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Porsche goes to sleep with the taste of Kinn in his mouth.

After the door had clicked shut behind Kinn, Porsche had taken hold of his achingly oversensitive, hurting cock and made himself come, so desperate for it that tears had leaked freely from the corners of his eyes, and he’d had to shove his fist into his mouth to keep from screaming. He’d been so exhausted by his second orgasm, so mentally wrought out by the exhilarating horror of what Kinn had done to him, that he’d collapsed into the bed once it was over, and passed the fuck out.

The consequence of the lingering taste is, of course, that Porsche dreams of it all night long. He dreams of Kinn’s body and his hands and his face and his cock. He dreams of being pushed, pulled, held down and torn apart. He dreams of pleasure, and of pain. He dreams of being owned. Possessed. 

Wanted. 

When he wakes, it is with Kinn’s name whispered on his lips, and Kinn’s taste thick on his tongue.

He’s hard. There’s a little puddle of precome pooling in the hollow of his belly, because his stupid cock is so fucking hard it’s leaking. Porsche bites his lip as he adjusts his hips, and he can’t help but remember the sensation of the tip of Kinn’s cock kissing the place where his teeth are now buried. 

Porsche wishes he could hate Kinn. The humiliation of knowing that he’s swallowed come without ever even having sucked a cock burns Porsche, the most confusing kind of shame. Knowing that Kinn has staked his claim of ownership, like a dog marking his territory, makes Porsche feel like screaming.

“Your life is mine,” Kinn had told him, when he’d first entered into his service. 

It had never felt like the truth; Porsche belonged to himself. Until the moment that Kinn’s come had coated his tongue.

Porsche wishes he could hate Kinn, but deep down, under the simmering burn of his shame, he can’t quite bring himself to. Because Porsche knows that he had pushed Kinn into it. He had brought that couple back to Kinn’s hotel because he had wanted Kinn to hear it. He’d wanted Kinn to know that Porsche was letting a man into his bed, and it wasn’t Kinn. He had wanted to make Kinn feel the same way Porsche always felt whenever one of his boytoys came over. He had wanted Kinn’s anger. He had wanted Kinn’s jealousy. Could he really be surprised that he had gotten it?

It was only what he had asked for.

“Your body knows who it belongs to,” Kinn had hissed last night.

Porsche reaches down and takes a hold of his cock without opening his eyes. If he keeps them closed, he can pretend that it’s still just a dream. If he keeps them closed, he doesn’t have to acknowledge that he’s going to make himself come with the memory of Kinn burning across his senses.

After a quick punch of an orgasm that leaves him breathless, he lies there for a long time. When he finally plucks up the courage to open his eyes, all he can bring himself to do is stare at the ceiling for a great deal longer. Eventually, he looks down. There are fresh streaks of come marking his chest and torso, along with dried tracks that are flaking off of his skin from last night. It’s itchy, between his cheeks, where the man had come. He feels soiled. Used. Like a whore.

“Dirty fucking whore,” Kinn had called him. “Desperate slut.”

Porsche closes his eyes again, and shivers.

Eventually, his alarm goes off. It shatters the silence like a gunshot, making him flinch as he rolls to turn it off. It feels like all night Porsche has been locked inside a dream, and the piercing shrill of the alarm has opened the door, and finally let reality back in. Reality, where Kinn is his boss. Where Porsche is Kinn’s bodyguard. Where Kinn has no idea that Porsche has been awake to experience what he does to him in the night.

Porsche makes it into the bathroom, after he can delay it no longer. He stares at himself in the mirror for a long time, while he waits for the shower to heat up. He feels… different. Changed, somehow. Like he doesn’t completely know himself anymore. Like he went to sleep Porsche, and woke up… someone else. He reaches up and touches his bottom lip, watching in the glass as his reflection does the same. He pulls it down, retracing what Kinn had done to him last night. 

He was someone who had swallowed Kinn’s come.

He was someone who had liked it.

He stands under the scalding, too-hot spray for strictly longer than necessary. He presses his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, squeezes his eyes shut so tight that spots dance behind his eyelids, and just stands there, letting the boiling water wash away the dried come and lube that defiles his body, letting the evidence of what had been done to him disappear down the drain. After a while, he tips his head back and opens his mouth, letting the hot water fill it up, and wash the lingering taste of Kinn away.

A pounding at his bedroom door startles him.

“Porsche!” Kinn’s stern voice calls. “We’re leaving in twenty minutes!”

Porsche’s hands curl into fists. He presses them to the wall, fighting with the urge to draw his arm back and smash it into the tiles.

“Porsche!”

Like a dog being called to heel. Like a puppet being pulled on a string. Porsche does not belong to himself. Not anymore.

“Porsche, I will break down this door!”

“Ok!” Porsche snaps, his lip curling back over his teeth. “I heard you the first time!”

There is no reply.

Porsche turns off the scalding shower. He stands there for a moment longer, letting droplets of water trickle down his body and drip off the ends of his hair, before he finally gets out and reaches for a towel.

He doesn’t look at his reflection again, as he dries and dresses himself in his uniform. He isn’t sure he wants to see the man who will look back.

***

“I trust you had an enjoyable night.”

Porsche twitches with the urge to curl his hands into fists. Instead, he crosses his leg, laces his fingers, and places them atop his knee. He looks at Kinn, sitting across from him with his own legs spread as wide as they can go in the narrow airplane seats. Kinn has a tablet in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other, and his eyes are locked on his screen, but Porsche can tell that Kinn isn’t really looking at it. His attention is firmly fixed on Porsche.

“Yes,” Porsche says. He forces his lips up into a smile. “It was great, thanks.”

The corner of Kinn’s eye twitches. He abandons the pretense of looking at his tablet, and sets the device on the table to the side as he finally raises his gaze to Porsche. The depths of his cold, dark eyes are as unreadable as ever. 

“If you’re going to behave like a whore, then I’ll fucking treat you like one.”

“Good,” Kinn says, tone neutral. “I thought I heard some noises, around one o’clock.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “What could that have been, I wonder?”

Porsche swallows thickly. His heart starts to beat a little faster in his chest, and his palms suddenly feel clammy and damp. He keeps his expression carefully blank, however. He refuses to give Kinn the satisfaction of his reaction.

“Bumped a few walls on my way to bed,” Porsche says smoothly. “Sorry if I woke you.”

Kinn looks at him. He just sits there and fucking looks at him. His eyes track Porsche’s every twitch like they’re searching for something, but Porsche can’t read a single thing from his expression, from the relaxed lines of his body. It’s maddening.

It feels like they’re playing a game, a sick, twisted fucking game, where they’re both pretending to be ignorant to the other’s transgressions. It feels dangerous. It makes Porsche’s stomach twist itself up in knots. It makes his cheeks feel inexplicably hot. 

“I’m a light sleeper,” Kinn admits. There is an unsettling glimmer in his eyes. “It doesn’t take much to wake me up.”

Slowly, Porsche smiles at Kinn, something vaguely nasty. It feels like his heart is in his throat as he opens his mouth and says; “I know.” He cocks his head. “So am I.”

Something flashes in Kinn’s eyes. It is only there for a moment, gone in an instant, schooled back into something like apathy, but Porsche knows he hadn’t imagined it. He recognises it for what it was; vulnerability.

Fear.

The whole universe narrows down, like tunnel vision setting in. Suddenly, everything outside the cabin of Kinn’s private jet ceases to exist. They inhabit their own world, the fucked up world of Porsche and Kinn, where nothing matters but the twisted little game they’re playing. Porsche has made his move; now it’s Kinn turn.

Kinn searches his face, the subtle shifting of his eyes the only movement he makes. It feels, again, like he’s looking for something. Then, he sits back in his chair, and favors Porsche with a wry smile.

“Naturally,” he says. “It would be concerning if my head bodyguard slept like the dead. Who knows what could happen in the middle of the night?”

“Good boy,” Kinn had drawled, as he had massaged his come down Porsche’s throat. “Every last drop.”

Porsche can no longer meet Kinn’s eyes. He wrenches his gaze away, letting it land on the window where he can pretend to be watching the clouds pass by. He sets his jaw hard and feels his fingertips dig into the flesh around his kneecap. 

He tries to find something to say, a quippy retort that will put Kinn back on the defensive, but all Porsche’s wit deserts him. He’s left feeling inexplicably tired, all of a sudden. The weight of this insidious game has depleted him. 

“My next trip is in three weeks,” Kinn says. “I’ll expect you to accompany me again.”

Porsche jerks his head in a stiff nod. 

They spend the rest of the flight in silence.

***

As soon as they arrive in Bangkok, Kinn rushes off to attend another meeting. Porsche sits beside him in the backseat of the car, and the silence between them continues for the hour it takes them to get through city traffic to their destination. Kinn spends the entire duration of the trip with his face buried in his tablet. Porsche spends it staring out the window, trying not to notice the little furrow between Kinn’s brows that he can see in the reflection.

