Chapter 1: Shifting Games
The hum of the office server room was a dull lullaby to Pheem as he leaned back in his chair, glasses glinting under the fluorescent lights. His sharp jawline tightened as he scrolled through lines of code, but his mind was elsewhere—on Jira, the elusive artist who’d been dodging his charm for weeks. It had started as a thrill, a challenge to pry the cute, sexy little guy away from Koh, the brooding Tycoon who seemed to have Jira wrapped around his finger. But now? Now, Pheem was bored.
His gaze drifted to Mawin, his best friend, who was perched on the edge of a desk across the room, sketching something in a notebook. Mawin’s shoulder-length black hair fell in soft waves, framing his pretty face and those full, distracting lips. His big doe eyes flicked up, catching Pheem staring, and a blush crept across his cheeks. Pheem smirked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Caught you doodling me again, huh?” Pheem teased, his voice low and smooth as he stood, stretching his tall, athletic frame. His shirt pulled tight against his chest, and he didn’t miss the way Mawin’s eyes lingered.
Mawin scoffed, snapping his notebook shut. “In your dreams, Pheem. I’ve got better things to draw than your inflated ego.” His tone was sharp, but the flush on his face betrayed him.
Pheem sauntered over, leaning down so their faces were inches apart. He could smell the faint citrus of Mawin’s shampoo, and it stirred something in him—something he wasn’t ready to name. “Oh, come on, Win. You’ve been eye-fucking me for years. Don’t pretend now.”
Mawin’s eyes narrowed, but his breath hitched. “You’re such an ass. Maybe I just pity you, chasing after Jira like a lost puppy when he clearly doesn’t give a damn.”
Pheem chuckled, the sound dark and dangerous. “Maybe I’m done chasing. Maybe I’ve got my sights on something… closer.” He let the words hang, heavy with intent, as his gaze dropped to Mawin’s lips.
Mawin swallowed hard, his bravado faltering for a split second before he fired back. “Careful, Pheem. I’m not one of your little games. You might get burned playing with me.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Pheem murmured, his voice a velvet threat. He straightened, but not before brushing a stray lock of hair from Mawin’s face, his fingers lingering just a moment too long. The air between them crackled, charged with unspoken tension.
Mawin stood abruptly, shoving his notebook into his bag. “I’ve got work to do. Try not to trip over your own charm on your way out.” But as he turned to leave, Pheem caught his wrist, pulling him back just enough to feel the heat radiating between them.
“Running already?” Pheem’s grin was predatory. “Stick around, Win. I’ve got a feeling things are about to get… hard.”
Mawin yanked his wrist free, but his eyes burned with a mix of defiance and something hotter, something that made Pheem’s pulse race. “Keep dreaming, asshole. I’m not that easy.”
As Mawin stormed out, Pheem watched him go, his smirk fading into something softer, something he’d never admit. Mawin wasn’t just a game. He was the only one who ever got under Pheem’s skin. And tonight, in the quiet of his apartment, Pheem knew he’d be thinking about those full lips, that fiery attitude, and how bad he wanted to see Mawin panting, sweating, and dripping under him. The thought alone had him hard already, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could resist crossing that line.
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