Unclaimed Things

Mek sipped his iced Americano like it was a shield, one leg crossed, sunglasses low over his nose. They sat outside a café near Silom, where the traffic noise and clatter of city life created enough chaos to drown out anything scandalous. Still, his throat tightened before he said it.

"So… I kind of agreed to be someone's bedfriend."

Peach choked on her boba. "You WHAT?"

"I said..."

"Oh no, babe, I heard you," she said, wiping her mouth. "I'm just giving your words the dramatic gasp they deserve. Who, when, where, and does he have a brother?"

Mek looked away, chewing the straw between his teeth. "Remember rooftop guy? The one in the black suit?"

Peach's mouth dropped open. "No. No! Mek! The mysterious Mafia-looking dude? You didn't just do him… you're doing him?"

"Not doing," Mek corrected, then hesitated. "Okay, yes, doing, but also not dating. He just asked."

"Asked what?"

"For an arrangement."

Peach blinked. "Like… money?"

Mek didn't answer right away.

Peach leaned in. "Wait. Are you being paid?"

His ears burned. "He left money after the last time."

"Oh my god." She leaned back in her seat like she needed oxygen. "Okay, two things. First: that's hot. Second: are you okay with it?"

Mek took a long sip of his drink, letting the bitter coffee cool the heat in his chest. "I told myself it's just physical. He's not asking for more. He doesn't even try to flirt. It's clean."

Peach raised a brow. "And you think that's a good thing?"

"I don't know what I think." He sighed, finally taking off his sunglasses. "It's not just sex. It's the way he looks at me. Like he sees every flaw and still wants to ruin me anyway."

Peach clicked her tongue. "Sounds like a toxic novel waiting to happen."

"There's more," Mek said, lowering his voice. "He's into intense stuff."

"Like?"

Mek blushed. "Chains. Toys. Impact play. Restraints. And when I said I'd never done that before, he looked at me like I was a blank page he wanted to write a whole war on."

Peach blinked slowly. "I repeat. Are. You. Okay?"

"I think I'm more curious than scared. But also..."

"Also what?"

Mek looked down. "I'm an omega."

"Okay, yeah, we know that."

"No, I mean...I'm an omega. No blockers. No suppressants. I was too lazy to refill last month and now I'm behind. If he goes all Enigma and doesn't use protection, I could.."

"Get pregnant."

He nodded. "I don't think he even cares."

Peach leaned over and grabbed his hand. "Babe, if you're doing this, protect yourself. Emotionally. Physically. Because even if he makes you feel like fire don't forget that burns leave scars."

Mek smiled weakly. "You're right."

"I know."

"And I still think I'm going to see him tonight."

Peach groaned.

That Night at the Hotel Suite.

The room was cold. Dimly lit. And silent when Mek stepped inside.

He didn't knock. He'd been given a card, a key, and a time. That was all Phayu ever offered. No soft messages. No preamble. Just a room and the expectation that he'd arrive.

And Mek had.

His breath caught when he saw the man leaning against the table, sleeves rolled, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the cross of old scars and sculpted collarbones. He looked like sin waiting to happen.

"You came," Phayu said, not turning.

"You invited," Mek replied, stepping closer.

Phayu finally faced him. "Take your clothes off."

Mek's pulse jumped. "Right now?"

"Yes."

There was no warmth in his tone. No mockery either. Just control.

Mek stripped slowly. The city lights outside threw gold across his skin as he peeled off each layer, revealing his lean body, still marked faintly from their first night.

Phayu walked closer, circled him like a wolf. His fingers brushed Mek's lower back. "You didn't wear a blocker."

"No."

"And you're still here."

"Yes."

Phayu reached into the drawer and pulled out a black velvet pouch.

When he opened it, Mek's breath stilled.

Inside: silk rope, cuffs, a spreader bar, and something sleek and silver that looked like it vibrated.

"You said you wanted to know what I like," Phayu said calmly.

Mek's mouth went dry. "I thought you'd use a blindfold first."

Phayu smirked. "That comes later."