At the meeting, Porsche does his job, standing behind Kinn and looking intimidating, while Kinn trades barbs with businessmen twice his age, and with half his wit. It’s boring number crunching, for the most part, so Porsche struggles to follow along with the conversation. He finds himself getting distracted, constantly, by the little crease under the right side collar of Kinn’s suit, or the errant strand of hair that’s sticking up at the back of Kinn’s head, or the way Kinn’s voice rumbles in his chest when he starts to get angry.

Kinn is in his element, during these kinds of meetings. He drips confidence and oozes charisma, effectively disarming his opponents with charm. He wields his power with a kind of self-assured arrogance that puts people on the backfoot, leaves them feeling like they have to scramble to prove something to him. Because Kinn’s approval is everything. 

“... my associate, Porsche, would be more than happy to demonstrate.”

Porsche blinks when he hears his name, snapping out of his thoughts. He immediately straightens, squaring his shoulders and leveling the man whom Kinn is looking at with a stern glare. He makes a subtle gesture with his hand that emphasizes the fact that he’s carrying a gun. The man’s lip trembles, and he breaks, giving Kinn whatever he had wanted.

The meeting ends shortly after that. The men all bow to Kinn before they leave, filing out of the door one after the other and closing it firmly behind them, leaving Porsche and Kinn alone in the conference room.

Kinn swivels to face Porsche, leaning back into his chair with his legs spread wide, like a King reclining on his throne. He is radiating smugness and satisfaction, and there is a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Well done,” Kinn says. 

Porsche isn’t able to repress the shiver that Kinn’s praise elicits.

“That meeting might well have lasted till tomorrow morning, if you hadn’t been so convincing,” Kinn continues, like he hasn’t noticed. “You have just saved me several precious hours of my life.”

Porsche nods. His gaze ends up fixed somewhere just below Kinn’s collar.

There is another meeting to attend, after that, though this one can be seen to from Kinn’s office at home. Porsche escorts him to it, after another long and silent car ride, and Kinn dismisses him at the door. Porsche assumes his silent post outside it. 

Hours pass. The shadows wax and wane across the walls, and evening becomes night. Porsche has taken to leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, but other than that concession, he has not moved from the place Kinn had left him.

Porsche doesn’t know what he’d expected, after last night, but Kinn has been treating him exactly the same way as he has always treated him, nothing more and nothing less. He has been looking at Porsche with the same carefully crafted ambivalence he always has, and speaking to him with those same harsh but distant words, like nothing has changed. Like things between them are the same as they have always been. Like Porsche is the same man he has always been. 

But Porsche is not the same man.

Porsche can’t get it out of his head. He can’t banish the memory of what it had felt like to have sex with another man. He can’t eradicate the feeling of having had another man use his body for pleasure. He can’t forget the taste of Kinn’s come. He can’t forget the sound of Kinn’s voice. It all plays through his mind over and over and over again whenever he lets it wander for even half a second. It comes to him like a nightmare, seducing him with promises of pleasure should he simply stop fighting. It’s like a temptation he can’t deny. An obsession he can’t ignore.

He realizes he’s been seeing it everywhere, in everything, though he knows that objectively nothing has changed. Suddenly there’s something more to the way Kinn’s eyes glimmer, just after Porsche says something clever (burning heat in the depths of those black pits as he’d knelt over Porsche’s chest and…); A hidden meaning in the way Kinn calls his name, just after he’s turned to go (“ Porsche, ” Kinn had moaned, at the moment he’d…); A reminder in the way Kinn’s hand grazes his as something is passed between them, the contact lasting just a fraction of a moment longer than necessary (the dry tip of Kinn’s index finger, forcing its way through the mess the other man had left inside his…).

“ Dirty fucking whore.

“Your body knows who it belongs to.”

Porsche forces himself to stop thinking. He cannot not allow himself to think. Beyond the edges of his control are dark eyes and rough hands and a want for something that feels more like an ache. So instead he stands guard, he watches the shadows, and he empties his mind. It’s like a meditation, but it’s also like a trance. It dulls his senses, making everything feel slow and hazy.

It’s probably why Kinn has to grab a hold of his face to get his attention.

Porsche feels his heart stop in his chest as his eyes come into focus, and he takes in Kinn standing before him. Automatically, Porsche’s hand darts up to grab hold of Kinn’s wrist, but that only results in Kinn squeezing his jaw harder. Kinn’s standing close, but he takes a step closer.

“Porsche,” Kinn says, his voice oddly smooth.

Porsche swallows thickly, still feeling dazed. “I–”

“Good thing I’m not an assassin,” Kinn cuts him off. “Otherwise, I could have done anything to you.”

Because he is a helpless fool, because he cannot hope to prevent it, Porsche’s eyes drop to Kinn’s lips. Something bright and violent comes to life in the pit of his stomach, when the tip of Kinn’s tongue darts out to wet the flesh.

“Like what?” Porsche breathes.

Kinn’s nails bite into the meat of his cheeks. He starts to lean in, and suddenly Porsche can smell him; sandalwood and whiskey and gunpowder, the scents cloying his senses like sticky honey. Porsche drags his gaze back up to Kinn’s eyes, and he feels something behind his navel tug when he sees how dilated his pupils have become.

When Kinn’s hand slides down from his jaw, when his fingers wrap around Porsche’s throat, when he squeezes, Porsche’s entire body shudders, and his head falls back against the wall behind him. With their eyes locked, Porsche bares his neck to Kinn, lets him press his palm against his Adam’s apple harder, lets him take and control his breath, like a kind of surrender. 

It should feel dangerous; Kinn is a dangerous man, after all. Porsche has seen the violence those hands have dealt. He knows how red they have been stained. Right now, Kinn is holding his life in them. He could squeeze a little tighter, press a little harder, and it could all be over for Porsche. It wouldn’t take much. It wouldn’t be hard. Kinn could do it.

Porsche isn’t afraid.

He presses his hands flat against the wall behind him and closes his eyes.

He hears Kinn’s sharp intake of breath. He feels the way his fingers flex, digging into his neck for a moment, like his control of them slips. Porsche’s submission frays the edges of his composure, and that knowledge, that Porsche can make Kinn lose himself, just for a moment, is the most exhilarating kind of victory. It makes Porsche feel drunk on power.

“Porsche,” Kinn growls, the sound rumbling through his chest like thunder. 

Porsche’s cock stirs in his trousers. His head is starting to feel light from lack of air, but he doesn’t fight against Kinn’s hold. He tips his head back further. He feels Kinn’s breath against his cheek, feels his chest press against his own. Kinn is standing so close, there is no more space between them. It wouldn’t take much for him to close the distance.

For a moment, Porsche thinks he’s going to do it, and the sheer force of his want is so powerful it could blind the sun. He wants Kinn to kiss him. He has never wanted anything so badly in his life. Kinn doesn’t kiss any of his boys. Porsche knows that, but he’s going to kiss him. 

Kinn steps away so suddenly, snatching his hand back so abruptly, that Porsche staggers forwards. He manages to get his feet under himself before he falls, but by then Kinn has backed off to the other side of the room. Porsche looks at him, blinking the spots out of his vision. Kinn looks pale, and his brows are furrowed, like he’s confused. He isn’t looking at Porsche. He doesn’t seem to be able to.

Slowly, like a drawn bowstring being gradually relaxed, Porsche feels the tension that had curled around his body start to unwind. His heart stops pounding in his chest, his blood stops rushing in his ears, and feeling returns to his extremities in waves of tingles. The roiling sea in the pit of his belly becomes calm, the great fire that had been blazing behind his navel sputters out.

He’s left feeling numb.

Kinn’s expression draws tight before it suddenly clears. His face goes carefully blank, his mask slipping back into place. He rounds suddenly on Porsche, raising a hand to jab a finger in his direction.

“I could have been killed, for instance!” Kinn snaps.

Porsche feels suddenly very fucking angry.

It’s like getting whiplash. In one moment Porsche is sure that Kinn wants him, that he’s going to take him, and in the next Kinn is shoving him away and keeping him at arm’s distance like Porsche is something diseased. Back to acting like there is nothing between them. Back to ignoring how obviously Porsche wants him. 

Kinn will help himself to Porsche’s body. He feels entitled to it, after all. He’ll paint him with his come, force him to swallow it, like a dog pissing on its territory, like Porsche is his to own. But he won’t deign to give him anything else. Kinn won’t stoop to admit that he actually wants him.

Porsche sets his jaw and curls his hands into fists. “Sorry, sir,” he grits out. “I got distracted.”

Kinn levels him with a dead eye stare. “It was too much to hope that your exemplary performance today was the start of a new chapter, it seems,” he says, without any feeling at all. “Perhaps I was too generous with my earlier praise.”

It feels like being slapped. 

“Kinn–”

“ Sir,” Kinn snaps.

