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dimplesandfierceeyes · 7 months

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Don't know if u r still taking bad buddy prompts. But if u r, high school patpran teaching kissing or practicing kissing and Pat realizing his feelings and getting together.

OP.

OP OP OP.

How did you know?

How did you know this was my weakness?

Anyway, when this prompt came in the whole plot basically appeared in my head fully formed and all I needed was the time to make it real. I hope you all enjoy!

~~~

Practice Makes Perfect

(I know, I know, the least original title ever)

Pran wasn’t sure when it had become an unspoken rule that they would meet in his bedroom. He guessed it made sense. Pat’s family was nosy; they walked in and out of each other’s bedrooms unannounced and didn’t seem to like doing anything alone if they could drag another person into it too. Still, every time Pat was in his room, Pran’s heart rate skyrocketed with anxiety. (Only anxiety, definitely only anxiety.)

Pat was here again, all lanky-limbed six-foot of him sprawled over Pran’s bed like he was entitled to it. He’d grown again. Up until last year they’d been neck-and-neck for height but this year, Pran had slowed down and Pat, annoyingly, hadn’t. Not only that, but his shoulders were getting broader too whilst Pran’s stayed stubbornly slim, just like his mae’s. Not for the first time, Pran wished he’d inherited more of his father’s easy musculature.

“So we just gotta watch the scene and answer these questions right?” Pat asked, staring at the sheet he was holding in front of him. He was lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows so he could screen while Pran had claimed the desk chair.

“Yes.”

“Oh, cool! That’s easy.”

They were working on literature homework: the interpretations of play adaptation. This was the second version of this play they were watching and the questions were mostly about drawing comparisons. Pran clicked on the file the teacher had uploaded and blinked as a thumbnail popped up showing two male characters.

“I thought this was supposed to be the kiss scene?” Pat questioned. “Has the teacher uploaded the wrong file?”

“I don’t think so. Nobody else has said it was a different scene,” Pran replied. He was still staring at the screen, his heart pumping so much faster than it should have been as he considered the only other possibility.

“So basically it’s a BL version,” Pat laughed.

“I guess.” Pran furiously told his heart there was no difference between watching a straight kissing scene with Pat or watching a BL one. It didn’t listen.

“Alright, let’s get started, I guess.”

Pran had never wished for his parents to get home early from the weekly shop but it turned out there really was a first time for everything. Unfortunately, no engine noise rumbled up to the front gate and Pran was forced to accept that this was, in fact, happening.

He could barely pay attention to the questions on the sheet of paper in front of him, though he spent as much time as he could staring down at it as the men on the screen danced around each other, feeling the other out, before finally shattering the tension, reaching for each other as if starving. Pran had watched the exact same scene in class between a man and a woman without even blinking. Now he was hot all over, hyper aware of Pat lying on his bed behind him watching two men kiss on his computer screen, and he could only hope that his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt they should be.

The end of the scene couldn’t come soon enough.

“Okay,” Pran said as professionally as he could manage, lifting his sheet in the air to show he meant business as he quarter-turned in his chair so he had his profile to Pat.

“What do you think it’s like for the actors? To kiss a guy, I mean,” Pat chimed in with his usual inability to not send Pran’s mind into chaos.

“Pretty much like kissing a girl,” Pran replied tightly, lifting his sheet a little higher. It was once again ignored.

“Do you think it is? Just the same as a kissing a girl? I think it would be different.”

“Why would it be different? They’re both just people.” Pran replied, unable to believe he was actually locked into this conversation.

“I don’t know,” Pat shrugged. “Have you ever done it? Kissed a guy?”

Pran barely managed not to choke on his own saliva. “Wh-What business is that of yours?”

Pat’s eyes went as round as saucers, his mouth dropping open. “Wait, you have?”

“I didn’t say that,” Pran replied rapidly but he could see it was already too late.

“Holy shit, you have! Why didn’t you tell me?” If a tone of voice could be a pout, Pat’s would have been a prime example.

“Why would I tell you that?”

“Who was it?”

“Why would I tell you that either?”

“You know all the girls I’ve kissed,” Pat complained.

Unfortunately, Pran thought to himself. “It’s not like I ever asked for that information.”

Pat ignored the jibe, steamrolling over it. “So, was it? Was it different from kissing a girl?”

“None!” Pran replied spitefully, despite having never kissed a girl.

“Oh,” Pat looked disappointed. “Not at all?”

“What sort of difference should there be?” Pran asked, exasperated.

“I don’t know, it just feels like there would be.” Pat frowned for a second before suddenly his expression released and he looked at Pran like he’d just thought of something. Pran got a sharp and defined sense of foreboding. “What if we tried it?”

“What?” Pran squeaked.

“I mean, I know you didn’t think there was a difference, but maybe it would be different for me,” Pat reasoned.

"And this is my problem, how?" Pran managed to force out as his entire body launched into a state of panic hitherto only observed in mice fleeing a hungry cat.

"Oh, come on," Pat whined in a way that was terrifyingly close to the way that had wheeled Pran into truly remarkable levels of trouble several times. "It's not like I'd be your first guy; I'd just be your second! It's not like it's special or anything."

"What kind of logic is that? Then I'd-I'd be your first!"

"I don't mind," Pat replied with a shrug and Pran's mind gurgled.

He knew he had to say no, that if he kept just pointing out problems Pat would just keep countering them. But then he’d be saying no. To Pat kissing him.

“Come on, what do you want?” Pat asked, sounding exasperated.

“What?”

“I know you’re just stretching it out because you want me to agree to lose at something in return.”

“I don’t need you to agree to lose; I can make you lose any day.” Pran replied automatically. Pat rolled his eyes.

“Just name your terms, Parakul.”

Pran flung out an idea from the void. “The next rugby match. If I’m close to the goal post, find a way to fumble the ball to me.”

Pat frowned, brow furrowing as if in dilemma, before huffing dramatically. “Fine. The next match is yours.”

Pran’s already abused heart was electrocuted by the words, now hammering at double the speed. He’d agreed. He might not have actually said the words, but he’d agreed to let Pat kiss him. He didn’t know if he was a genius or insane.

Pat seemed to be waiting for something and it took Pran a second to realise it was for him to walk over to the bed. His mind rebelled the idea, it felt too much like a capitulation to be the one to move. And what if he looked eager? He couldn’t bear the thought.

