedly gorgeous masseur’s smile still bright in his mind. He shakes it away and pours a couple of different soaps into the water, a mouth-watering mix of papaya and honey tickling his nose.

 

The water is just hot enough to melt but not burn, and he goes boneless from his first step into the tub. He and Jaehyun were only supposed to visit a Muay Thai gym and Bangkok Noi today, but it turned into an all-day tour of the city that has Taeyong’s feet screaming. He sinks further into the water until just his nose is above the surface, choosing an apricot scented shampoo to scrub through his hair. Only a few more days until they fly back to Seoul and his feet are safe again.

 

He must start to doze at some point, his head tilted back against the back of the tub. A gentle knock to the door startles him out of the water and he rushes to rinse the suds from his hair. He ties the towel around his waist and shrugs on the robe so he can answer the door, where Chittaphon is waiting with a polite smile.

 

Taeyong swears Chittaphon’s gaze travels up for a split second, to the dripping lavender hair hanging unkempt over his eyes, but it’s gone in an instant. Chittaphon starts off down the corridor, this time leading them into a room with a massage table, just as warmly lit as the other rooms. It was comforting in the bath, but while he’s alone with someone as attractive as Chittaphon – while he’s pretty much nude, no less – is a little uncomfortably intimate.

 

Chittaphon says something he doesn’t understand and gestures to the table, assumably telling him to lie down. Taeyong glances between the table and Chittaphon a few times and nods, jerkily removing his robe as he shuffles to his fate. The deep red sheets warm his moist skin when he lies face down on the table, mindful of his towel covering everything important. If he can’t see Chittaphon is the one touching him, maybe his body will play along and stay calm.

 

He realizes it’s a fool’s hope when Chittaphon’s soft steps come closer, anticipation welling up in his chest. There’s silence for a spell, then warm liquid drips from between Taeyong’s shoulders and down his back, stopping at the dip of his back. Chittaphon’s hands follow, soft yet strong fingers spreading the oil around his back evenly, stroking over inch of skin up to his shoulders and down to his thin waist.

 

If the bath wasn’t already enough to relax him, Chittaphon’s hands are sending him to an early grave. A guttural sigh leaves his mouth when Chittaphon kneads into his lower back, methodically loosening stiff muscles Taeyong never knew were there. It’s the best pain he’s ever felt, hands traveling slowly up to his shoulders and gripping in just the right way to have another noise slip from Taeyong’s mouth, this time a satisfied moan.

 

Chittaphon pauses momentarily, worrying Taeyong that his big mouth made things awkward, but he forgets everything when Chittaphon’s touch moves to his neck, thumbs smoothing down the back while fingers tease behind his jaw and under his ear. Taeyong buries his face into the pillow, muffling most of the embarrassing noises that come out of his mouth but not enough silence everything. It’s bad enough that he can’t keep his dick from perking up at Chittaphon’s skilled hands, he doesn’t need the whole parlor knowing.

 

The massage migrates from his neck back down to his waist, his thighs and calves. By the time it reaches his aching feet, he’s given up on trying to keep quiet, whining every time Chittaphon’s knuckles roll over the soles of his foot, even massaging between each individual toe. All the miles Taeyong has ever walked simply melt away, he’s sure life can’t get any better than this.

 

Then Chittaphon’s hands move up his legs and pause, drawing soft circles into Taeyong’s inner knees with his thumbs. It lasts for too long to be coincidental, and Taeyong feels his heart thunder. He’s been sporting a boner for the last twenty minutes now, so Chittaphon caressing the skin near his sensitive inner thighs isn’t helping regulate his blood flow any. Just a few inches up and his hands would be…

 

“ซันไรส์?” Chittaphon asks softly as not to disturb the intimacy of the moment, yet Taeyong still doesn’t understand. He doesn’t want this to stop though, not if it means Chittaphon’s touch leaving him for even a minute. He nods his head into the pillow hopefully, afraid to use his voice with how nervous he is.

