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Chapter Text

“So, Porsche has broken his collarbone,” P’Chan says, his voice a little tinny over Kinn’s cellphone speaker.  There’s a tropical storm rolling in and Kinn feels like it’s degrading the call quality.  It’s certainly degrading his quality of life and his sanity.

For the next several hours, Kinn feels like he’s fighting god to get home.  The jet can’t take off.  Then it can’t land.  Then there’s traffic around the airport because of a protest.

He misses the x-rays and the ultrasound.  Then he misses the surgery.  He misses getting Porsche set up in bed after, cleaning him up and checking in with him to make sure he’s okay.

And somehow that’s okay.  “Not your fault,” Porsche mumbles, sounding drugged.  “P’Chan took care of me.”

Kinn’s not quite sure what to say to that.  This was a test, and he failed it, and… it’s okay?

He strips down to his underwear and dozes off on the bed with Porsche, carefully contained in a little strip of bed that isn’t taken over by Porsche’s pillow set-up.  He’d probably get a better night’s sleep if he stayed on the couch with the door open, but he wants to do this.  He wants to atone for making Porsche go without Kinn when he needed him.

Around 1am, he wakes up to Porsche trying to open the bottle of his pain medication one-handed.  “Can you?” he asks Kinn, when Kinn sits up.  “And some ibuprofen?”

“Sure, of course,” Kinn says.  He feels better now that he’s doing something.  It’s his job to take care of the family.  He needs to do his job.

He gets Porsche his medication and helps him get out of bed so he can piss.  And then Porsche sits on the bathtub edge and lets Kinn sponge away the worst of the sweat and post-surgical mess from his skin.  “That’s better,” Porsche mumbles, half-awake and obviously high as balls on meds.  “Thanks, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kinn says, and spends the rest of the night half-dozing in case Porsche wants anything else.

He comes home from work the next day to find a large recliner shoved next to his bed, and Porsche asleep in it.  Porsche rouses before Kinn can start kicking himself for not ordering one from the plane for Porsche.  Obviously this is better than sleeping propped up on six pillows.

“Don’t make a face like that, I’m fine,” Porsche says, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.  “Can you open my pills for me?”

Porsche is fine, even if he’s itchy and a bit grumpy because of the pain and the healing skin.  Kinn doesn’t know why, but he feels off-kilter, not being needed.  It’s been his job for a long time to look after everyone and make sure they’re okay.

“What’s this face?” Porsche says, and crawls into bed with Kinn on his way back from the bathroom.  “Why are you worrying?”

“I’m not,” Kinn says, and shoves a few pillows against the headboard so Porsche has something to lean back on.  Porsche is still sleeping in the recliner, but this is nice, getting to cuddle for a few minutes before he gets back out of bed.

Porsche gets set up against the pillows, and then reaches up and smoothes out the line between Kinn’s eyebrows.  “I’m fine,” he says, not for the first time.  “It barely hurts.  It’s probably better that they finally fixed the old break.”

“I know, I know,” Kinn murmurs.  Porsche tugs at his hip, and he gives in and swings his leg over Porsche’s lap, so they’re face to face.  

“Kiss?” Porsche says hopefully, and Kinn obliges with a peck on the forehead.  “Kinn,” Porsche complains, so Kinn gives him a real one, a proper one, on the lips.

Porsche turns his face up for another one, and Kinn can’t resist him.  He carefully threads his fingers in Porsche’s hair, and kisses him goodnight properly, enjoying the taste of Porsche’s mouth and the silky feeling of his hair in Kinn’s hand, and the warmth and solidity of his body.

Porsche’s good hand slides down Kinn’s back, and gives his ass a friendly squeeze.  Kinn laughs into Porsche’s mouth and Porsche grins.  His hand slides around and he cups Kinn’s cock.

“You don’t have to,” Kinn says, and Porsche cranes his neck up to give Kinn another sloppy kiss.

“I know,” Porsche says.  “But I want to.  Tell me it doesn’t turn you on to get the ol’ clumsy stranger.”  He wiggles his left hand against Kinn’s rapidly hardening package.

“You turn me on,” Kinn says, which is soppy.  But it’s also true.  Porsche laughs at him and clumsily gets Kinn’s dick out of his pajama pants.

Porsche is really terrible at left-handed handjobs, even when Kinn wraps his hand around Porsche's to help.  Eventually, they untangle their hands so Kinn can just jerk himself off. Porsche helps by lying there and looking like the hottest fucking orthopedic patient Kinn has ever seen in his life, and by letting his good hand roam up and down Kinn's naked skin before settling it on his ass and squeezing.