Porsche nostrils flare. Kinn’s eyes narrow.

“Sir–”

“Escort me to my rooms,” Kinn interrupts, again. “I’m done for the day.”

Porsche resists the urge to punch Kinn square in the jaw. He tamps down the swirling vortex of his anger. Instead, he straightens himself, adjusts his jacket, and paints a look of utter ambivalence on his face. He gestures for Kinn to lead the way.

“After you, sir,” he says.

Kinn looks at him for a long moment. There is still a fire in his eyes, still a readiness to fight that puts Porsche on edge, but Kinn doesn’t say anything. Likely, he wasn’t expecting Porsche to acquiesce so quickly.

Eventually, Kinn nods, and starts to make his way down the hall towards the elevator. Porsche falls into step behind him. They ride in silence, standing at opposite ends of the small metal box, and don’t look at each other. When they reach Kinn’s floor, Kinn allows Porsche to step out first and check down the hallway, before he strides out and makes his way towards the door to his rooms.

Porsche goes in first, as is protocol. He doesn’t make it further than three steps before he freezes.

There, on the couch, a young man is reclined. He’s dressed in a sheer black top and wearing shorts that barely cover the tops of his thighs. He’s playing on his phone, but he looks up when Porsche comes in. His eyes take in Porsche for all of a second before his gaze slides past him and over his shoulder to where Kinn has just stepped into view. He smiles.

Porsche feels a shard of ice stab into his chest.

“Kinn,” the young man purrs. “I’ve been waiting.”

“Not too long, I hope,” Kinn replies coolly. 

Kinn steps around Porsche, walking into the room and over towards the couch area where the young man is sitting. He stops by the bar on the way, pouring himself several fingers of whiskey, before he sits down beside the young man with a small sigh. He takes a sip of his drink.

“I was surprised when you had your secretary call me,” the young man says. “Usually I have such fun teasing Porsche.”

Porsche flinches at the sound of his name. He hadn’t realized his body had become so stiff and tense.

“Porsche was busy tonight,” Kinn says boredly, like he doesn’t appreciate having to explain himself.

The young man’s eyes flicker over to Porsche for a heartbeat, before he drops his phone onto the couch cushion and clambers neatly into Kinn’s lap. He leans down and drags his tongue along Kinn’s jawline, grinding his ass down into Kinn’s crotch as he does.

“I’ve missed you,” the young man says, voice thick with lust. “No one fucks me like you do.” He grinds down harder. “No one has a cock as big as yours, Kinn. I want it. I need it inside me.”

Porsche can hear his heart beating in his ears. His hands have curled into fists so tight his knuckles have turned white.

“If that will be all, sir,” he forces himself to say. He’s proud when his voice doesn’t shake.

Kinn doesn’t look at him. He’s too busy grabbing hold of the young man’s ass with the hand not holding his drink.

“I haven’t dismissed you,” Kinn says.

Porsche feels something wild and terrible beginning to gnaw at his insides. It feels like he’s outside of himself again, watching everything happen from a bird’s eye view. It feels like he’s losing control.

“You’ll remain at your post until I tell you otherwise,” Kinn commands. 

Then, Kinn throws back his drink, allows the young man to take the glass from his hand and put it on the table behind them, before he wraps his arms around the young man’s waist and stands. He just rises to his feet, like it's nothing. The young man’s legs wrap around him, and he drapes his arms over Kinn’s shoulders as he’s picked up, a happy little smile splitting his face.

That wild, animal thing inside Porsche thrashes. His mouth goes very dry.

“I’m going to enjoy giving you my cock,” Kinn growls, just loud enough for Porsche to hear, as he starts to walk towards the hallway leading to his bedroom. “I’m going to hold you down and make you beg for it.”

The young man’s hands muss up Kinn’s hair as his fingers thread through it. “You promise?”

Porsche loses sight of them as Kinn turns the corner, but he can still hear them. He can hear the young man’s giggle when Kinn finally gets him into the bedroom and throws him on the bed. He can hear the young man’s gasp as Kinn settles on top of him. He can hear the young man’s moan as Kinn does something to bring him pleasure.

Porsche stands there, frozen, unable to move, barely able to breathe, as he listens to the wet, slick sounds of Kinn stretching the young man open. His body tingles with the phantom memory of what it had felt like when he’d had Kinn’s fingertip inside him, just for a second. His hole pulses as it clenches down on nothing. He hears the bed creak as Kinn shifts his weight, likely settling between the young man’s thighs.

“Relax, or this is going to hurt,” he hears Kinn growl.

Then, a sharp cry.

A shattered, “K–Kinn!”

Suddenly, Porsche is moving without having the conscious thought to do so. He’s turning on his heel and opening the door, quietly, so as not to be heard, and just as quietly closing it behind him. He reaches into his pocket and withdraws his radio.

“Pete, come in,” he hears himself say into the receiver.

“Go ahead,” comes the reply shortly after.

“I need a detail on Kinn’s door, now.”

“Oh, but I thought you were–”

Porsche turns the radio off before Pete finishes talking. He gets into the elevator and goes down to his floor, letting himself into the dark apartment with a sensation of unreality making every movement feel muted and detached. He strips himself of his uniform in the dark, throwing his gun and radio onto the couch, before going into his bedroom and grabbing the nearest pair of clothes from inside the closet. He pulls the loose, stretched muscle-tee over his head and yanks the tight black jeans up over his legs. He doesn’t bother looking at himself in the mirror before he goes, because he knows what he looks like; half his torso is on display with the gaping fit of the shirt, and the jeans are tight enough to make his ass look fucking ripe.

It feels like he’s moving through a haze. It feels like his thoughts are separate from his mind, like there are two split versions of him; one in control, the other willfully relinquishing it. He doesn’t stop to examine what he’s doing; he doesn’t stop to question it. He simply follows his body’s instincts and moves. 

He picks up his work-issued phone before he leaves the apartment, but hesitates once he has it in his hand. Kinn will be able to use it to track him. He puts it back down on the countertop and exits the room without it. He doesn’t see anyone as he makes his way out of the tower; it’s late enough in the evening that most of the staff have gone home for the day, and most of the bodyguards are in the middle of a shift rotation, so there’s no one to stop him. Not that they would, even if they saw him. But they might tell Kinn, and Porsche wants to be at least two blocks away before Kinn has any idea he’s gone.

The night is pleasantly mild as he steps out into it. He looks around, making sure the coast is clear, and jogs out of the gate without being noticed. His pace doesn’t slow until he’s four or five blocks away and has worked up a fine sheen of sweat. By that point, his rapidly beating heart has slowed down, and the exercise has cleared his head a little. Not enough to turn back, however. It’s too late for that now.

He knows how many rules he’s breaking. He knows that Kinn is going to kill him when he comes back. But Porsche doesn’t care. He doesn’t fucking care.

If Kinn doesn’t want him, Porsche will let someone else have him.

He lets his feet pick out a path through the busy Bangkok nightlife, slipping back into the sense of unreality. He knows where he’s going, he doesn’t have to think about it, he doesn’t want to think about it. It takes him about twenty minutes to get there on foot from the tower. The bouncers at the door eye him up and down critically when he gets to the front of the line, but Porsche flashes them his most stunning smile, and they let him in.

Porsche feels his hair stand on end as he slips past a beaded curtain and emerges into the club. The music is low and sensual, a rhythmic beat that echoes inside his skull, and there are strobing lights flashing everywhere through the darkness, making everything feel dreamlike and intoxicating. 

The dance floor is full, as is the bar, because it’s a Saturday, and everyone is here probably for the same reason he is. Porsche notes, without a shred of surprise, that the majority of the club’s patrons are men. Men in various states of dress–some scantily clad, some wearing suits, some wearing something in between–are grinding all over each other to the music’s beat, some of them kissing, some of them doing things that are definitely better suited for the darker corners of the club, which are also occupied. Some of them turn to look at him as he passes, and he feels the weight of their hungry eyes on him. He feels the weight of their want.

A month ago, Porsche wouldn’t have been caught dead in one of Kinn’s favorite gay clubs. He would have squirmed with discomfort under the attention of men who wanted to fuck him. A month ago, he would have laughed himself stupid if anyone had told him he’d have plastered a smirk on his face, held his chin up high, and practically sauntered to show off his ass.

Porsche feels that wild thing inside him purr in satisfaction as those hungry eyes linger on him. He feels that animal, bestial thing inside him preen.

He reaches the bar and finds an empty stool to perch on. The bartender appears almost instantly to take his order with a wink, before setting Porsche’s desired cocktail on the bar in front of him. Porsche takes a sip of the sweet, fruity drink and gives the man an appreciative smile.

What is he supposed to do now?