“I’m not going to you,” he said as dismissively as he could manage. “You were the one who wanted to see how different it was.”

Another huff was released and then Pat rolled his eyes so dramatically his whole head got involved in the action, but he did start to lift himself off the bed.

Pran only realised what a mistake he’d made when Pat was already looming in front of him. Then Pat was leaning forwards and Pran was caged in, one of Pat’s hands on the desk next to him to steady himself and the other reaching for Pran’s cheek. It found it with a gentleness that was foreign, strange. Pran’s lungs pulled in short, sharp breaths through his nose as Pat’s long fingers settled around his ear and he was pinned by Pat’s uncertain gaze.

He waited for him to call it off, convinced that this alone would be enough to make Pat retreat, that he would pull back, laugh, shake his head, proclaim how weird it was, but instead… instead…

Instead Pat’s eyes fell shut and his head tilted and he bowed lower and lower until his lips made contact with Pran’s. The touch was soft but without hesitation, lips slipping open to catch Pran’s between them. Then, already, they were pulling away, leaving Pran’s mouth cold and wanting. Pran flicked his eyes open, not sure even when he’d closed them, and watched as Pat opened his own, slow and unfocused.

“You call that a kiss?” The question was supposed to be scathing, mocking, anything that brought them back to their status quo, but Pran’s voice was suddenly hoarse and breathless, as though he hadn’t spoken in weeks and his throat was parched.

There was no hiding the want in every syllable.

“What would you call it?” Pat asked. To Pran’s devastation, he sounded just as rough.

“Barely anything,” Pran replied, his voice half a whisper as adrenaline flooded through his veins.

Because he knew what he was going to do next.

And he knew there was no way of stopping himself even if he tried.

As if the want inside of him had torn into his limbs, seizing control, his hand shot up and grabbed Pat by the back of his head. He dragged him down, no gentleness, no subtlety, no mercy. He ransacked Pat’s mouth like a thief ripping through a household, eager to take everything he could before occupants woke up.

He didn’t expect Pat to fight back.

There was no paralysed surprise, no frozen astonishment, Pat let him take and take and take and then stole it all back and more. His hand gripped at Pran’s hair, his teeth nipped and scraped over Pran’s lip, his tongue licked into Pran’s mouth like he wanted to own it. Pran could barely breathe under the onslaught, control slipping away from him as he tried to process the ferocity of Pat’s response. Then all the competition seemed to slip away and they were just kissing, kissing, kissing.

By the time they broke apart, they were both gasping for air.

Pran looked up at Pat in astonishment, but Pat didn’t look back. His eyes were still closed, forehead bent against Pran’s forehead as he hauled oxygen into his lungs, like he was trying to fix the memory of their kiss in his head forever. The only sound in the entire room was their broken breathing.

Then he smiled, the single most beautiful and most ruinous smile Pran had ever seen, before he opened his eyes. He tilted his head as he grinned down at Pran like they were sharing a secret. Pran felt his mouth respond in kind and Pat’s gaze dipped down, catching on his lips before dragging back up.

Instinctively, deliberately, somewhere in between, Pran’s eyeline dropped from Pat’s captivating gaze to his tempting mouth. His lips were red and puffy, shining with a hint of…

Me, Pran thought. That’s from me.

And he looked back up in time just to see Pat lean back down and then he was being kissed again. He responded instantly, surging up to steal more of Pat’s taste, and somehow ended up standing, his hands in Pat’s hair. Pat’s arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, making Pran’s heart jolt as they were pressed together from hip to chest and Pat’s heat bled through their clothes.

He’d never been this close to another person. Not even the only other boy he’d kissed, who’d sat next to him and kissed him awkwardly, neither of them entirely sure what they were doing. This—Pat—was something else entirely. He felt submerged in him, Pat on his tongue, on his skin, on his body, everywhere and anywhere, all at once, and he sank into him rapturously, a willing victim of his own drowning.

Pat tugged and Pran followed, edging carefully, unhurriedly, across the floor as their mouths danced to a rhythm of their own making. Then Pat pulled away to drop down onto Pran’s bed, dragging Pran after him. Pran settled eagerly into his lap, unable to resist one little quip before bent his head to kiss him.

“In my bed already, Napat? Are you always this easy?”

“No, you’re just special,” Pat replied breathlessly and then Pran had to devour him.

Pran didn’t know how long their fourth kiss lasted for but by the time they broke apart, the streetlights outside were turning a burnt umber and Pran’s lips were so sensitive they were tingling. He swallowed weakly, hands still twisted in Pat’s hair, hips almost bruised with Pat’s fingerprints.

“So. Any differences?” he found himself asking. Pat chuckled breathlessly.

“Just a few, yeah.”

Pran smiled back at him, his lips almost sore but in a pleasant way as he curved them upwards. One of Pat’s thumbs had found its way under Pran’s shirt and was rubbing over the skin at the base of his waist.

“Can we do this again?” Pat asked, eyes dropping to Pran’s mouth. “More than once? Can we do this many times?”

Pran laughed. “How often are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. Once a week? Once a day? Once an hour?” Pat grinned cheekily and Pran’s cheeks were going to ache from how broad his own smile was.

“You’re gonna wake up every hour, are you?”

“It would be worth it.” That was too much for Pran. He closed his eyes, shaking his head as he laughed again.

“You’re so cheesy.”

“Pran, I’m serious. I think we should date.” Pat continued earnestly, a smile still colouring his voice like a warm sunset.

Pran opened his eyes, wide and uncertain. Pat looked back at him candidly.

“Pat…That…”

"You don't want to?"

"I… didn't say that."

Pat beamed, somewhere between delighted and smug and Pran shoved him backwards with more show than force. Pat faked falling anyway, tilting backwards dramatically before bouncing up with a grin. Pran tried not to be affected by it.

“If our parents found it, they would kill us,” he pointed out.

“Why would they need to find out? I sneak into your bedroom almost every week. They’ve never found that out, have they?”

Pran loved how stubborn Pat was.

“We won’t be able to tell anyone. I mean, anyone. Not even Duke. Not even Pa.”

“Is this you saying yes? Pran, are you saying yes to me?”

“Who said I’m saying yes,” Pran tried to sound aloof but it was hard when he was still straddling Pat’s lap and his hands had settled on Pat’s shoulders.

Pat’s smile spilled out over his entire face, eyes little more than curved lines as he laughed. “You are. You are saying yes,” Pat told him. Pran didn’t disagree.

He also didn’t disagree when Pat said they should kiss again.