The moment Mek's wrists were cuffed, something inside him shifted.

It wasn't fear but was surrender.

The silk cuffs were cool against his skin, and Phayu's touch was clinical, almost distant, as he locked each one with effortless grace. He handled Mek like something precious and dangerous at once. There was no rush, no sloppy hunger. Just cold control.

Phayu stepped back to admire his work.

Mek stood naked and cuffed, wrists bound in front of him, ankles strapped apart with the slim, silver bar Phayu had produced from that velvet pouch. It spread him slightly, just enough to rob him of balance, just enough to make him feel vulnerable.

And desired.

"I haven't done this before," Mek murmured.

"I know."

Phayu circled him again. "That's why I'm going slow."

Mek's breath trembled as he whispered, "This is slow?"

"You'll know when it's not."

Then Phayu pressed forward, grabbing Mek by the jaw and kissing him. It was slow, like he said, but gentle like the promise of what would follow. Mek moaned, already straining against the restraints, already melting under every scrape of teeth and hand.

The next hour blurred into sensations.

Leather against skin. Whispers into flesh. The sharp slap of palm meeting his thigh and the sudden softness of a kiss just above his hip. The ropes held him without pain only reminder. A reminder that he'd given up control. And the man who now owned it wasn't cruel but he was relentless.

Phayu didn't stop until Mek was shaking.

Begging.

Sweating and breathless.

And when he finally took him carefully, protectively, thoroughly,Mek realized something terrifying.

He liked it.

He liked the surrender. The bruises. The blindfold Phayu slid over his eyes near the end. He liked being seen without being watched.

And he liked Phayu's voice when it broke for a second, low and guttural, whispering:

"Good omega. Mine tonight."

After, Mek lay there panting, the cuffs off, the spreader bar tossed aside.

His head rested on Phayu's chest, though the man hadn't told him to move there.

Silence stretched between them like an aftershock.

Phayu didn't cuddle. He didn't say sweet things. But he let Mek stay, fingers lazily trailing along his shoulder.

Mek was the first to speak.

"I could get pregnant."

"I know," Phayu said simply.

"No protection."

"I know," he repeated.

"And you don't care?"

Phayu's hand stilled. "If you get pregnant, you'll be taken care of."

"That's not the point."

"It's mine."

Mek lifted his head slowly. "So you're fine with the risk?"

Phayu's eyes locked on his. "I don't take risks I can't manage."

The words were cold, yet comforting in a twisted way.

Mek didn't respond.

He stood slowly, dressing with quiet movements, tension stretched thin across his back.

Just as he was about to grab his phone, he noticed something on the nightstand.

A small envelope. Black again.

Inside:100,000 baht in neat, crisp notes.

Mek froze.

He turned, eyes wide. "What's this?"

Phayu didn't even blink. "Payment."

"For what?"

"For your time."

"You think I'm a prostitute?"

"No," Phayu said. "I think you're someone who deserves to be compensated for what you give."

Mek felt heat crawl up his spine.

It wasn't the insult, it was the honesty.

He clutched the envelope, hands trembling. "So this is how it is, then? I give. You take. And I leave with cash."

"Yes," Phayu said calmly. "Unless you want something else."

Mek stared at him.

Phayu stared back.

And neither of them said a word.

Mek stood by the bed, the envelope still in his hands, eyes locked with Phayu's.

The air between them was thick neither warm nor cold. Just heavy. Unreadable. And Mek hated that it made his heart feel this unstable.

"You really think I'm the kind of person who needs to be paid for this?"

Phayu's jaw tightened slightly. "You let me tie you up, restrain you, and bruise you for an hour without flinching. You didn't even ask for a safe word."

"That doesn't mean I wanted money."

"You endured more than most Omegas could handle," Phayu said evenly, stepping closer. "You begged for more. You didn't cry. You didn't complain. I've had trained submissives tap out for less."

Mek's face heated with a mix of shame and something that dangerously felt like pride. He clenched the envelope in his hand.

"Did that… impress you?" he asked, trying to sound disinterested.