If he were hunting for a woman, he would let his eyes rove over the club until he caught sight of someone interesting. He would offer to buy them a drink, if he was in the mood to talk, or a cigarette if he wasn’t, and then he’d lead them to a backdoor exit in search of a secluded place to get to the main event. It was a simple language that Porsche had been speaking since he was old enough to understand what he wanted. It made sense, it was familiar.

This was uncharted territory.

Porsche allows just enough rational thought to penetrate his mind to consider what he wants. He had come in search of a man to fuck, but what kind of man? Kinn seemed to favor the more delicate, feminine types. The slim, pretty types, with big doe eyes and dick-sucking lips, who looked like they could be manhandled with ease. Porsche had never really considered them before. Even now, as he looks around, his eyes move past them, not finding anything of interest. He can’t picture himself with a man smaller than he is. He wouldn’t know what to do with them.

His eyes catch on a ripple of muscle. A big, broad man wearing a t-shirt with ripped sleeves that show off his massive biceps is dancing a handful of feet away. There’s another man, smaller than him but by no means small overall, grinding his ass against the muscled man’s front. His physique reminds Porsche a bit of his own. They make a striking couple as they move together, and Porsche can’t help but watch them. He can’t help but picture himself in the slighter man’s place, with all that muscle moving against him, caging him in. The guy is bigger than Kinn, but not by much.

Is that what he wants?

“I’ve never seen you here before,” a smooth voice says suddenly in his ear, making Porsche flinch. “Sorry darling, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Porsche whips around and takes in the man who’s leaning into his personal space, ready to snap at the guy to fuck off on instinct. He stops.

The man is handsome. He’s older than Porsche, probably in his mid thirties, with slicked back black hair that looks long enough to tangle his fingers in. His features are angular, his jawline sharp enough to cut diamond. He’s got dark, almond-shaped eyes that glimmer with something like interest as he studies Porsche’s face, a pleasant smile tugging at the corner of his perfectly shaped lips. He’s wearing a dress shirt that’s unbuttoned to show off his chest, and Porsche lets his eyes dart down to get a look at it; white, unblemished skin stretching taut over the swell of hard muscle. He’s got muscle everywhere, given the way the fabric of the shirt strains over his biceps.

He looks familiar. Porsche doesn’t stop to examine why.

“Hey, darling,” the man says, his voice pleasantly deep. “I hope you’ll forgive me for my intrusion, but when I saw you, I knew I wouldn’t live with myself if I didn’t say hello.”

The man extends his hand, and Porsche’s eyes drop to look at it.

“My name is Rin,” the man introduces himself. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Porsche is not sure how he feels about the man’s terms of endearment. They make something feel unsettled in the pit of his stomach. That wild, hungry thing claws at him. Ignoring it, he reaches out and slips his hand into the man’s grip.

“Porsche,” he says, neutrally.

The man’s hand is bigger than his. His fingers are smooth and uncalloused. Porsche can’t help but think that that feels wrong.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Porsche,” Rin says with a genuine smile.

The stool beside Porsche is vacated as the man who’d been occupying it takes his drinks and returns to the dancefloor. Rin drags it a bit closer to Porsche, and seats himself down on it. Their knees are close enough to bump into each other, as he angles himself towards Porsche.

“What are you drinking?” Rin asks, smirking down at Porsche’s colorful drink.

“Sex on the beach,” Porsche replies smoothly, leaning forward to catch his straw and stick it in his mouth. “One of my favorites.”

“Oh? Is it?” Rin’s eyes linger shamelessly on Porsche’s lips, wrapped around the straw as he sucks. “Let me buy you another, then. My apology for startling you.”

He flags the bartender down and orders the drink, along with a whiskey sour for himself, turning back to Porsche once it’s done.

“So, as I said, I haven’t seen you here before,” Rin says, leaning one elbow on the countertop and propping his face up on his hand. He cocks his brow. “First time?”

Porsche looks at the man for a moment, struck by the resemblance to… He shakes himself, turning away, letting his eyes lose focus as they stare at the far wall.

“Something like that,” Porsche hears himself say.

“Must be my lucky night, then,” Rin chuckles. “We don’t often get men as beautiful as you in here.”

Porsche feels the compliment settle over him, sinking into his skin and seeping into his bones. He hides the heat he knows is building on his cheeks behind his hands as he leans over the counter.

“Bet you say that to all the guys,” he replies.

“No,” Rin chuckles. “Only you, Porsche.”

His drink is placed on the bar in front of him. Porsche grabs it for want of something to do with himself, sticking the fresh straw in his mouth and draining half the cocktail without really tasting it.

Rin wants him. It’s blatantly obvious how much Rin wants him. Porsche doesn’t know what to do under the face of that want. He’s never been on this side of the equation before, on the receiving end of the flirtation. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. His instincts are all muddled and confused. He doesn’t know how to acknowledge the excited, nervous tension building up inside his gut. 

Rin wants him. Rin wants to fuck him. So, what is Porsche going to do about it?

“Enjoying your drink?” Porsche finds himself asking.

Rin, having just lifted his glass to take a sip of his whiskey sour, looks at Porsche over the rim. He swallows, eyes locked on Porsche, the long column of his throat bobbing hypnotizingly. He sets it back down on the counter when he’s finished.

“It’s delicious,” Rin says, smiling. “Though I can think of something tastier.”

His hand falls to Porsche’s thigh. He squeezes. Porsche’s stomach clenches.

“Do you smoke?” Porsche blurts out. He shoves his straw back into his mouth and refuses to meet Rin’s eyes as he waits for the answer.

“On nights like this, sure,” Rin says. “Would you join me?”

His hand slips a little higher on Porsche’s thigh. Porsche feels a sharp tug behind his navel, and the wild thing inside him begins to purr.

“There’s an alley behind the bar, just over there,” Rin continues, jerking his head towards a door at the far end of the room. His thumb begins to idly stroke Porsche’s thigh. “It’s quieter than here. It might let us get to know each other a little better.”

Porsche drains the rest of his drink. He’s not drunk, but there’s a buzzing starting under his skin that feels pleasant and warm. It makes it easier to slide off the stool, grab a hold of Rin’s wrist, and tug him along behind him as he makes his way towards the door. Rin laughs, but he doesn’t resist. He lets himself be pulled along, half stumbling to keep up with Porsche’s pace.

Porsche slams the door open, pushes Rin through it, and yanks it shut behind them. Instantly, the cacophony of the club is muffled, reduced to a distant echo. 

Porsche has to blink to adjust his eyes to the sudden darkness he finds himself in. The alleyway is lit only by a blue neon light overhead, casting every shadow in deep hues of blue. By the time he’s gotten used to it, Rin has meandered over to the wall a short distance away and is leaning against it, fishing around in his slacks for his cigarettes and lighter. When he finds them, he slips a white stick out of the rectangular packet and reaches out to hand it to Porsche.

Porsche steps closer to take the offered cigarette. He slips it into his mouth, closing his lips around it, and extends his hand to accept the lighter. Rin doesn’t pass it to him. Instead, he leans forward and flicks the flint, striking the flame and bringing it to the end of Porsche’s cigarette. Porsche blinks in surprise, but then he, too, leans forward, and starts to suck smoke into his lungs.

“I knew it,” Rin says, suddenly. His voice splits the quiet like a gunshot.

Porsche raises his eyebrow. “Knew what?” He asks, tipping his head back to exhale a column of smoke. 

Rin lights his own cigarette before he answers. “That you’d look fucking hot with something in your mouth.”

Porsche’s insides squeeze. He sucks in deep, letting the familiar taste of smoke fill his senses. He looks up at the hazy night sky above him and shivers a little as a breeze caresses his bare skin.

He feels brave all of a sudden. The wild animal thing inside him makes him feel bold. He knows what he wants, what he came here wanting, what he came here looking for. He knows how to get it.

“I think that you were imagining a little more than a cigarette in my mouth,” he says.

Porsche looks back down at Rin in time to see Rin’s dark eyes flash with heat. Then, Rin is reaching out, the muscles in his arm flexing, and hooking his finger in Porsche’s belt loop, using it to drag him closer. Porsche goes, his feet shuffling across the concrete, as he’s pulled into Rin’s broad chest. His free hand presses flat against it, partly to balance himself and partly just because he can. He likes the way the muscle feels under his palm.

Rin isn’t much taller than him, though his broadness makes Porsche feel small. It feels exactly like… 

“Maybe I was,” Rin says with a grin. His finger unhooks from Porsche’s belt loop and his hand takes a hold of Porsche’s waist, dragging him closer until Porsche can feel a hardness pressed against his stomach. “Maybe I can think of something else I’d rather see in that gorgeous mouth, darling.”

Rin’s hand smooths down over his waist, over the swell of his ass, down to grab the meat of his cheek. He palms it roughly, letting Porsche feel the strength in his hand. He grinds that hardness against Porsche again, letting Porsche appreciate that it is not small. Not even a little bit.

