SUITS AND SWEATS, sunsetxvibes

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandoms: เพียงชลาลัย | SunsetxVibes (TV)

Categories: M/M

Relationships: Sam/Yotha (SunsetxVibes)

Characters: Sam (SunsetxVibes), Yotha (SunsetxVibes

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Set During SunsetxVibes Episode 11, FIRST SAMYOTHA FIC ON AO3 WTF, Mild Smut

Summary: Sam and Yotha get a little...frisky on the couch in Sam's office when Yotha brings him dinner. a.k.a. Sam has Yotha for dinner instead.

Notes, at the beginning: Welcome to the fic that has been bouncing around in my head for weeks — ever since this damn show started airing.

𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑠 — 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑡𝑥𝑣𝑖𝑏𝑒𝑠

𝑠𝑎𝑚 𝑥 𝑦𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑎

     Dinner grows cold upon the coffee table in Sam's office, long forgotten for the slide of sweaty skin against the faux leather couch, for the long and lingering kisses upon pouty red lips, for the tingling touch of trembling hands against gently reddened skin. Yotha feels confident in saying that he feels as though he is drowning beneath the confident touches, so gentle and begging at the same time; desperate to feel all that they can before he fades away like a fictitious dream that Sam fears to wake from. And, oh, how Yotha fears much the same... 

     If he were to wake now, with the feeling of Sam's foul and sinful lips upon his almost feverish skin, and his hands tangled into Sam's hair free of its usual half up-half down style, Yotha is sure that he would scream. His dreams have never been so vivid as this reality, wildly paling in comparison to the honest truth, and he is damn near certain that he'll be riding this high for weeks to come. But there's a niggling feeling in the darkness at the back of his mind, mocking and telling him that he's having a wild fever dream, and he hates it more than anything.

     "Yo..." Sam's smooth voice is roughened with raw need and desire in calling out Yotha's name, making his faen shiver and moan softly. Gentle hands lay against his jaw, a thumb brushing against swollen lips that part automatically at the small touch, and Yotha looks at Sam through heavy eyes. "Stay with me... Get out of that head of yours."

     Sam is pretty, so very pretty.

     That's the first thing Yotha noticed about the older boy when they first met a few months ago, and he's taken every little chance that he could to just simply look at Sam. The delicate line of his jaw, but so sharp and well defined that Yotha fears he will cut his finger upon its edge one day... The small curve of his not too thin nor not too fluffy eyebrows below the dark mess of his hair when he used to wear it out... The child-like innocence in his round eyes, so soft and alluring, making Yotha feel as though he will drown if he stares too long into their darkness... Yotha now understands that he had no hope of escaping Sam's clutches from that very first day, he just took the long way around to accepting it.

     Sam's gentle hands drop to his waist, fiddling with Yotha's buckled belt. "Yo... Do you want to stop?"

     Alarmed and wide-eyed, Yotha shakes his head and reaches out to draw Sam back into his space, kissing him oh so gently, an involuntary whimper escaping Yotha's throat at the thought of Sam leaving him in such a vulnerable and desperate state. There's a little quirk to Sam's lips in the kiss, a gentle breath of soft and endearing laughter that warms Yotha's stomach, and he knows that Sam can taste the desperation upon his faen's lips and tongue; can feel it pouring out of his skin. Cool hands push up the bottom of Yotha's red and white striped sweater, Sam's fingertips jittery against Yotha's ribcage as the latter lifts his arms to strip off the offending material.

     The plastic identification on Yotha's lanyard slaps against his stomach and he jerks at the sudden cool temperature and the little thump that sounds, laughing at his reaction when Sam raises an amused eyebrow, the curve of a smile upon his pink lips. Sweater discarded along with Sam's suit jacket and button up shirt on the pristine floor of the office, Yotha's bare back presses to the faux leather of the couch, Sam's slight weight upon him, and his swollen red lips claimed once more in a kiss more daring than the last. His hands slide against Sam's back, nails scraping none too gently when Sam's lithe fingers unbuckle Yotha's belt and undo his pants, slipping inside.

     "P'Sam..."