It feels really good, having Porsche’s hand massaging his glute as Kinn rubs up against the skin of Porsche’s naked stomach.  He can’t help but lean in and taste Porsche’s mouth, and then the slightly damp skin under Porsche’s ear.

Porsche’s hand slips along the sweat-dewed skin of Kinn’s ass as he moves, glancing along his crack.  Porsche has definitely grabbed his ass before, but he’s respectful of Kinn’s boundaries.  He doesn’t put his hands where he thinks Kinn won’t want them.  His fingers usually stay well clear of Kinn’s hole.

Right now the tip of Porsche’s finger is just brushing Kinn there.  It feels taboo to be touched like this.    Kinn pushes back into it, and Porsche grabs harder, his finger nearly inside, a place Kinn hasn’t been touched since…

Kinn comes all over Porsche’s abs.  “Did I get your sling?” he asks, trying not to collapse onto Porsche’s broken shoulder.

“It wipes clean,” Porsche says, and relaxes into the pillow.  He’s not hard, but he is interested, firmed up when Kinn gives him a friendly grope.  “I’m good,” Porsche says, but doesn’t knock his hand away.  He’s smiling.  “When I’m off the meds you can get me back.”

“I love you,” Kinn tells him, and gives him another kiss.  He’s still half-curled over Porsche, hunching down to kiss him, but it’s good.  Porsche’s hand is still on his lower back, gently petting.  It’s really nice to be sat on his lap like this.  It's nice to have this moment of connection before Porsche goes to sleep in his lounger.  It's nice that Porsche thought of Kinn and took care of his needs.

“I love you too,” Porsche says, and grins.  “You want to try to sleep in the recliner with me?”

“Not really,” Kinn says, but they do shove it around the bedroom until they can hold hands while they fall asleep.

“We can totally fuck,” Porsche insists, holding the sling he’s been out of for two days.  “I’ll just put the sling back on, and we can…”

Kinn would like to fuck.  But he's also suspicious of Porsche's optimism.  “You’re gonna tell me if it hurts,” he says and Porsche rolls his eyes.  “Porsche.  Say yes.”

“I’ll tell you,” Porsche mumbles, and thrusts the sling out again.  He can get it on by himself but it’s harder.  “I’m, um.  I cleaned up.”

“Is that so?” Kinn asks, and takes the sling.  Porsche is naked except for his briefs, which are clinging to his shower-damp skin.  The black nylon of the sling sticks to the last few droplets of water as Kinn helps Porsche tuck his arm into it and buckles it across his naked chest.  “Was it hard with only one hand?”

“A little,” Porsche says, and groans as Kinn mouths at the skin of his neck.  “But I did it.”

“For me?” Kinn asks, and Porsche blushes and tries to turn his face away so Kinn can’t see his expression.  Kinn can’t put into words how much he likes it when Porsche gets shy about wanting something like this.  It makes something go hot in the pit of his stomach.  “Porsche?”

Porsche blushes harder and then shakes his head.  “For me,” he says, and fuck, Kinn is suddenly hard enough to cut diamonds.

“C’mon,” he growls into Porsche’s ear.  “Tell me what you want.”

Porsche blushes even darker red, but he meets Kinn’s gaze when Kinn looks up.  “Eat me out,” he demands, and Kinn couldn’t be happier to oblige.

He tumbles Porsche back to the pillows and knocks his legs open.  Porsche is still a little uncomfortable being flat on his back, so they pause for a second while he squirms around, getting situated against the headboard, but then Kinn is on him.

He hauls Porsche’s hips up onto a pillow, and licks into his hole like it’s melting ice cream.  Porsche lets out a stifled yelp and his legs tremble around Kinn’s ears.  They should do it like this more often, Kinn thinks.

He loves how responsive Porsche is.  When Kinn blows him or eats his ass, Porsche will get these overwhelmed full-body tremors, his whole core tensing with pleasure.  It’s 100% genuine, something Kinn doesn’t think anyone would think to fake.

When they first started hooking up, Kinn was obsessed with how Porsche would fall apart when Kinn put his mouth on him.  It makes sense now - Porsche didn’t get a lot of blowjobs as a back alley escort.  But at the time, it was so different from what Kinn was used to with his professional company.  It seemed so real.