Porsche feels that primal thing within him stir and stretch, like a cat basking in a sunbeam. His heart beats erratically in his chest as he feels himself responding to the man’s touch, his cock starting to fill out in his jeans at the promise in it. He doesn’t let himself think, can’t let himself think, about the fact that the man doesn’t feel quite right.

Porsche takes one last drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the floor. Then, he reaches up and tangles his fingers through Rin’s dark locks, and tugs the man down even as he surges up. Their lips meet in a fierce clash of heat, and want simmers low in the pit of Porsche’s belly as Rin groans into his mouth. Porsche parts his lips and flits his tongue into the small gap between Rin’s, and the other man’s hand on his ass clenches tighter as he grinds Porsche against him harder.

It’s Porsche’s second time kissing a man, and he takes a moment to appreciate it once more; The hardness of the mouth pressed against his, the heat of the man’s desire as he moves in tandem with Porsche, the slight scratch of his stubble, the unfamiliar taste of whiskey on another’s tongue. It feels just as good as it felt the first time. Even if it still doesn’t feel quite right.

“Fuck, you’ve got a talented little mouth, darling,” Rin groans as he breaks away, pressing his forehead against Porsche’s. “You gonna show me what else it can do?”

Porsche’s belly flips. He bites at his bottom lip, watching the way Rin’s eyes lower to stare at it. He hesitates.

“Your body knows who it belongs to.”

Porsche slams his eyes closed. His fingers curl tighter into Rin’s dark hair. The bestial thing within him snarls.

“I always knew you’d be a natural.”

Fuck Kinn. He was probably still balls deep in the whore he’d had his secretary fucking order for him. He probably hadn’t even thought about Porsche once, why would he? He had something that apparently he wanted more. He had someone he apparently wanted more. Fuck him.

Porsche opens his eyes. He drags Rin towards him as he backs himself up against the wall behind him, and the other man follows, crowding Porsche up against the brick until it feels like he’s caged in. Rin’s hand raises to his mouth, and his thumb smooths across Porsche’s bottom lip, soothing the place he had bitten.

Then, Porsche sinks to his knees.

Rin’s breath catches a little at the sight of him. Porsche can only imagine how he looks; blinking up wide eyed at the man above him, illuminated by the dreamy blue glow of the neon lights, his lips shiny wet and parted. Ready to open his mouth. Ready for it to be fucked.

Kinn had made him taste his come, had made him swallow it, without ever having let him have his cock. Porsche is aware, with sudden clarity, of the fact that Rin’s cock will be the first he ever lets inside him. He quashes down the feeling of wrongness so violently his head spins.

“That’s it. Fuck, darling, you look so good on your knees,” Rin praises.

Porsche lets the words wash over him, leaving something warm in their wake. It inspires him to reach up and place his hands flat on Rin’s thighs, fingertips digging into the meat of the muscle he finds there.

Rin’s hand cups his face, tilting it back a little higher. Then, his thumb pulls at Porsche’s bottom lip, prompting him to open his mouth.

Porsche’s heart is in his throat. His stomach has coiled into a knot so tight he can barely breathe for it. His cock is almost fully hard in his jeans.

“Stick out your tongue, darling,” Rin says. “Show it to me.”

Porsche swallows thickly. Then, he does as he’s told, sticking out his tongue as far as it will go, his mouth opening a little wider.

Rin curses under his breath and presses his thumb to Porsche’s tongue, stroking down the length of it. Then, he yanks his hand away to begin furiously undoing his slacks.

Porsche hears nothing but the rush of blood in his ears, feels nothing but the scattered pounding of his own heart, as Rin shoves down his pants and underwear, and pulls his cock out. Porsche hesitates for a second before he lets his eyes drop down to it. They widen.

Rin is big. He’s really fucking big. He’s long and thick and uncut, with a heavy set of balls, and a finely maintained patch of dark hair. His cock is a flushed, pleasantly rosy color, purpling a little at the tip where a bead of precome leaks from the slit. Rin takes a hold of himself and even his big hand barely manages to wrap around the full girth. He’s huge.

He’s not bigger than Kinn. But he’s close enough.

“Gonna let me fuck that gorgeous mouth, darling?” Rin growls, stroking himself with one hand while the other reaches down and threads through Porsche’s hair. “Not too big for you?”

Porsche scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’ve seen bigger,” he taunts.

Rin’s hand tightens in his hair. “Oh, there’s a little brat in there, is there?” He chuckles. 

Porsche flinches when he slaps his cheek with the length of his cock. The heavy, meaty smack of it rings in Porsche’s ears.

“Go on then, little brat,” Rin urges. “Show me what that naughty mouth can do.”

Rin holds his cock straight out, tip pointed in Porsche’s direction. His hand tugs a little at Porsche’s hair, encouraging him to move his head forward. When Porsche is a few inches away, he can suddenly smell Rin, the masculine musk at the core of him. It stirs something familiar in his memory, but it doesn’t feel quite right. There’s something missing.

Porsche keeps his eyes open as the flat of his tongue presses against the head of Rin’s cock. He looks up through his lashes to watch as Rin closes his eyes and groans, hips flexing a little, like he can’t help himself. His movement smears precome across Porsche’s tongue, and the taste of it is so familiar it makes Porsche’s head spin as memory assaults him.

“Swallow.”

Porsche screws his eyes shut, banishing the memory, before opening them again and looking back up at Rin. He wants to watch, he finds. He wants to see how what he is doing affects the other man. He wants to watch his composure crack.

He opens his mouth wider and seals his lips around the head of Rin’s cock, pressing his tongue flat against the tip of it. He sucks, hollowing out his cheeks, and Rin curses as his hips spasm again. His hand is tight enough in Porsche’s hair to sting, now, but Porsche finds he likes the pain. It is oddly grounding. He wasn’t aware, until that moment, how much he felt like he was floating away.

He sinks down a little deeper, letting more of Rin’s cock slide into his mouth. The weight of him is heavy on Porsche’s tongue, and the musky taste of him fills Porsche’s senses. It’s… pleasant. It makes Porsche feel full in a way he’s never felt before. He likes that feeling. He likes being full.

“Perfect,” Rin praises, his voice hoarse. “Fuck, you look so good with my cock stretching your mouth open.”

Porsche feels warmth bloom in his chest. He rewards Rin by sliding even lower, sucking even harder as he does.

“Fuck, that’s it, good boy. Take it for me.”

The fat head of Rin’s cock finally hits the back of Porsche’s mouth, teasing at the entrance to his throat. Porsche’s body tenses as the urge to gag rolls through him, but he forces himself to relax, allowing the reaction to pass. After a moment, following the instincts of that bestial thing inside him, Porsche sinks down a little deeper.

“Fuck!” Rin cries, far too loud, but Porsche doesn’t care. They’re in a public place. Anyone could walk through the door beside them at any time, anyone could hear Rin’s cries from the mouth of the alleyway and come down to investigate, but Porsche doesn’t give a shit. “Yes, that’s it. Take it deeper, darling. Right down into that perfect little throat.”

Porsche feels pressure mounting in his head, filling it with static, as Rin’s cock sinks deeper into him. He can’t breathe properly, not even through his nose, as his throat is pried open. He feels moisture beginning to well up in his eyes, making his vision a little blurry. He still refuses to close them. He wants to watch every second of this.

He chokes, finally, when Rin thrusts his hips forward a little too harshly. His throat convulses, trying to work the object invading it out, but Rin keeps him pinned firmly in place with the hand on his hair, making him take it. Porsche’s cock throbs viciously between his legs.

“Good boy,” Rin soothes. He starts to rock his hips back and forth. “That’s it, just like that, darling.”

Porsche’s hands curl into claws on Rin’s thighs, nails digging into the skin. His vision swims as he pushes deeper and more pressure builds, but he keeps looking up at Rin, keeps watching the way his face crumples in pleasure, because it’s the only thing keeping him sane right now. He feels used on his knees like this, with a cock shoved down his throat, but he feels powerful, too. Knowing what he’s doing to Rin makes him feel fucking invincible.

“Almost there, darling,” Rin grunts, his hips twitching forward. “Think you can take all of me?”

Rin finally lets go of his cock, showing Porsche the rest of the length he has yet to take. He slips his free hand into Porsche’s hair beside the other, taking hold of him firmly, keeping him still as he grinds himself into his mouth. There’s still so much left to go, Porsche thinks, a little hysterically. He doesn’t know if he can do it.

“You can do it,” Rinn’s encouraging voice cuts through his thoughts, almost like he could hear them. “Show me how well you can take it, pretty thing.”

Porsche breathes in heavily through his nose, forcing as much air into his lungs as he can manage. He steels himself, relaxing his throat as much as he is able, and then he pushes forward, taking more of that fat, thick cock inside him. He doesn’t stop when his body starts to convulse, instinctively rejecting the intrusion. He fights against the instinct to back away, forcing himself to push through it and sink even deeper. He keeps going until he can feel the trim hairs at the base of Rin’s cock brushing against his nose. 

