if @nanonstits wasn't the one who sent this prompt, then I guess I'm making at least two people happy with this

--

Pat loves making out with Pran, he's discovered quickly, the taste of Pran's soft lips against his own, panting and eager and not very much practiced. Pat can't get enough of him, even though they just ate dinner, even though Pran's mouth tastes a little bit like chicken, like curry. Pran had invited him over because his skin was dry and he needed help using the Nivea Micellar Water--which was just code for come over, let's eat dinner and make out on the couch and maybe exchange quick handjobs like we have been for the past month. So Pat had only been so happy to oblige.

Now with their skin smooth and dinner eaten, Pat happily slides his knee between Pran's thighs as he devours him on the couch, arms and legs bracketing Pran's body that Pran has nowhere to go. Not that Pran's protesting much, kissing back and with his hands beneath Pat's shirt, on his stomach and waist. When they'd first started this... arrangement... of definitely not dating, Pran's motions were so noticeably hesitant, when all Pat wanted was for Pran to do whatever he wanted to do to him. Whatever he dreamed of doing to him. Pat finally recognizes what the light in Pran's eyes mean when he looks at Pat now, the fondness and adoration hidden behind his eye rolls and dimples. He knows that Pran's thought about him, probably even more than Pat can imagine, and for far longer. But the few months of being like this have already given Pat so many ideas for what he wants Pran to do to him, for what he wants to do to Pran, and he just wants one of them to give in already so they can be boyfriends.

Of course, he can't give in first. He can't let Pran win (for now), because it's fun teasing, knowing that there's more to come and that they can do together, and Pran's stubbornness is something Pat's always loved. With his tongue in Pran's mouth, and Pran sucking on it like he's starving for it, Pat thinks, this is gonna be so much better when we're boyfriends. He grinds the bottom half of his body against Pran's, and smiles when he feels Pran groan against his mouth in response.

Pat slides his body up, admiring the work beneath him. Pran's cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. The pillows on his couch have fallen to the floor, but the skin of Pran's tummy from his shirt riding up is too enticing for Pat to care to pick the pillows up for Pran's sake. He tickles Pran's stomach and Pran giggles and scolds, "Pat."

"Can you take your shirt off?" Pat asks.

Pran's look is withering. Pat pouts. "Please?" he continues. "I'm asking nicely."

"You're not behaving that nicely," Pran points out, because Pat's hands are crawling further up Pran's shirt. He presses the heels of his palms against Pran's soft belly, squeezes. Skates his fingers up Pran's ribs. Pat thinks about fucking the fat of Pran's stomach and his cock twitches.

Pran's not really resisting as Pat continues pushing his shirt up. "But I wanna see," Pat whines. "I wanna see you. You wear your shirt all the time... I never protest when you take my shirt off."

"That's because you do it yourself half the time," Pran says.

But he lifts up his arms accordingly when Pat rolls his striped shirt up to his armpits. Pat slides Pran's shirt over his head so he can see all the brown skin there, and his mouth waters. He tosses Pran's shirt to the ground.

"Ai Pat," Pran complains.

"I'll pick it up later," Pat promises, and readjusts himself over Pran so he's crouching over him more comfortably. One of his knees is digging into the back of his couch, but as long as Pran doesn't move, Pat's totally happy to be stuck here for a bit. He eyes the expanse of Pran's skin, to which Pran noticeably fidgets.

"Can you do something already?" Pran asks impatiently.

"Hold on," says Pat. "I'm drinking you in."

And he is--with his shirt off, Pran's a sight to behold. He's dark and smooth everywhere, belly jiggling a bit as Pat rests his hands at Pran's sides, feeling the fat between his fingertips that Pat just wants to bite. Pran's chest heaves with each breath he takes, making his stomach twitch and bounce the longer Pat stares at him. The ball of Pran's throat bobs as he swallows, pressing his neck back that Pat can see his second chin, and he wants to bite that too. His bellybutton is so cute, and Pran's nipples... Oh, Pat can't resist himself as he reaches up and pinches them, large and brown, on larger lumps of fat that Pat scoops in his hand. He wants to fuck Pran so bad, anywhere and everywhere, wants Pran riding his dick while the rest of his body bounces, his tits and tummy while Pran looks like this, red-cheeked and hair-tousled and breathless.

"Are you done?" Pran asks, after a long moment.

Pat's hard. "Define 'done.'"

"I mean, will you stop staring at me and do something else?" Pran looks like he wants to cover his chest with his arms, but isn't actually doing it. Likely for Pat's sake, which Pat appreciates. "I'm getting uncomfortable."