 

It must be the right answer. Chittaphon hums with satisfaction and briefly scrapes his nails over Taeyong’s skin, sending shivers up to his spine. A firm tap to his hip urges him to turn over and he freezes, his hard-on still as eager as ever. He’s sure someone in Chittaphon’s profession has seen it casually before, but it doesn’t make his lack of self-control any less humiliating.

 

After a few seconds of unsuccessfully willing his dick to calm down, he flips over on the table with his eyes clenched tight, not wanting to see Chittaphon’s reaction to his perversion. Thankfully, there’s no giggling or gasp of disgust, and Taeyong figures he worried over nothing when he feels more oil dripped over his thighs. Chittaphon’s nonchalance is a blessing since his fingers rubbing just up to the bottom of the towel have Taeyong’s dick bobbing conspicuously against his stomach.

 

The atmosphere seems to have returned to normal, Chittaphon working over Taeyong’s muscles while Taeyong’s breathes sounds of pleasure, until Chittaphon’s fingers skate underneath Taeyong’s towel, just shallow enough to be an accident – at least the first time. The second goes even farther up Taeyong’s bare thighs before withdrawing, then even farther the next time. Soon, the preamble is gone and Chittaphon’s hands slide straight up until they slide around the base of Taeyong’s cock, thumbs digging into the junction of his thigh and pelvis.

 

Taeyong’s eyes snap open in surprise – a mistake if he ever wanted to protest Chittaphon’s sudden bold hands. Chittaphon has kept his gaze on Taeyong’s face the entire time, their gazes locking the instant Taeyong opens his eyes. There’s heat in his gaze, Taeyong can feel it burning him down to his core, a low-lidded intensity so different from the friendly smile he’d given Taeyong when they first met.

 

Chittaphon isn’t smiling anymore.

 

He keeps Taeyong’s eyes tethered to his as his hands resume their motion, sliding up and squeezing around Taeyong’s cock, slicking it with warm oil. The towel covering Taeyong’s waist loosens and unravels with Chittaphon’s help, letting Taeyong see how Chittaphon’s hands look framing his cock. His face is red again, flushed with desire, he knows without a mirror, but Chittaphon is in no better state by the audible slips of breath between his lips and the heavy bulge at the front of his constricting shorts.

 

His hands are as masterful around Taeyong’s dick as they are on the rest of his body, and he has Taeyong wound up without much effort. His drags his palms over every inch of Taeyong’s dick purposely, rough skin teasing Taeyong’s senses and shooting bolts up to his stomach. Then he wraps one hand tight around Taeyong and squeezes harshly, stroking his hand up the length until it completely slides off and replacing it with the other hand to do the same, alternating in such a smooth motion that it feels like a dozen hands trying to pleasure Taeyong all at once.

 

Chittaphon isn’t in this to jerk him off, Taeyong realizes soon. Whenever he’s close to spilling over, Chittaphon will switch his technique to only fondling Taeyong’s balls while two fingers press into that magic spot just behind, or simply holding Taeyong around the base while the heel of his other hand circles over Taeyong’s cockhead, having his back arching up from the table. Always enough to keep him rock hard, but never enough to let him finish. It’s sweet torture in a pair of beautiful hands, and by the fourth time he’s brought just to the edge, he’s ready to cry out in frustration.

 

“Christ…p-please,” he grits out in a weak voice, not realizing he’s pleading in Korean. Chittaphon tilts his head to the side, his fingers ringed under the crown of Taeyong’s head while he delicately skates his fingernails up and down the underside. Whether he understands or not, Taeyong knows Chittaphon is getting his own delight out of this, licking his bottom lip whenever Taeyong groans or clenches his eyes shut from the sensations. Taeyong doesn’t have to worry about being the pervert with this guy around.

 

There must be some mercy in his heart because his hands withdraw, leaving Taeyong unsated but at least able to calm his breathing for a little while. Another push at his hip tells Taeyong to turn over on his front again with his arms crossed under the pillow, Chittaphon stepping away from the table momentarily. Taeyong hears the rustle of clothing moving and hitting the ground, but he’s much more concerned with using the table to get some needed friction, pushing his hips down so his can grind desperately into the sheets.

