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Honestly, Thame is in heaven. He’s laying on the deck of a boat soaking in the late afternoon sun, the only sounds the light slaps of the waves against the hull of the boat, and he’s the happiest he’s been in ages.
“Thame, you’re going to burn.”
Thame squints up at the shape of Po leaning over him with a wide-brimmed hat on his head and bottle of sunscreen in his hand.
“If you turn up to the shoot tomorrow resembling a tomato, who do you think they’re going to blame?” Po continues, squeezing out a healthy dollop of sunscreen into his palm. “Sit up, let me get your shoulders again.”
Thame sits up and turns to face the ocean. He hisses as the cold sunscreen makes contact with his admittedly too warm skin and hears Po tut behind him. “P’Po, this was my idea. Why would they blame you?”
“Because, I’m not the rockstar they requested, I’m just the hired help. If they’re going to blame anyone for you playing hooky and getting a second-degree sunburn in the process, it’s gonna be me.”
Po’s hands massage the cream into Thame’s shoulders and upper back, and Thame finds himself melting under the touch.
“Mhm,” he hums, letting his head drop down as Po moves his hands over his biceps.
Po tuts again. “Turn this way,” he says, and Thame sluggishly responds, twisting to lean back against the side of the boat. “You sound so remorseful, Khun Thame.” There’s a small smile playing at the corner of Po’s mouth, and Thame knows he isn’t actually in trouble.
“How could I be remorseful when this is my view, P’Po?” Thame asks, resting his hands on Po’s hips.
“The ocean is that way, you dork.”
“I’m not talking about the ocean,” Thame murmurs.
A flush that can in no way be blamed on the sun lights up Po’s face and his hands falter on Thame’s collarbones.
“You can’t just say things like that,” Po says, blush spreading down his chest.
“Would you prefer I act on them, then?”
Po doesn’t get a chance to answer before Thame is pulling him into his lap, Po’s legs straddling Thame’s thighs. Po’s skin is warm to the touch, and soft where it disappears under his swimtrunks.
“Is this better, Phi?”
Po nods, seemingly at a loss for words.
“You were making sure I don’t get burnt, remember?” Thame prompts, taking one of Po’s hands in his and guiding it to his chest. “Carry on, Phi. I’ll sit still for you.”
Po swallows hard and continues slathering Thame’s chest in sunscreen, rubbing it in until the white cast disappears. Thame does his best to act unbothered by Po’s hands on him, but the further down Thame’s torso Po gets, the harder that act—and other things—become.
“Maybe we should move inside,” Po suggests, voice hoarse. “To stay out of the sun.”
“A great idea,” Thame agrees, and gladly lets Po pull him into the small cabin.