~~~

Aaaand done. Don't think about what happens after the concert. @miscellar already made that mistake. Just don't do it yourself.

Anyway I hope you enjoyed it OP! And all the others that come across this mini fic! Look out for an actually edited version of this to appear on AO3 sometime soon....

#bad buddy #patpran #bad buddy fanfic #pat x pran #pranpat #pran x pat #bbs #bad buddy series #kayla writes #lovely asks #lovely ask prompts

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khaothanawat · 7 months

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bad buddy fic everything you thought your life would be

(3k, teen+, post-canon, fluff, drunk texting)

He’d stripped the second he’d walked in their door and beelined directly for the shower, then barely toweled off before heading straight to the bed, to Pran. To where he’d assumed Pran would be, warm and soft and waiting for him. If Pran were here right now, he’d be tugging Pat up, turning him around until Pat’s head was pressed into the cotton of his t-shirt, rather than the perfectly ironed sheets. Pran would shove his nose into Pat’s wet hair and mumble about Pat being a nuisance, about how annoying it was to sleep next to a giant wet man. Pat would pout into Pran’s chest and say ‘I showered for my boyfriend’ and Pran would just hum, his arms tucked even more closely around Pat’s shoulder, and he’d smile a little harder into Pat’s hair. Really, Pat thinks, the fact that none of this has happened to him is the greatest injustice he could ever dare to dream of. Pat comes home to a suspiciously empty bed.

ao3

#bad buddy #bad buddy fic #bad buddy the series #bad buddy fanfic #patpran #pat x pran #show: bad buddy #fic: mine #fic: bbs #ship: bbs: pat x pran #it turns out when I have to write bb fic on the spot I will simply default to writing pat being a deranged simp #i barely proofread this honestly it's just 3k of romantic nonsense

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idlesugarpuff · 4 months

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Ok.

Recommed quality Bad Buddy fics. I like them stupid and domestic, mostly.

Go.

#ao3 #halp #bad buddy the series #bad buddy fanfic #Recs pls?

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dropthedemiurge · 9 months

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This world clearly needs more Bad Buddy OT4 poly fics, so I wrote more of my self-indulgent story. I just really wanted to explore all the different romantic and plpratonic dynamics between Korn, Wai, Pat and Pran.

And you're welcome to read it :D Hope you'll enjoy the ride ^^ Magnetic Hearts on AO3

#bad buddy #bad buddy series #bad buddy fanfic #my works #fanfic #dropthefanfic #dropthefanfic bad buddy #ao3 #patpran #waikorn #patkorn #waipran #prankorn #patwai

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ablazenqueen · 4 months

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A veeeeery late update!

Fandom: Bad Buddy

Pairing: Pat/Pran

Chapters: 6/13

Synopsis:

It’s one thing to be told you have a rival and another thing entirely to head out on your first mission at ten years old, only to find your target missing and a red winky face spray-painted in its place.

(Aka: The Patpran Rival Thieves AU no one asked for.)

Tags:

#my fics #patpran #pranpat #bad buddy #bad buddy the series #bad buddy fanfic #patpran fanfic #a pro thief’s guide #*my stuff

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inventedfangirling · 8 months

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heylo there! just letting yall know that i just posted chapter 2 of my bet era patpran fanfic here. If you do read it, do let me know how you found it <3

also here take a zero context spoiler not spoiler gif for the chapter👻

#bad buddy #fanfic #patpran #bad buddy fanfic

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dramadeer · 7 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: แค่เพื่อนครับเพื่อน | Bad Buddy: the Series (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pat Napat Jindapat/Pran Parakul Siridechawat, Pat Napat Jindapat/Pran Parakul Siridechawat/Male Character Characters: Pat Napat Jindapat, Pran Parakul Siridechawat, Surprise Male Character Additional Tags: Threesome - M/M/M, Post Our Skyy 2, Psychosexual Bets, Pat and Pran are freaks [sexual] [affectionate], the mystery character is from one of the OS shows, More info in the author's notes, Humor Summary:

“Get dressed,” Pran says.