     Sam jerks at the honorific and sucks in a sharp breath, staring down at Yotha with darker eyes than before. Earlier, he had been teasing Yotha about calling him "P'Sam," but that's all it had been: teasing. To have Yotha half-naked beneath him, calling out Sam's name like this... Oh, it makes some wires cross inside his lust-filled brain, and Sam isn't entirely sure whether the shuddery feeling that zips through his body like electricity should be happening with the sweet and pleading way Yotha calls him "P'Sam" again and again, fingers scratching against his shoulder blades.

     "N'Yotha," Sam tries, hoping that his voice doesn't shake; doesn't betray the burning chaos swimming around in his head. He wants — needs — Yotha to keep calling him that. "My faen, N'Yotha..."

     "Oh, fuck..."

     Yotha trembles beneath Sam's hands, eyes rolling shut and his hips jerking, a low and drawn-out moan leaving his gasping lips, panting hotly against Sam's own parted lips, nails biting painfully into Sam's upper back as he clings. Knees spasm on either side of Sam's small waist, one hitting the back of the faux leather couch and the other pressing against Sam's side, the muscles in Yotha's thighs quaking and trembling as Sam strokes him through his orgasm, cum soaking into his underwear and dampening Sam's hand. Twitching in overstimulation a few moments later, one of Yotha's hands slips down to slap away Sam's, laughing softly at the playful pout upon his faen's swollen pink lips. Darting down, Sam presses ticklish sniff kisses to Yotha's sweaty neck and red-littered chest, heart swelling as his faen giggles and playfully slaps at his shoulders, not really wanting him to stop.

     Yotha thought Sam was pretty when they first met, and Sam has always thought much the same. But, right now, Sam knows that he has never seen Yotha look more beautiful, covered in sweat upon the faux leather couch of his office at Soul, a blissed-out expression painted upon his face. Sam barely got his hands on Yotha and his faen looks as though he has found another plane of existence, so it makes him shiver, the thought of what Yotha will look like when Sam...

     Groaning, Sam presses the length of his body against Yotha's and buries his face against the younger boy's sweaty neck, panting wetly. "You're perfect, Yo..."

     One of Yotha's hands sneaks between their bodies and finds the aching, throbbing tent in Sam's own underwear, laughing smugly when the man gasps and jerks his hips down into Yotha's hand. "Let's test that theory, P'Sam..."

     Sam quickly finds himself sprawled out on his back on the other end of the couch, Yotha kneeling between his slacks-clad legs, hands working at pulling down both Sam's pants and underwear. Hips lifting to assist, he sucks in a sharp breath at the cool faux leather against unacclimatised bare skin, but that's the least of his worries when Yotha moves forward and coaxes Sam into a kiss. He swears that he doesn't whine when Yotha separates them moments later, sharp gasps leaving his lips as the younger boy kisses his way down Sam's body, pausing a moment to scrape his teeth against a nipple before sucking gently.

     Cursing loudly, Sam's hands yank at Yotha's hair, his hips jumping off the couch, head spinning wildly and hanging over the arm of the couch, neck tendons taut. Yotha laughs against Sam's chest and continues his way down, down, down to his twitching hips, and Sam swears that he sees stars at the sensation of wet, hot breath against his skin. When Yotha teasingly calls him "P'Sam" one more time before he does anything further, Sam doesn't have the chance to warn his faen when lips whisper across the tip. His fuse is so very short right now, so pent up from holding back wanting to pin Yotha down, so it's no surprise that Sam spills over that instant, hands leaving Yotha's head so that he can pull back if he wants to.

     "Holy fuck!"

     Yotha doesn't pull back, much to Sam's surprise, but Sam also fights to keep his hips as still as he can possibly manage, not wanting to choke Yotha. Head reeling and his chest heaving, Sam drowsily sinks back into the comfort of the couch, vaguely aware of Yotha pulling his pants back up before carefully laying his weight atop Sam's trembling body. Floating along the high, Sam pulls Yotha close, crushing himself beneath his faen's comforting weight, and kisses him gently, uncaring of the taste of himself mixed with that of simply Yotha. If anything, it makes him shiver in delight, knowing that Yotha is his; that Yotha, in a way, smells and tastes like him.

     "You're so pretty, it's unfair," Yotha playfully complains against Sam's cheek, the pout so clear in his voice that it makes Sam laugh. "Don't laugh at me, ai'sat!"

     Sam hums, still amused. "You're cute."

     "I'm not freaking cute, Sam."

     "Yes you are, Yo."