“Ohhhh fuck,” Rin groans. “Oh fuck, darling, that’s so good. So fucking good.”

Porsche’s toes curl in his shoes, the simmering want in his core spilling over as it boils, suffusing through his senses like lava. He moans, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep inside his chest, making his mouth vibrate around Rin’s length, causing the other man to swear hot and low under his breath. The tears gathered in Porsche’s eyes finally spill, trickling down his cheeks like raindrops to join the growing mess of spit that’s coating his chin.

“You’re so good at this, darling,” Rin praises. “A natural cocksucker, huh?”

“I always knew you’d be a natural.”

Rin keeps him buried on the length of his cock for so long, Porsche’s vision starts to blacken at the edges. He doesn’t pull away, though. It feels like a great sense of calm washes over him, making every muscle in his body relax and go limp. He doesn’t fight it, he can’t. He lets it happen, lets Rin use him, lets himself be made into an object of pleasure. It feels good. He loves it.

“Ready for me to go a little harder, darling?” Rin growls. “I want to fuck that mouth properly.”

Porsche moans again, a little fainter this time from lack of air.

“You like the idea of that, don’t you? Dirty little slut.”

“Dirty fucking whore.”

Porsche finally loses the battle, and his eyes roll into the back of his head as Rin draws his hips back, dragging his cock out of Porsche’s throat, before snapping them forward and fucking back inside. There’s an explosion of pressure inside Porsche’s head, dispelling every thought that isn’t about the right here, right now. His body spasms, but he keeps his throat relaxed, letting Rin’s cock split him open like he was made for it. It feels like he was. He can’t imagine why he hadn’t done this sooner.

“Fuck, darling, you look so good with a cock fucking your tight little throat,” Rinn growls.

“He does, doesn’t he?”

The world around Porsche stops. The cock in his throat stills halfway inside, and the hands in his hair go slack. Silence fills the alleyway. An unnatural stillness descends. 

And then, the sound of the safety being clicked off of a gun.

“I suggest you take your cock out of his mouth,” a familiar voice says. “And then I suggest you walk away.” A beat of silence, when nothing happens, and then, “ Now.”

The cock in his mouth gets yanked out so hard and fast that Porsche accidentally scrapes it with his teeth. Rin doesn’t seem to care, too busy shoving himself into his pants and backing away from Porsche; Porsche can hear his footsteps as they steadily gain distance.

“Sorry, m–man,” Rin stammers. “I didn’t know that he was taken.”

There is a growling sound, barely human, that shatters the quiet. It makes the hairs on the back of Porsche’s neck rise. 

“He’s mine,” that familiar voice says.

“I’m–”

Rin is interrupted by the sound of a gun being cocked. He doesn’t linger after that. Porsche hears the sound of the door being opened and then shutting beside him, as Rin disappears back inside the club. Leaving Porsche to his fate.

Porsche hasn’t opened his eyes. He can’t. His entire body is frozen, unresponsive. His mouth is still half open. He can feel the mess of tears and spit that has been left on his face, but his hands lie impotent on his thighs, unable to even try and clean himself.

Nothing happens in the long silence that follows. Porsche can hear his own heart beating in his ears, can feel it pounding behind his ribcage, like a frantic, caged bird trying to escape. The knot inside his gut has twisted so tight it feels like it’s going to snap and break him apart.

“Porsche.”

Porsche trembles.

“Look at me.”

His body obeys. Porsche doesn’t even have to think, because his body knows what to do. That familiar voice has made things very simple for him. 

He opens his eyes.

Kinn.

Porsche’s awareness of him fills every one of his senses, drowning out everything else like the whole world around them ceases to exist. Kinn is standing a handful of feet away, dressed all in black, holding his glock at his side with a white knuckled grip. He’s looking down at Porsche, but it takes Porsche a moment to find the strength to meet his eyes. What he finds in them burns him; a heat so scalding it sears him down to the bone. A rage so pure it’s as beautiful as it is terrifying.

For once, Kinn’s expression is not guarded, there is no mask concealing his emotions. For once, every single one of them is clear on Kinn’s face, in the furrow of his brows, the tightness around his eyes, the curl of his upper lip. For the first time since he’s known him, Porsche can read Kinn like an open book. And it hurts . 

Kinn takes a step towards him, and every nerve ending in Porsche’s body flares to life as he gets closer. He feels Kinn’s proximity like a physical thing. Kinn takes another step, and Porsche feels, more than hears, the whimper that spills out of his raw throat.

The sound makes Kinn stop. He’s still too far away, standing outside of Porsche’s reach. Porsche feels the distance between them like an ache.

Something terrible plays across Kinn’s face. His iron control, so carefully maintained, seems to be slipping, fraying at the edges, peeling back to reveal what lies beneath. What lies beneath, Porsche is coming to realize, is barely human. It’s breathtaking, in all its horror. It’s terrifying. Only Kinn’s rigid self-control has ever kept it at bay. Porsche wants to shatter it. He wants to destroy it. He wants to lay Kinn bare beneath the jagged, bloody edges of it, and see all of him. Every part of him. As he truly is.

“Kinn,” he utters the name like a prayer.

Kinn’s eyes are a storm, devastating and destructive and damning. When he closes them, Porsche feels untethered, unmoored, like he’s caught in a tide determined to sweep him further and further away, and Kinn’s gaze was the only thing keeping him in sight of the shore. He’s desperate to have those eyes on him again, to have the weight of Kinn’s attention, the privilege of his consideration. He’s desperate to witness the depth of his struggle to control himself. Because Porsche needs to witness the moment when he loses.

Kinn’s eyes open. They are glazed, Porsche notices, like they’re not entirely in focus. There is no trace of the struggle he had waged against his self-control within them, only iron shaped like a cage and ice that burns. When he looks at Porsche, it’s like he’s not really seeing him. 

“Dirty fucking whore.”

Porsche flinches. His gaze falls to somewhere below Kinn’s collar, where it doesn’t hurt so much to look.

“You were so desperate for it that you ran off to find the first willing cock to shove down your throat, didn’t you?” Kinn’s voice is glacial. It makes Porsche feel cold. “Such a desperate, needy fucking slut that you forgot, didn’t you?”

Porsche’s heart climbs into his throat. His hands curl into fists atop his thighs. “Forgot what?” He dares to ask.

With great effort, Porsche drags his gaze back up to Kinn’s, just in time to see the insidious glimmer in his eyes that catches the blue neon lights.

“That you’re mine, Porsche.”

Porsche feels anger boil up inside him so fast and so all-consuming that it robs him of all sensical thought. How dare he? How dare Kinn throw that in his face, after everything he’s done? How dare he claim Porsche with one breath, and then throw him away with the next? 

Porsche throws caution to the wind, looks danger right in the face, and opens his mouth.

“Then fucking do something about it.”

Kinn blinks, surprised, a hairline fracture in his control. Then, he works his jaw furiously, a vein popping in his forehead from tension. He takes another step, and now he’s standing right in front of Porsche, exactly where Rin had stood only minutes ago. He adjusts his grip on his gun.

“So that’s what you want, is it?” Kinn drawls. “All this, so I would remind you who you belong to.”

Porsche’s cock pulses traitorously between his thighs. His breath catches in his throat, a little hitch of a sound that’s too loud in the sudden quiet. The wild animal inside him howls.

“I belong to no one,” Porsche snarls.

Kinn’s lip twitches at the edges, curling up in a parody of a smile. Slowly, he reaches down and, with the hand not holding his gun, he threads his fingers through Porsche’s hair. At first the touch is gentle, almost a caress, and despite his growing sense of foreboding, Porsche feels himself melt into it, seeking more of it, revelling in the first time Kinn has ever touched him like this. Like he’s something precious. Like he’s something wanted. It doesn’t last. Kinn grabs a fistful of his hair and tightens his grip, pulling so hard Porsche feels fire in his scalp as Kinn wrenches his head back. A whimper is ripped from his throat before Porsche can swallow it.

Kinn leans down, bringing himself close enough that he fills Porsche’s vision. He cocks his head as he scans Porsche’s face, like he’s looking for something. 

Then, “Liar,” Kinn whispers. 

He yanks Porsche’s head back far enough that Porsche is forced to bare his throat. It bobs thickly as he swallows, and he can’t help but shiver faintly at the vulnerability of the position. He pulls at Kinn’s grip, testing it, but Kinn only tightens it, making tears prickle in the corners of Porsche’s eyes at the sting.

Another flare of anger surges low in Porsche’s gut. Refusing to show submission, he bares his teeth. Kinn’s smile falters.

“Coward,” Porsche hisses.

Kinn flinches. His gaze slides past Porsche, landing on the wall beside his head. There is a chink in his impenetrable armor; a moment of identifiable weakness. Sensing it, Porsche’s grin turns savage.