“Uh?” Pat looks down at himself, he’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt, he’s pretty much dressed already.

“Dress hot,” Pran clarifies, already heading for their wardrobe. He opens his side and immediately pulls out a maroon button up shirt and a pair of jeans that look pretty much painted on him, then he goes towards Pat’s side and starts rifling through the chaos.

“Where are we going?” Pat asks, barely catching the clothes Pran is chucking at him. A pair of jeans, equally tight and a deep blue tank top with the sleeves cut off.

Okay, this is happening.

“To a club,” Pat says, turning around. There is a sexy, sexy glint in his eyes. It’s distracting.

“To do what?”

“To pick someone up,” Pran clarifies. “First person to find someone willing to sleep with us wins.”

Following the events of Our Skyy 2, Pat and Pran decide to bring someone home with them.

#deer.txt #bad buddy #bad buddy fanfic #patpran #pat x pran #deer.mine #mine: fic #sometimes you and your bestie craft a beautiful wheel #and that wheel lands on bad buddy #and you give yourself a time limit to write that fic #and this #this is what comes out #something deeply unhinged and unserious

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ohmnonsquish · 8 months

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Cross-posting my Bad Buddy fics seems like a good idea at the moment, but let's see how it turns out in the end.

Here is the link to the original story over on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46304947

If Our Love Was A Song

Bad Buddy — Pran x Pat

IT’S BECOME A COMMON occurrence for Pran to wake, tangled — swaddled — in a mess of blankets and his clingy boyfriend’s addictive warmth. He can feel Pat’s even breaths hitting the sensitive skin of his neck, the feeling making Pran shiver slightly, and the familiar weight and warmth of Pat’s arm both carelessly and possessively anchored across his middle, staking his eternal claim even in the midst of sleep, makes Pran smile softly. He is used to Pat’s bouts of clinginess during the day, feeling helpless to submit when Pat whines for attention and affection, Pran wanting nothing more than to be pressed skin-to-skin even though he can’t quite shake his habit of pretending that Pat’s affection is the bane of his existence. The clinginess of his boyfriend was bad enough before Pran left for Singapore, and, to Pran’s equal delight and disbelief, Pat has only gotten more clingy and needy since Pran returned home a few short months ago.

Pran will never admit it to anyone, least of all Pat, that he craves the taller man’s attention in a way that leaves Pran feeling as though he has crossed the threshold into obsession. Taking advantage of Pat still being fast asleep, Pran simply looks at his boyfriend without the chance of an interruption given the early hour. Brushing hair off Pat’s forehead, Pran can no longer fight back the soft smile when his boyfriend mutters something in his sleep that sounds suspiciously like he’s teasing Pran in his dream, the human embodiment of a golden retriever puppy nestling even closer to Pran, so that his head is buried into the join of Pran’s neck and shoulder.

It’s so simple, almost a base instinct at the end of the day, but it makes Pran’s heart ache in the best way possible, because, truth be told, having Pat by his side is a dream come true. He wonders what has allowed him the chance of peace after so many years of tension and nail-biting anxiety, but, he supposes, that there’s no point in looking a gift-horse in the mouth; that he has finally gotten his heart’s desire, the time it has taken be damned.

There was hardly a day that went by, before they got together, that Pran was terrified of Pat finding out about his not-so-friendship-acceptable feelings towards the other boy — and, of course, Pran was also scared of his parents finding out that he and Pat were even remotely close. Both of those things have happened, one far more recently than the other, but there’s still a thrum of anxiety that electrifies his veins on occasion, even though he knows that there’s nothing their parents can do anymore; they have no leverage to use against either boy and force them into separation. When it comes to Pran’s feelings for Pat, he knows that the other boy feels the same in return; that it’s not a one-sided relationship, but he’s still scared for Pat to know the depth of his feelings — the ones that border on obsession and addiction; the ones that legitimately scare the absolute hell out of Pran some days.

Right now, all Pran wants to do is cling to Pat and never let the boy out of his sight again.

Pat mumbles out an unintelligible mix of words and groans sleepily, his body stretching and tensing against Pran’s before going lax and a sigh is pushed from his lips, barely a coherent thought in his mind as he presses a soft kiss to the skin of Pran’s neck. The sharp intake of breath makes him smile, because of course Pran is already awake — he usually is unless Pat is determined to wake up before his boyfriend and attempt to make them breakfast without setting something on fire. There’d be no need of Pran hiding his instinctive reaction to the simple kiss if he were still asleep — and Pran, no matter how hard he might try, struggles to properly hide most of his bodies’ reactions to Pat’s nearly constant affection when they’re alone, even though he’s had several years of practice in that exact department.

“What time is it?” Pat mumbles against Pran’s skin, eyes opening just enough to know that the sun is barely above the horizon. “Pran, go back to sleep, baby. ‘S too early, sun’s barely up.”

Pran laughs softly, shifting on the bed so he can rest his head against Pat’s without straining his neck too much. “I’m not planning on going anywhere, you big baby.”

“Mmm, good. Gonna stay in bed all day.”