Phayu's gaze lingered on his wrist where faint red marks remained from the cuffs.

"I thought you'd break," Phayu admitted. "You didn't. That surprised me."

Mek turned his back to him, blinking fast. "Well, surprise."

He walked toward the bathroom to clean up, needing a few seconds to breathe, to not drown in what he was feeling. But just before he closed the door, Phayu's voice stopped him.

"I meant it as respect."

Mek didn't reply. Just shut the door.

The water was hot again, almost too hot, but Mek didn't care.

He braced his hands against the tile and let it run down his back, eyes closed. His mind whirled spinning between sensation and emotion, between what he'd just done and what he wanted to believe it meant.

It was supposed to be just sex.

But the way Phayu looked at him afterward,the tension in his voice, the surprise Mek had never seen that kind of reaction from him. He wasn't used to being underestimated, sure, but being acknowledged for enduring pain? That was new. And twistedly, it made Mek feel... seen.

And that scared him more than the ropes had.

He walked out of the bathroom freshly dressed, hair still damp, envelope in hand.

Phayu was at the minibar, pouring a drink.

"I'm leaving," Mek said flatly.

Phayu turned to face him. "I'll have my driver take you home."

"I can manage myself."

They stood there for a moment, neither looking away.

"You don't have to do this again," Phayu said quietly, almost gently. "You proved your point."

Mek stared at him. "Did I?"

Phayu's silence said enough.

With a final glance, Mek turned and walked out, heels echoing on the marble floor.

The Next Morning

"You what?" Peach's spoon dropped into her cereal with a dramatic splash.

Mek lay sprawled on her couch in a loose shirt and boxers, holding her stuffed duck like a stress toy. "I didn't cry. That's the whole point. I didn't break."

"That's not the point, babe!" Peach groaned, climbing onto the couch beside him. "You let a literal enigma dom tie you up and go full BDSM on you without a safeword? Do you know how dangerous that is?"

"I trusted him."

Peach gave him a look. "Did you?"

Mek hesitated. "..No. But I wanted to."

She sighed. "What happened after?"

"He paid me."

Peach blinked. "Wait… again?"

"100k."

She whistled. "Damn."

"I feel like shit," Mek whispered. "But also… I feel like I took back control somehow. I didn't do it for the money, but I also didn't refuse it. I just accepted it. Is that messed up?"

Peach looked at him for a long time. "No," she said softly. "That's survival."

Mek leaned his head against her shoulder. "He said I surprised him."

"You surprise everyone."

Mek smiled faintly.

Later That Day – Akkaraj Family Estate

The Akkaraj estate was a palace disguised as a house dark marble floors, carved wooden columns, and guards that blended into the shadows.

Phayu sat alone at the long dining table, sipping coffee, dressed sharp in a dark gray suit. Across from him, his mother and father sat like a royal council.

"Your father and I are worried," his mother began.

Phayu didn't respond.

"You're thirty-four," his father said. "You've refused every arranged match. You barely socialize with the inner circle. People are starting to question."

Phayu stirred his coffee once. "Let them question."

"You know what this means for the family," his mother said sharply. "The Enigma circles need stability. You're not just a businessman you're a symbol."

"I'm not interested in symbols."

"Then be interested in duty," his father snapped. "Every heir has had a bond. You're the only one walking around like a monk in a suit."

Phayu's lips twitched. "Hardly a monk."

His mother leaned in. "You don't need to fall in love. But you do need to choose an omega. Someone to bring to the gala next month. Someone who can represent the Akkaraj name beside you."

"I don't do trophies."

"Then find someone real. Someone who won't embarrass the family."

Phayu's jaw tightened.

His father narrowed his eyes. "You have two weeks."

Phayu stood without another word, walked out of the dining room, and disappeared into the study.

He poured himself another drink, stared out the tall glass windows, and thought of only one face.

Wide brown eyes.

Red wrists.

A voice that said, "Then ruin me."

And for the first time in years, Phayu felt something unfamiliar gnawing at his certainty.

Doubt.