“We both know what you want,” Porsche snarls, his heart beating in his chest so hard it hurts. “So go on, what are you waiting for? Do something.”

Kinn’s eyes turn back to him, and now they burn.

“Punish me,” Porsche demands. “I disobeyed your direct order, so go on. Punish me. I know you fucking want to. Do it. Punish me. Hurt me. Fuck me.”

Want me.

“Or are you too much of a fucking coward?”

Kinn’s nostrils flare. There is a flash in his dark eyes, a moment when the inferno of his desire is more than he can repress. Porsche senses his control slipping. He knows where to push to destroy it completely.

“I can still taste him, you know,” Porsche spits. “I can still feel him, stretching my throat. Fucking me. You know, his was the first cock I’ve ever–”

Pain explodes across his cheek as Kinn drops his hair and backhands him. The shock of the slap is like an electric jolt to Porsche’s senses. His entire body shivers with sudden oversensitivity. His cock throbs.

Before he can even blink the stars out of his vision, Kinn’s hand wraps around Porsche’s throat. His fingertips dig hard into the pounding point of his pulse; Porsche knows he will have bruises there, later. Porsche’s instincts scream at him to grab Kinn’s wrist, to try and wrench that hand away from such a vulnerable place. He doesn’t. Instead, he uncurls his hands from the tight fists they had been stuck in, and lays them flat on his thighs. He lets go. 

Kinn squeezes. 

When he opens his eyes, the sight that greets Porsche takes his breath away. Kinn, haloed by stunning neon blue, looking down at him with the kind of unmasked hunger and untempered rage that could level cities. Kinn, with his hair always perfect hair slightly askew, an errant strand hanging in front of his wild eyes, finally and utterly without control. Kinn, with that little furrow between his brows, the one that reveals so much, if you know how to look. 

Kinn, and the terrifying depths of his desire.

“Open your mouth.”

Porsche blinks in surprise at the unexpected command. Kinn squeezes his throat tighter.

“ Now, Porsche.”

Helplessly, Porsche lets his mouth fall open.

His heart stops beating when Kinn presses the muzzle of his glock against Porsche’s bottom lip.

“You’re so fucking desperate,” Kinn says, his voice dark and rough and deadly. He gently runs the muzzle against Porsche’s flesh, like a caress. “I could have killed him for touching you. I should have. Should have blown his fucking brains all over the concrete.”

Porsche shivers. His fingertips flex into his thighs, nails digging into the rough fabric.

Kinn uses his grip on Porsche’s throat to tip his head back, keeping his gun pressed to Porsche’s bottom lip. When Porsche’s head is angled to his liking, when he’s looking up at Kinn with the long column of his neck exposed, Kinn releases his throat. His fingertips dance across Porsche’s skin as he strokes across his jaw, up the length of his cheek, until they slide back into Porsche’s hair. His grip is gentler this time. It’s almost tender.

“I could kill you for disobeying me,” Kinn says, his voice little more than a whisper. “I could pull the trigger right now, and be done with you. Free of you.”

Porsche knows he should be afraid. Kinn is a dangerous man with blood on his hands. Porsche has witnessed him do terrible, terrible things. It wouldn’t be so difficult to believe that Kinn would be capable of enacting such violence upon him. Porsche has pushed him so far, to the ends of his control; who knew what lay in these uncharted waters?

Kinn could as easily kiss him as he could kill him.

Porsche isn’t afraid.

He leans forward, Kinn’s hand clutching tighter at his hair as he does, and closes his mouth around the muzzle of the gunl. He takes the barrel between his teeth and looks up, meeting Kinn’s eyes. The depth of the darkness within them makes Porsche feel alive.

“Porsche–” Kinn starts, then falters. 

There is an unending moment of stillness where nothing happens. Porsche’s heart rails against the cage of his ribs, his blood rushing so loud in his ears it’s all he can hear. Then Kinn adjusts his grip on his gun. He pushes it a little deeper. Porsche’s eyelashes flutter as he’s filled, a low rumble spilling from his chest before he can contain it.

“You need this, don’t you?” Kinn whispers, his voice rough, filled with something like awe. “You would let me do anything to you right now, wouldn’t you?”

Porsche goes to pull away, to take his mouth off the gun, to spit something defensive and harsh back at Kinn, but Kinn shoves the barrel deeper. His grip tightens to a vice in Porsche’s hair, forcing him to stay still.

“Since you need the reminder so badly, then I will give it to you,” Kinn says, the icy shards of his voice slicing into Porsche’s flesh. “You belong to me, Porsche. Your body, your mouth , every part of you, is mine .”

Porsche hates him. He hates him.

His cock is so hard between his thighs it hurts.

“You were imagining it was me, weren’t you?” Kinn goes on, an edge of roughness to his voice now, one he seems unable to conceal. “When you let him stick his cock in your mouth, you let yourself pretend that it was mine.”

Porsche growls around the gun, but Kinn shoves it deeper, and the sound becomes choked. Tears well up in the corners of his eyes from the pressure, but it’s different to how it felt to have the warm heat of a cock inside him. The metal of the gun is cold and impersonal; Kinn might wield it like an extension of himself, but it’s not truly him. The only part of him that touches Porsche is the cruel hand curled in his hair.

“But it wasn’t enough, was it?” Kinn torments him. “It wasn’t what you really needed, was it?” His black eyes glimmer with an air of madness. “Only I can give you that.”

Porsche glares at him, channeling all of his impotent rage into the heat of his eyes, but the sight merely makes Kinn smirk. There’s a wild edge to that smirk, something feral that makes Porsche’s skin crawl, something knowing that makes his lungs feel like they’re on fire. 

Kinn draws the gun out until just the tip is resting inside Porsche’s mouth.

“You were hoping I would find you, weren’t you?” Kinn drawls. “You wanted me to see you like this. You wanted to be caught on your knees, giving it up like a cheap whore. You wanted to be punished for it. You wanted to be put back in your place.”

He thrusts the gun in, all the way to the back of Porsche’s throat, deliberately making him gag. Porsche’s hands twitch on his thighs, the instinct to defend himself nearly overwhelming, but he doesn’t move them. He can’t; his body doesn’t respond to him, not anymore. 

With the hand buried in his hair, Kinn doesn’t give him an inch.

“I know what you want,” Kinn whispers, his voice intimate. “I know what you need, Porsche.”

A tear begins to spill down Porsche’s cheek, and he’s not sure why. Something monumental swells within him, connecting the throbbing heat between his thighs to the overwhelming tightness in his chest, until the two become indistinguishable; his desire one with his rage. He closes his eyes against the ravages of everything he is forced to feel, unable to withstand it.

“No,” Kinn says. “Let me see you.”

Porsche can’t. He can’t.

“Porsche.”

The grip in his hair tightens, just a little, in warning. When Porsche still refuses him, Kinn pulls the gun out of his mouth. The sudden absence of its weight on his tongue, the sudden lack of its presence filling him up, is almost distressing. The whimper tumbles out of his mouth before Porsche can catch it.

“I know,” Kinn soothes him with a gentle voice. “Look at me, Porsche.”

Porsche’s body moves of its own accord; it is no longer Porsche’s to control. His eyes flutter open, vision slowly coming into focus through the haze of unshed tears. When he finally looks at Kinn, when he finally sees the naked hunger on his face, the unmasked want burning in the pits of his eyes, it takes all of Porsche’s self-control not to slam his eyelids shut again. He forces himself to look. He forces himself to see.

“There you are,” Kinn breathes. “Mine.”

Porsche trembles. His cock twitches inside his jeans.

“Stick out your tongue,” Kinn demands. “Get the barrel wet.”

Porsche’s heart feels bruised from how hard it’s beating against his ribcage, but he does as he’s told. He sticks out his tongue and lets Kinn rub the gun all over it, smearing his spit along the silver chrome of the barrel until it shines.

“Open your mouth,” Kinn growls, once he’s satisfied.

Porsche’s lips part around a silent inhale. Then, he relaxes his jaw and lets his mouth drop open.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth with my lucky gun,” Kinn tells him, voice deceptively calm and steady, as he runs the tip of the muzzle along Porsche’s spit-slick flesh. “You’re not going to protest. You’re not going to try and stop me. You’re going to stay there, on your knees, and you’re going to take it. Do you understand?”

Porsche swallows. His fingernails dig into his thighs so hard it hurts. He doesn’t move.

Kinn yanks at his hair, forcing his head further back. His expression is hard and unyielding as he stares Porsche down.

“Do you understand?” He repeats.

Porsche forces himself to breathe. Slowly, carefully, he nods his head.

“Good boy,” Kinn praises.

Porsche’s body begins to shake.

He doesn’t look away as Kinn presses the gun back inside his mouth. He doesn’t look away as Kinn starts to gently thrust the weapon back and forth, sliding it a little deeper each time. He doesn’t look away when the muzzle hits the back of his throat, making his body tense as the instinct to gag overwhelms him. He fights it down, ignoring the tears that spill down his cheeks, ignoring the wet, slick sound of the gun fucking inside him. He doesn’t look away.