He would argue, the words are on the tip of his tongue ready to rebuke his boyfriend’s words, but there’s something telling him that spending a lazy day in bed doing the bare minimum wouldn’t really hurt. In fact, after everything they’ve been through with the insanity of work and catching up with both friends and family since Pran came back, they really do deserve a day or three where they get the chance to do absolutely nothing except be with each other. So, instead of saying anything against Pat’s words, Pran hums in agreement and sinks into the mattress and his boyfriend’s warmth, smiling to himself as he feels Pat freeze in surprise, clearly not having expected Pran to agree with him so easily.

Before Pat has the chance to voice his confusion, Pran wiggles down the bed and presses closer to his boyfriend, all but jamming his head into the crook of Pat’s neck in a strange form of retribution for all the times that Pat has done so to Pran as either a form of teasing or something far more enrapturing. Pran has known for years that Pat has a kink of sorts for his boyfriend’s scent, it’s something that he enjoys teasing Pat about in any way possible, but Pran has wondered, on and off, whether the same could be said for himself. After all, most of the time all it takes is Pat's arms around him, holding Pran to his chest and surrounding him in both warmth and the oddly fresh scent that exudes from Pat’s pores, for Pran to calm himself after a stressful day or something blowing up in their faces. And, though Pran will lie about it, Pat smells a certain way when things are getting a little more than heated between them, and it’s enough to make Pran’s head spin if he’s daring enough to bury his face in Pat’s skin and simply breathe.

“And you call me the clingy one,” Pat teases with a soft smile, the arm he had strewn across Pran’s middle now curling around the shorter man’s back and pulling him closer. Pat himself shifts again, humming a sound of comfort as their legs entangle beneath the messy sheets, Pran capturing one of Pat’s legs between his own and refusing to let go when the broader boy tests the waters. “Baby, are you okay? Has something happened?”

Pran swallows and pointedly keeps his face hidden against Pat’s neck, quickly calculating just how far he can push his lucky silence before Pat gets even more worried and forces the truth out of Pran — which he ends up quickly deducing that there’s no real point in trying to skirt around the truth. “It’s really nothing, Pat. Just the usual shit, but…”

“It feels like more than normal?”

“Mmm. I don’t want to think about anything right now, just want to sleep.”

“Pran…”

Pran groans in defiance and wiggles even closer to Pat even though there’s really no space between their bodies, skin burning where it presses flush against Pat’s shirtless body, pleasant and just the right temperature to fight off the early morning chill hanging in the air. Breathing as quietly as he possibly can, Pran nuzzles against Pat’s neck, laughing softly when his boyfriend shivers and instinctively tightens his hold around the shorter of the pair, holding him close and relishing in the simplicity of their little moment. While it’s not exactly rare, per say, for Pat and Pran to simply bask in each other’s presence without interruption, Pran has found that it doesn’t happen as much as he would selfishly like it to — and, to satiate the greed he holds for his boyfriend’s affection and attention, he wants more than what he’s been given.

Pran wants so much more than he believes that he can have, even though he knows that Pat will gladly give Pran anything that he asks for, and he feels so selfish even simply thinking about taking what he wants — even if it comes with Pat’s all too happily, and enthusiastically, given consent.

Heat stirs in his belly, heady and heavy, and Pran huffs against Pat’s neck, simultaneously hating and loving how the simple proximity of Pat to Pran himself has always had Pran wanting to claim the one he has loved for over a decade in every single way humanly possible. Although, that’s in no way meant to insinuate that Pran hasn’t done such a thing over the years they’ve been together, both hiding their relationship and not — or that Pat is, in any way, a passive participant when it comes to their sex life. Truth be told, Pran has long since found out that Pat has a habit of pretending to submit to his boyfriend before turning the tables on Pran, a habit of which he isn’t exactly against — especially when it satiates the possessive streak that he knows Pat has when it comes to Pran.

And Pran himself is not much better when it comes to having a possessive streak concerning Pat.

Whilst their competitions are far less common than they used to be, neither have lost their competitive streak in the slightest — and, in truth, it has only grown into something far more endearing than the usual mock nuisance that it used to be. The challenges that they lure each other into are far more… intimate, so to speak, in comparison to the childish and school-related competitions they used to enjoy facing off against one another in. Pran finds it fondly exasperating, but also downright appealing, when Pat gets a certain kind of playful and challenging glint in his fierce eyes, because he knows that neither of them will be in any state for going out into the public eye the next day.

Pat huffs in playful annoyance but ultimately hugs Pran tight, hating how his boyfriend is once again not talking about what’s bothering him, but also knowing that Pran will tell him when he feels like he can put every little shred of feeling into words — or actions. Still half asleep, Pat stares at the sunlight barely coming through the outline of the blinds covering their bedroom windows and wonders whether there will ever be a time where he and Pran can simply be without having their friends or family almost literally knocking down the front door. He wonders whether any of them would listen if he told them to fuck off for a while; to give himself and Pran some space to breathe and simply exist as themselves without any kind of outside interference before they’re forced back to work in a few weeks.

Pat supposes that, even if their friends don’t end up listening, he could always beat them black and blue — or scare them well enough into leaving himself and Pran alone for a single fucking day, or more if he’s lucky.