Pat laughs a little. "Okay, okay," he says, and bends his head down close to Pran's face. "You're cute when you're uncomfortable though."

"You always think I'm cute," Pran grumbles as Pat goes to slide his tongue into Pran's mouth again.

But Pat had only done so to throw Pran off--Pran loves having Pat in his mouth, whether it's his tongue or fingers or dick (which they've done once), gets so occupied and distracted and hungry that Pran forgets everything else. It's so hot; Pat thinks, when we're real boyfriends, he can do whatever he wants with his mouth. But right now he uses it to his advantage, as while Pran suckles on Pat's tongue, Pat uses both hands to pinch and squeeze Pran's tits, fingers flexing around their roundness and softness, rubbing his palms against Pran's nipples until they're hard and surely aching, making Pran whine into Pat's mouth, "Pat."

"Yeah, baby?" Pat asks against his lips.

"Hurts." Pran crinkles his nose.

Pat smiles to himself. "Mm," he says, then leans his head down. Pran's eyes are dark, and Pat can feel his erection through his sweatpants. They're both hard, but part of this play has been to do everything except touch each other's dicks, unless they're really desperate for it. Pat had already won once when Pran had been so hungry for Pat's dick in his mouth that Pat had let him and afterward said, "One point for me," so it's only fair that he let Pran win this time and take the part of Pran that he wants the most, at least for now.

Which comes in the form of Pat bending down and drawing Pran's left nipple into his mouth, making Pran gasp and his legs twitch beneath Pat's. His tits are so big and round, almost like a girl's, but better because it's Pran, better because no one, girl or not, will ever make Pat as hard as he feels in this very moment. He slides his teeth over Pran's nipple, and Pran hisses, but then Pat gives him a light kiss and licks over again, using one hand to squeeze the fat around it, sucking and jiggling Pran's chest eagerly.

"What's wrong with you," Pran tries to mumble, but Pat doesn't care as he hungrily, greedily fits as much of Pran's breast into his mouth as he can. One, then the other, sucking on his tits like a baby, so round and soft that Pat's pretty sure this is what heaven is like: Pran's boobs in his mouth. He bites and can't stop grinding his hips against Pran's, kissing and sucking his other breast, leaving bruises and hickey where he can. There's so much of Pran and he's so soft everywhere, the taste of his salty skin better than the curry Pran cooked him earlier, the twist of his body in oversensitivity but definitely not trying to move away from him. Pat thinks that if he didn't eat dinner he would be even more hungry for Pran, would've tasted him everywhere, swallowed him whole. He loses himself in Pran's chest, burying his face there, trying to stuff as much of Pran's other tit into his mouth as he can.

It's so much that Pat doesn't realize he's close to the edge until he's almost there, jolting his hips against Pran's so furiously while sucking his breast, fitting the nub of his nipple between his teeth, and Pran ruts against him as his breathing gets faster and faster and that's the end of it for Pat. He groans as he feels himself wet his boxer shorts, pressing his sounds into Pran's skin and the fat of his chest. Distantly, Pran tenses up against him too, though Pat's still busy suckling at his chest and making sure his right nipple gets the same treatment as the left one, if not more, as he comes down.

He feels like a kid with an ice cream bar on a hot summer's day as he keeps Pran in his mouth, until somewhere too close and too far away Pran says, "If you don't get your mouth off me soon I'm going to smack you in the face."

Pat lifts his head up. "I could be into that."

Pran smiles and shakes his head. "Look at you," he says, and presses his thumb against Pat's lips. "Your mouth is all bruised."

"Can you blame me?"

"Yes." Pran glances pointedly down at his chest, where his nipples are covered in bruises and hickies, purple and yellow amid the brown skin and Pran's darker, large nipples. He makes such a pretty canvas. Pat's proud of his work. "You did this to me."

"And you liked it," Pat says. His hand drifts down between their bodies to Pran's crotch. As expected, his fingers press against a damp spot.

Pran actually smacks his wrist away at that. "And you're getting ahead of yourself," he says. "Pick up my shirt, will you?"

"Yes sir," Pat sings obediently, and bends down to retrieve it from the ground. "But next time you better let me do more."

Pran eyes him carefully. "Only if you let me first," he says. "Since I win this time."

Pat giggles and sees Pran's dimples in his cheeks, in his chin. "Of course, of course," Pat agrees, and knows that eventually, neither of them will lose at this.