 

As he expects, Chittaphon stops him with a hand pressing down on his lower back, chuckling and saying something probably teasing at Taeyong’s overt horniness, the asshole. Taeyong feels another weight climb onto the table and the jolt of heated skin grazing his own, Chittaphon straddling Taeyong’s legs with his knees flanking Taeyong’s thighs.

 

The anticipation is back, his senses on high alert from being blind to Chittaphon actions, willingly at the mercy of whatever Chittaphon decides. He hears the dripping of massage oil once more, but it’s not along his body this time. He realizes why when Chittaphon’s body, slippery with oil, bears down on his, Chittaphon’s firm chest sliding up his back until they’re perfectly aligned from shoulder to toe. Taeyong feels Chittaphon’s chin hook over his left shoulder, Chittaphon’s hands clutching his biceps, and a thick cock slotted perfectly in the cleft of his bare ass.

 

Taeyong drops his face into the pillow, groaning with want just from the size of it, and Chittaphon’s breathy laughter tickles his earlobe. The oil makes the glide of Chittaphon’s flesh against his sinful, Chittaphon rocking his hips against Taeyong’s so the length of his cock grinds between Taeyong’s ass cheeks, grazing Taeyong’s hole.

 

The fervor of the moment lets Taeyong feel everything – the stiffened nipples against his back, the leg wrapping affectionately around his own – and he has to keep from spurting into the sheets already, already desperate for release but wanting to make it last as well, to see what else Chittaphon has in store for him. From the way Chittaphon’s hips start to snap against his ass, the head of his dick catching on Taeyong’s rim before sliding past, Taeyong knows the wait is worth it.

 

It must become too much for Chittaphon as well. He pulls back, reaching for something out of Taeyong’s view, then another fluid is drizzled down the cleft of Taeyong’s ass, cool and definitely not oil this time. Chittaphon is quick to touch, dragging two fingers between Taeyong’s cheeks to coat them liberally before guiding them into Taeyong’s pucker, prodding firmly until they sink into his heat.

 

Taeyong winces at the burn, but it doesn’t last long with how attentive Chittaphon is, casually stroking his fingerpads inside Taeyong’s hole as he works into him, pressing them down just right so he has Taeyong biting his pillow and grinding into the sheets. Chittaphon’s intent isn’t to play this time from how efficiently he stretches Taeyong, likely eager to fuck Taeyong’s ass just how Taeyong is eager to take him. His fingers retreat, giving Taeyong only a slight breather before he grips Taeyong’s small waist tightly, pulling him up on all fours until he can line the tip of his cock up with Taeyong’s slickened hole.

 

The first push inside hurts, Taeyong won’t deny tearing up just a bit, but by the time Chittaphon is buried inside him to the very hilt, the overwhelming satisfaction of being full starts to override the pain. Chittaphon pauses considerately, stroking his thumbs over Taeyong’s hip bones tenderly while murmuring soft praises in his language. Taeyong wishes he could comprehend, wanting to know that he’s pleasing Chittaphon as well.

 

There’s no warning before Chittaphon starts moving, slowly pulling his hips back then slamming back inside Taeyong’s heat, Taeyong choking on his breath. The pace stays like that, Chittaphon letting Taeyong feel every inch dragging out of him, before pushing inside him again and again, fucking him deep and thorough. “More…more,” Taeyong begs with his head hanging low between his arms, sweat dripping from his brow and breath panting from his open mouth. His cock is hard and needy and leaking precum between his legs, bobbing each time Chittaphon fills him.

 

His arms begin to quiver, too much strength to hold himself up against Chittaphon’s pounding, but Chittaphon is there to wrap his arm around Taeyong’s stomach and pull him upright, his back flush against Chittaphon’s chest while he sits with his weight on Chittaphon’s strong thighs. From this angle, Chittaphon can drive up into Taeyong with every thrust hitting him so he sees stars, groans falling lewdly from his mouth with only the slap of Chittaphon’s hips against his ass to mask the sound. Chittaphon’s arm tightens around his stomach while his other keeps balance, burying his face between Taeyong’s shoulder blades to quiet his own fragile moans.