It feels like years since Pat has been able to hold Pran in his arms while they slept, even though it was only last night that they fell into bed, limbs tangled together and their bodies slaves to the heat and desire that had taken root barely an hour after meeting up with their friends for dinner. Their usual competition had been thrown into the wind last night, neither of them playfully fighting for what they wanted to do, instead falling into a familiar rhythm of give and take that had left Pat’s head spinning and Pran struggling to level out his breaths, one of the latter’s evil smirks curling his lips as he looked over at his equally ruffled boyfriend. In Pat’s opinion, the dishevelled version of Pran that only he gets to see — lips bitten red, bare body covered with the claiming reds and purples left behind by Pat himself, and his usually tidy hair a ruffled mess atop his head — that is the most beautiful Pat has ever seen his lover. In short, it leaves him breathless.

Waiting until Pran’s breaths even out against his skin, Pat reaches across to his phone on the bedside cupboard, quietly cursing the awkward angle, trying to make sure that he doesn’t wake his clearly tired — and seemingly vulnerable — boyfriend. Opening up the group chat they have with their friends, Pat warns the lot of them against interrupting himself and Pran today, without explicitly telling them to fuck off, and even pushes for them to keep their distance for a little while longer if at all possible. Given the early hour, he’s not expecting an instant response, so his eyebrows shoot up in surprise when both Korn and Wai send similar messages barely thirty seconds later, telling him, in not as many words, that he “needs to stop being such a horny animal and wearing Pran out.” Instead of gracing the idiots with a legitimate reply, Pat sends through a sleepy photo of him flipping them off, forgetting that Pran has his head buried into the join of his neck and shoulder until Wai sends back a vomiting emoji, Korn clearly choosing death as he sends a smirking emoji.

Pat briefly wonders whether they’ve finally gotten their shit together and realised that the animosity they felt between themselves back in university was nothing short of sexual tension. But, knowing the stubborn fools that are both Korn and Wai, that day will only come when they’re old and grey.

Rolling his eyes at the immaturity of the friends that himself and Pran have chosen, Pat locks his phone and quietly puts it back onto the bedside cupboard before tugging the blanket back up over their shoulders. Pran’s head is barely visible above the material, but Pat has known his other half to almost suffocate himself underneath the sheets on cool nights as he chases warmth and comfort, so he doesn’t worry too much about the guitar player being able to breathe. Sighing and relaxing into the warmth of his Pran, the drummer yawns and closes his tired eyes, pressing a soft kiss to the shorter man’s head before allowing sleep to once again take him by the hand and lead him into his dreams of Pran and his cute dimples. It’s rare that Pat doesn’t dream of his boyfriend these days, whether it be about the days gone by or about the years to come, and he can’t help but wonder if Pran dreams about him as well — a question which he has asked Pran many times, but all he has gotten in response is one of the other boy’s cheeky smiles.

Sunlight is almost white in colour as it outlines the bedroom blinds the next time Pat opens his eyes, eyes squinting in the brightness as he peers at the digital alarm clock on Pran’s bedside cupboard, trying to read the glaringly red numbers. 09:23. Pat’s eyes widen in disbelief when he feels Pran groan in complaint at whatever move his boyfriend has made upon realising the time, the drummer looking down at the head now on his chest in shock, not able to comprehend that Pran — his punctual, schedule-driven boyfriend — is still curled up against him underneath the blankets at almost nine-thirty in the morning. The last time that Pran slept in past his usual seven-o’clock wake-up time, he had one of the worst fevers that Pat ever had the pleasure of being witness to, and Pat isn’t too fond of the idea that Pran has pushed himself into another burnout and made himself sick again.

Lightly resting the back of his hand against Pran’s forehead, Pat sighs out a breath of relief at the lack of fever, but cannot help the frown that follows, because now he has very little clue as to why Pran is still in bed. “Pran, you awake, baby?”

Pran grumbles out something unintelligible, reaching up and rubbing his eyes.

“I’ll take that as a ‘maybe,’ hm?”

“What time is it?” Pran lifts his head off Pat’s chest and partially sits up, looking over his shoulder at the digital alarm clock and huffing out a disbelieving laugh at the time. “Shit, is it really that late?”

Pat hums in affirmation, reaching up with sleepy hands and trying to smooth out his boyfriend’s messy bed hair, smiling when Pran’s eyes close at the simple contact. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Mmm, I’m okay, Pat. The sleep helped.” Pran lays back down and smiles sleepily up at Pat, seemingly unaware of the turmoil he’s created inside his boyfriend, still partially asleep and his brain not working at its usual capacity. “‘S warm and comfy…”

Pat laughs in disbelief, a strange smile twisting his lips and a warm feeling pooling in his chest. “I bet it helped a lot, Mister “I-wake-up-before-the-sun-even-on-my-days-off.” Seriously, Pran, you need more sleep than you’re letting yourself have. You’re not in Singapore anymore — you’re here, with your “clingy ass boyfriend” who can tell that you’re still pushing to prove yourself even after everything that you’ve achieved.”

“‘S break time?”

“You’re less of a, quite lovable mind you, pain in the ass when you’re sleepy. Did you know that?”

Pran grins. “So are you, love.”

Much to Pran’s thorough amusement and Pat’s complete disbelief, the architect and the engineer laze about in bed until their stomachs force them from the warmth and comfort at midday, Pran hiding his face in Pat’s chest as they both laugh at the rumbling growls demanding food. He finds it oddly difficult to leave the bed, and Pat, but Pran knows that their hunger needs to be satiated before they even consider curling back up and sleeping the rest of the day away — and the playful puppy whine that leaves Pat when Pran climbs off him genuinely leads Pran to reconsider just how much they really need food, if only for a split second. The things that he would do for the drummer, the guitarist wonders whether any part of him remains even remotely sane when it comes to his boyfriend.