Neither does Kinn.

It’s simultaneously the most intimate thing Porsche has ever experienced, and at the same time the most impersonal. To have Kinn so focused on him, to possess the burning weight of his attention, while all of it is dedicated to fucking Porsche’s mouth, is almost more than Porsche can stand. It is overwhelming; it makes him feel seen in ways he’s never been seen; it makes him feel wanted in all the ways he’s been craving. But it is tempered with the cold reality that it is not Kinn in his mouth. It is no part of the man himself. It is an unthinking, unfeeling piece of metal.

Something monstrous claws at Porsche’s chest. In a moment of madness Porsche knows Kinn can see in his eyes, he closes his teeth. He doesn’t bite the gun, not quite, but the implication is clear.

“Oh, Porsche.” Kinn’s soft voice feels like being whipped. “You’ve needed this so badly, haven’t you?”

Porsche tries to glare, but there’s no heat in it. It feels like all the fight has been beaten out of him, like all the fire and anger and rage that had driven him to this point has just abandoned him. He feels like a shell of himself; already broken, just desperately trying not to lose the pieces, lest he’s never able to put himself back together again.

Kinn looks at him, and Porsche knows he’s revealing too much, letting too much show on his face, but he can’t help it. He can’t stop it. There’s nowhere left to hide; Kinn has him cornered. He’s nothing but a wounded animal, lashing out before the inevitable end.

“Spread your legs,” Kinn commands, infusing his voice with a kind of raw power that makes Porsche’s hair stand on end. “Now, Porsche.”

After a single heartbeat of hesitation, Porsche slides his thighs apart, making himself terrifyingly vulnerable as he displays the pulsing core of his wretched desire for Kinn to see. Kinn’s eyes drop down to it, making Porsche’s throat bob on a swallow, making his head feel stuffy with cotton, before they return to his. 

Kinn holds his gaze as takes a single step forward and presses his shoe against the bulge between Porsche’s legs. Porsche stops breathing as Kinn slowly, carefully, steps down on his cock.

A whimper tears out of Porsche’s mouth, guttural and desperate, barely stifled by the barrel of the gun still clenched between his teeth. The place where Kinn exerts pressure is a white-hot ball of sensation, trapping pleasure and pain alike within the maelstrom of feeling. He sucks in a ragged lungful of air, and at last his jaw unclenches. Kinn takes advantage of the momentary lapse to fuck the gun deeper into Porsche’s mouth, all the way to the back of his throat.

“Look at how hard you are,” Kinn growls. He draws the gun out to the tip, then slowly thrusts it in again. “Fucking desperate for it. You’re probably leaking in your pants, aren’t you? My dirty little whore.”

Porsche’s hips thrust up, entirely beyond his control. He presses himself harder against Kinn’s foot, and Kinn rewards him by stepping down more firmly. The explosion of pressure and pleasure bursts inside Porsche’s core like fireworks, drawing a helpless sound out of him that makes Kinn’s dark eyes flash.

“That’s it, let me hear you,” Kinn breathes. “Show me how much you need it.”

Porsche whines, the sound half broken when Kinn grinds the toe of his shoe right over the head of his cock. His hips buck again, and this time the pressure is more pain than pleasure, but Porsche can’t stop. A wild, clawing need is flaying him alive from the inside; he’s helpless to its whims. He doesn’t have control anymore.

“Porsche.”

Kinn doesn’t either.

That’s the only thought that keeps Porsche tethered to reality as Kinn unmakes him. The knowledge that Kinn is just as helpless to his desires as Porsche is right now, the knowledge that it was Porsche who had driven him to this point, is like a lighthouse in a storm. It’s everything. It’s all there is.

He and Kinn, giving in together.

Kinn fucks his mouth with the gun so methodically, so thoroughly, so completely, that Porsche can’t remember what it felt like to have real, warm flesh between his lips. The only thing that exists is the thrust of cool metal against his tongue, the overwhelming thickness of the barrel teasing at the entry to his throat. It leaves Porsche’s head feeling stuffy and slow, like every thought is stuck in a thick pool of treacle. It stokes the fires of pleasure in his belly into a raging inferno that threatens to consume Porsche whole.

Kinn lets Porsche rut against his foot like a dog, desperately seeking more friction, more pressure, more pleasure. He steps down harder when he knows Porsche needs it, and he always knows. He gives Porsche exactly what he wants, exactly what he needs. All the while he looks into Porsche’s eyes, trapping him with the weight of his gaze, revealing the depths of darkness and hunger that lie within them.

“You’re gonna make a mess in your pants soon,” Kinn tells him. “You’re gonna come just from this.”

It isn’t a question, but Porsche wants to shake his head, wants to deny it. Kinn’s grip in his hair keeps him still, keeps him in place for his mouth to be fucked. 

It would be a lie, anyway. 

His orgasm is a sharp, jagged thing that builds in the pit of his belly and fans out across his core in creeping tendrils that seek out the most vulnerable parts of him. He’s shaking, he’s not sure when it started, but his entire body shivers in little trembles that spill whimpers from his lips. The monumentality of the sensation building within him scares him. It terrifies him. He knows it will destroy him.

“I’ve got you,” Kinn promises, like he understands. “You’re mine, Porsche. I’ve got you.”

It’s too much. It’s more than Porsche can bear. He wants to close his eyes, to shut it out, to save himself, but he can’t. It’s too late for that.

He is damned.

“Come.”

Porsche breaks.

Each awful wave of pleasure chips away at something at the core of him. Each shuddering, gasping shock that washes through him takes a little piece of him with it. Porsche doesn’t know what will be left of him once it’s over. He doesn’t know if there will be anything left at all.

It doesn’t scare him as much as it should.

“I’ve got you,” Kinn’s voice promises him, like a beacon of light in the darkness. “Mine.”

Despite the spasms that wreck his body, Kinn’s hand cards almost gently through Porsche’s hair, a counterpoint to the aching pressure between his thighs that coaxes him from one peak to the next. Kinn doesn’t relent. He keeps Porsche pinioned at the apex of pleasure, but it does not feel cruel. It feels necessary. 

After that, Porsche loses time. Sounds and shapes and sensations tease him at the corners of his senses, but when he tries to reach out for them, they slip through his fingers like smoke. He’s left drifting in an endless darkness, but he doesn’t feel alone. He knows who inhabits that darkness with him.

“Porsche.”

Reality beckons him, but Porsche doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want the uncertainty and the frustration and the terrible, awful not-knowing that waits for him on the other side of this. He doesn’t want to face it.

“Fuck, you’re so far gone, aren’t you?”

Porsche screws up his face at the sound of a chuckle, even as the warm breathiness of it makes something purr in satisfaction inside his chest. Then, there is more stroking, more soothing touches, and Porsche feels like he’s starting to unfurl, despite himself. He stops fighting it. He lets Kinn coax him back from the edge, grateful that he doesn’t have to face the fall.

“Porsche, I need you to open your eyes. Can you do that for me?”

Porsche tries to turn his face away, but a firm grip on his chin turns it right back.

“Open your eyes, Porsche.”

It takes every remaining scrap of strength he has left in him for Porsche to do as he’s told. He slits his eyes open, straining to adjust them against the glare of the blue neon lights.

Kinn.

Kinn is crouching in front of him, hovering just a few inches away. One of his hands is on Porsche’s face, the other has a relaxed grip on the spit-soaked gun. He looks half-wild, with his hair knocked askew and his lips parted around ragged breaths. His dark eyes burn.

Porsche wants him. Even after everything he has done, even with all that he is, Porsche wants him. He has never wanted anything so badly.

“Kinn.” Porsche’s voice is wrecked, a pale shadow of itself.

Kinn flinches. For a moment he looks at Porsche with all the naked hunger that torments him plain on his face. For a moment, under the weight of it, Porsche can almost believe he’s going to give in. 

And then, something changes. In the space between heartbeats, something shifts. 

All at once, Kinn’s expression shutters, and the burning fire in his eyes goes out. What’s left is something far colder than had been there before. 

Porsche recoils, yanking his face away from the hand that is holding his chin. Kinn lets him, keeping his arm extended between them for a moment, before he allows it to drop to his side. He studies Porsche for a moment, his face utterly unreadable, before he pushes himself to his feet. He slips his gun back into the holster at his side, straightens his jacket and smooths back his hair. Once more the untouchable, indomitable mafia prince. Once more a prisoner of his own self-control.

He feels like a stranger.

“Make yourself presentable,” Kinn commands in a voice devoid of feeling. “I’ll be escorting you back to the compound, where you’lll report to Chan for punishment.”

“Coward,” Porsche hears himself say.

Kinn’s jaw clenches. He turns away.