 

Taeyong wants to spill over like this, untouched with only Chittaphon’s thickness fucking every load out of him, but Chittaphon’s hand is there when he feels the telling heat pool in his abdomen. Chittaphon doesn’t jerk him off, rather he circles his fingers tight low around the base of Taeyong’s dick, cutting off his orgasm. “Fucker,” Taeyong curses hoarsely, Chittaphon still cruel even while he’s drilling into Taeyong’s hole, and he snickers at Taeyong’s frustration, something that doesn’t strike Taeyong as odd just yet.

 

Taeyong has no choice but to wait for Chittaphon to finish as well, holding onto Chittaphon’s arm as Chittaphon grinds inside him, taking his precious time and having fun with Taeyong’s anguish. “C’mon, harder,” Taeyong demands and slaps Chittaphon’s arm, earning a harsh thrust that knocks the wind out of him. He asked for it, but he wasn’t expecting Chittaphon to deliver so well, fucking hard enough that Taeyong bounces wantonly in his lap. It’s absolute bliss if Taeyong’s ever known it.

 

Finally, Chittaphon unlocks his fingers and starts pumping Taeyong’s cock earnestly, his erratic thrusts signaling he’s close as well. It takes only a few strokes for Taeyong to finish, spattering globs of cum over his stomach and chest messily. Chittaphon cums as well, pushing deep into Taeyong’s wrecked hole before he unloads generously inside Taeyong, warming Taeyong to the core.

 

As he comes down from his height, Taeyong registers two arms hugging his torso and kisses being peppered along his shoulder blades, too sweet and affectionate from the man who tortured him only a minute ago.

 

He laughs exhaustedly, hoping he gets another bath.

 

–––

 

Fully clothed and sated, Taeyong finds his way back to the main area of the parlor. He hadn’t been able to look Chittaphon in the eye afterwards, but Chittaphon helped Taeyong dress quickly and gave him another gorgeous smile before sending him off toward the entrance. Taeyong briefly wonders if this is something Chittaphon does often, but he’s better off not knowing.

 

Jaehyun is strewn over the couch near the front desk when Taeyong returns, a sleepy smile on his face. Taeyong grins and raises an eyebrow at his innocent friend, then a thought strikes him. Did Jaehyun get the same treatment as him?

 

He kicks Jaehyun in the leg to wake him up, jolting the other man up in his seat. “Ow, what the – oh, hey! You’re back. Took you long enough. It was really great, huh? Told you it was a good idea.”

 

Jaehyun doesn’t wiggle his eyebrows or smirk secretly when he says it. Taeyong doesn’t really know how to bring it up. “Yeah, yeah, really great, but, uh…,” he hesitates, looking back at the receptionist ticking away at her computer, then drags an unwilling Jaehyun up to stand so he can whisper. “Did…um, did your masseuse offer you anything…extra?”

 

Jaehyun squints at him curiously. “Extra? Like an extra massage? No,” he answers, then frowns. “Why? Did you get one? Was it like, hot stones or something? Did you even let him walk on your back? Hey, answer me!”

 

Taeyong steps back, ignoring Jaehyun’s prying, processing that Chittaphon’s offer probably isn’t on the parlor’s list of services. His heart beats a little faster. He pats his chest to calm it and feels something new in the chest pocket of his button up.

 

“What is that? He gave you his card?” Jaehyun asks when Taeyong pulls it out of his pocket, peaking nosily over his shoulder.

 

It’s a business card with Chittaphon’s information printed on it. Most of it Taeyong can’t read other than the phone number and the parlor’s name, but he checks the back of it on a whim and almost roars.

 

On the back, in neatly drawn Hangul, is Chittaphon’s name, along with a message ending in a playful smiley face.

 

“Let’s meet again soon, grandpa!”