For the sake of protecting himself from food splatters, Pran tugs on a shirt and pads out to the kitchen, rubbing his sleepy eyes and nearly stubbing his toe on the kitchen cupboard. The clock flicks over to twelve o’clock — to the middle of the day — just as Pran begins to cook up the minimally spiced curry he knows that Pat will devour like it’s going out of fashion. The simple smell of his favourite curry summons Pat from their bed, not bothering with a shirt as he sidles up behind Pran and wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s middle, softly nosing at the lightly painted skin of Pran’s neck with a small, proud smile. Pran hums softly, wholly content to be in Pat’s arms whilst he’s cooking, and leans back into Pat’s almost overwhelming body heat, feeling the taller man’s lips curl into a larger smile against his skin.

Pran hums one of the two songs he knows will make Pat flustered and even more clingy than usual, an echoing sensation burning in his gut as he once again sings his feelings into the light of day and Pat’s deeper pitched voice accompanies his only slightly higher pitched voice. “ฉันว่าฉันเพิ่งได้รู้คำตอบ ว่ารักของฉันคืออะไร มันเป็นแค่เรื่องเล็กๆ ที่ขาดไปไม่ได้.” (“I’ve now realised what my love is about. It’s something small that I just can’t live without.”)

Pat’s chest vibrates against Pran’s back as he continues the verse, and the song's composer can hear the smile in his boyfriend’s voice. “แค่เพลงรักหนึ่ง ที่เธอต้องฟังเอาเอง แค่เพียงเนื้อเพลงที่มันไม่มีอะไร แต่เธอและฉันก็เข้าใจความหมายที่ซ่อนในนั้น.” (“Just a love song that you need to listen to, just lyrics that are nothing new, but you and I know the meaning between the lines.”)

It’s their song, through and through. While he started writing it in a vain attempt at a new song for the Freshy Music Contest years ago, not long after Pat had crashed back into his life with an almost adorable level of clumsiness, Pran could never quite finish the harmony or the lyrics. That is, he couldn’t finish them until he and Pat started that god awful bet about who would fall in love first, and then he couldn’t stop the words from filling every bare inch of the page. Even though he has an inkling that Pat long since knew of Pran already loving the engineering student, and Pran now knows that Pat had loved him since they were kids as well — even if the boy didn’t realise it himself until that day in the music store — it doesn’t make thinking back on their bet any easier.

Torturous would be one way to describe it, but it was a level playing field that Pran was all too happy to use to his advantage and make sure that it would be Pat who confessed first. In reality, he’s still not certain as to who actually won their bet, but it’s really the least of his concerns now — especially since he has the big idiot clinging to him pretty much all day and all night, acting as though Pran is somehow going to be able to leave him alone again. The guitarist does suppose that it is a valid fear after everything they’ve been through over the years, because Pran has left him behind twice in their lives, even if he had no say in the first time he was shipped off to some ridiculous boarding school — and, hell, Pat even pushed for Pran to head to Singapore for the chance of getting a step ahead in his architecture career.

“You’re going to have to let me go if you want to eat,” Pran says, nudging Pat’s bare middle with his elbow, fondly rolling his eyes when his boyfriend whines in playful misery and continues to cling to him — in fact, Pran feels Pat tighten his arms around his middle. “Pat, I’m serious, you overgrown puppy. You can cuddle me later.”

Pran laughs as Pat lets out a pained noise, making it out to be as though Pran has asked the impossible of his clingy boyfriend, and, really, Pran is of half a mind to let their food burn and give Pat his full permission to hold on for as long as he would like to. But, in reality, the rumbling of their stomachs is becoming too much to ignore, and it’s a much safer bet to eat while they have the chance instead of ignoring their bodily needs for the sake of their emotional needs. Pat pouts for the entire meal, playing a one-sided game of footsie beneath the table that Pran tries his hardest to ignore, quashing down the smile that threatens to deepen his dimples and admit to Pat just how much Pran truly adores his boyfriend’s childish habits. It’s one of the habits that Pran is still struggling to break: hiding just how much Pat actually affects him, but Pran does suppose that it can be quite a useful habit at times.

The instant that Pran puts away the final dish, not even waiting for him to hang up the tea towel, Pat latches onto his boyfriend, burying his face into Pran’s neck and grinning as the guitarist shrieks in surprise and whacks Pat with the damp towel, berating him through bouts of laughter. Pran doesn’t bother putting up a fight as Pat drags him back to the bedroom, and he barely gets the chance to throw the tea towel onto the bench in the process, focusing on not treading on his boyfriend’s feet as he’s essentially manhandled through the house. He is far more used to Pat clinging to him and dragging him places now, so much so that Pran barely bats an eye and simply goes along with his puppy-like boyfriend, smiling adoringly at the bright glimmer in Pat’s eyes and the wide, playful grin on the drummer’s lips.

Pran yelps in surprise when Pat forces the shirt over his head and then throws it far away before Pran can complain about there being more clothes on the floor, adding to the small pile in the corner of the room — their quickly discarded clothes from last night. He laughs as Pat all but tackles him to the bed, inhaling loudly at Pran’s neck and his hands burning against the once again bare skin of Pran’s hips, Pat playfully nuzzling at his prize. Pran’s hands find themselves a home, one on the back of his boyfriend’s head and the other resting comfortably on Pat’s thigh, the guitarist’s calloused thumb dancing across where the leg hem of underwear meets warm skin.

Pran imagines that this must be what home — heaven — feels like, and the world be damned if he ever lets Pat get away from him ever again.

#bad buddy fanfic #patpran #cross posted on ao3

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dimplesandfierceeyes · 4 months

Note

Hello!! If u r still taking bad buddy prompts. How about bet era drunk Pran.

Hi Anons!

This was not completed as fast as I hoped it would be but I hope you both see this and enjoy it! This is very much unbeta'd so sorry for in advance for any mistakes or awkward phrasings!

You're A Goner (for me)

Pran never called, he always texted, so when Pat’s phone started ringing at 1am and the caller ID showed Khrab, A Friend he was understandably confused and a little concerned. He answered cautiously, wondering if he was going to hear the muted static of a butt dial, but instead Pran’s voice came immediately through the speaker.

“Where are you?”

“At home,” Pat replied slowly, still confused though now slightly worried he’d forgotten something. “Where are you?”

“Drunk,” Pran declared with aplomb. Pat snorted in surprise, a grin starting to spread over his features. “Come pick me up.”

“Drunk isn’t a place,” Pat pointed out, still grinning. “Where are you?”

“Ou'side Wai’s place, I walked him home but I don’t wanna walk back t' mine. ’M tired.” The last two words were said with a sigh. Pat laughed again.

“So you called your friend to come get you, huh?”

“Isn’ that wha' a friend would do?” Even drunk, Pran had that same pleased competitive tone in his voice at the insinuation of the bet. “I think a friend would come pick me up in his new car an’ take me to his place and then-...oops.” Pran’s voice went up at the end, light and delicate.

“What did you do?” Pat asked fondly, thoroughly entertained.

“Fell down th’ kerb,” Pran told him happily.

“Are you walking? I thought you were waiting for me to pick you up?”

“Oh, yeah...” Pat could practically hear the frown in his voice.

He chuckled. “Stay where you are, you drunkard, I’ll come and get you.”

“‘M not a drunkard,” Pran protested sulkily.

“Sure you’re not.”

Pat stayed on the phone for the whole drive, partly to make sure Pran didn’t go wandering off before he got there, but mostly because a drunk Pran was one of the best things Pat had come across in his entire life. When he arrived, Pran was sitting on the steps of the apartment block, tilted back on his hands with his phone on the step beside him.

Pat came to a stop and wound down the window.

"Go 'way, 'm waiting for someone." Pran declared, squinting irritably at the car.

"Yeah, me, dumbass," Pat replied fondly. "Get in before Wai sees me parked here."

"Did you change your car?" Pran asked suspiciously, still squinting, though he did at least start pushing himself up to standing. It was a laborious process for him.

"No, it's the same car; you're just too drunk to see straight." Pat chuckled.

"Am not." Pran was finally upright and began walking surprisingly well towards the car.

"Your phone, Pran."

"Huh?"

"You left your phone." Pat held in the urge to laugh, a grin wide and broad on his face as he watched Pran turn back in surprise.

"Oh!" Pran exclaimed, the vowel elongated and wondrous. "Lemme get it."

"That's the idea, yeah," Pat chuckled again.

Pran finally made it to the car a few minutes later, flinging open the door with enough gusto to make Pat wince before climbing inside. He grinned as plonked down in the seat.

"Hi."

"Hi," Pat replied, grinning back.

"You actually came t' pick me up," Pran crowed. "You're soooo…" he paused, a frown on his face as he thought of the word. "Whipped!"

Laughter burst out of Pat, incredulous and surprised.

Pran looked delighted with himself, trying to squeeze his phone into his pocket and failed. Pat took it off him and put it in one of the holes between them.

"Hey!"

"Just put your seatbelt on, drunkard."

"'M not a drunkard." Pran repeated but he did start pulling the seatbelt over.

It was all going well right up until he reached the buckle and couldn't get it aimed right to fit it in. Pat watched him struggle for a moment, amused, before taking over himself.

"See!" Pran sat back, looking satisfied. "You're a-a thing, the thing… simp."

Pat laughed again. "Friends can help drunk friends with seatbelts."

Pran pouted, brow furrowing as he apparently realised his point had been beaten. “‘M not drunk,” he muttered instead.

Pat smiled indulgently at him before leaning forward to poke one sulky dimple. Pran ducked backwards, squawking in outrage. Pat ignored the outburst, twisting back to face the front so he could check his mirrors before signalling to pull out. He dropped his hand down to the handbrake but was surprised by Pran’s hand suddenly smacking into his own. Looking down, he realised Pran was trying to intertwine their fingers.

“Pran, I can’t hold your hand—I’m driving,” he pointed out with laughter bubbling up in his voice.

“I’m not trying to hold your hand!” Pran immediately protested, hand pulling back. “I was just… just… trying to steady myself. I was dizzy.” The words were over-earnest and over-annoyed like he was covering up his embarrassment.

Pat caught the hand he’d jerked away and guided it to his wrist. Pran stubbornly didn’t move so Pat encircled the hand around his wrist himself.

“Okay, you steady yourself, then.” He smiled and patted the hand gently before letting go.

“Maybe I don’t wanna steady myself now,” Pran grumbled, but he did not actually remove his hand.

He was really too cute like this. Pat couldn’t wait for Pran’s bright red embarrassment in the morning; he was going to enjoy himself so much.

#I had more planned for this but alas I just don't seem to have the time or mental space for writing at the moment #still #a little clingy drunk bet era pran is better than no clingy drunk bet era pran #right?#bad buddy #bad buddy fanfic #kayla writes #patpran

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