It still does.

Porsche makes another bitten-off little noise, and Kinn sharply focuses back in on what he’s doing.  He likes taking care of Porsche like this.  It’s good to make him feel good.

“Fingers?” Kinn asks, and Porsche shakes with pleasure again and nods.  

Kinn slowly fingers him open, until his hole has gone soft and malleable and Porsche is nearly crying with pleasure.  “You can fuck me,” Porsche mumbles, his face red and sweaty.  “You can fuck me now.”

Kinn grabs the lube and slicks up his cock.  Porsche is loose enough that he can slide right home, deep into Porsche’s velvety-warm heat, but he doesn’t say that as he does so.  “You feel good,” he murmurs into Porsche’s ear, instead, and Porsche’s good arm wraps around his shoulders, his fingers clawing into Kinn’s back.  “You feel so fucking good.”

“Kinn,” Porsche complains, and Kinn obliges, fucking into Porsche in long grinding strokes.  Porsche’s eyes roll up in his head in pleasure, and Kinn doesn’t try to smother the dark feeling of satisfaction he feels.

“Good?” he asks.

“Mm.” Porsche says, sounding desperate.  Kinn fucks into him harder and Porsche’s good arm flies up, bracing against the headboard.  “Kinn!”

Porsche is usually active when they have sex.  His hands wander over Kinn's body and his own, he kisses and bites and talks dirty, he wraps his legs around Kinn's waist and spurs him on like a horse.

Tonight he's melting back into the little nest of pillows.  He's not trying to crane his neck up to bite at Kinn's throat.  His bad arm is trapped between them, and so is his heavy cock.  He's just enjoying himself, trusting Kinn to take care of him.

Kinn can do that.  He's very good at that.  He pauses, adjusts how he's holding himself, and leans down to take Porsche in hand.

He gets another shudder of pleasure as his hand closes around Porsche's cock, and Porsche's eyes squeeze shut.  He makes a low pleased sound in his throat.

“Good?” Kinn asks him.  Porsche gives him a dazed grunt in affirmative, so Kinn keeps up what he's doing, feeling Porsche's body ratchet tighter and tighter under him.

When Porsche comes, he shakes hard and makes a mess of himself.  There's something so genuine about the way his legs tremble and spasm and the weird moan he makes, like Kinn is squeezing the air out of him.

Kinn pulls out, but Porsche doesn’t let him go far.  He keeps his leg hooked over Kinn’s shoulder, keeping Kinn close.  “You can,” he says.  “Wherever you want.”

Porsche’s fucked-out hole is right there, and Kinn’s not a strong man.  He lets the tip of his cock rub against Porsche’s puffy red rim, and comes in a few quick strokes.

Porsche reaches for him and Kinn falls forward against him, careful not to land on Porsche’s collarbone.  “Good?” Porsche asks.  Kinn used to hear it as was it good for you, which it always has been.  But now he hears was I good for you, too.

“So good,” he says, and cranes his head up to give Porsche a soft kiss on the lips.  It took him a while to get used to the difference between having a boyfriend and having an escort in his bed.  Tawan never expected much from Kinn and would roll over and go to sleep after they fucked.  And then Kinn got used to Marsh, who nearly needed to be pried off him after every encounter, hoping Kinn would cave and go again, and he’d get paid for another two hours.  Neither of them was really looking for connection after they fucked.

Porsche noses in, looking for another kiss.  Kinn gives it to him, and smooths his hair back off his forehead.  “Good?” he asks, meaning the same thing Porsche did.

“Yeah,” Porsche says, and holds on tighter with his good arm.  Kinn shifts a little so he can hold on tight back.

Porsche has needs after sex, and tries very hard to pretend he doesn’t.  Kinn used to treat him like he didn’t.  When they first got together, Kinn would stay in bed, but sometimes towards the end of the honeymoon period, he’d do what he usually did after sex.  He’d take a bath, or get up and answer some emails, or…

“Do you wanna put a movie on?” Kinn asks.  

Porsche nods.  They get out of bed and clean up, and then they crawl under the covers and Porsche curls up between Kinn’s legs.  “You can pick,” he mumbles, so Kinn does.

Porsche pretends like he doesn’t care what they do after they fuck, but Kinn’s paying more attention now.  Of course he’ll always say he’s fine, but he goes sad and quiet when Kinn gets up to keep working.  And now Kinn can understand that if Porsche is letting Kinn put his cock inside him, he should at least stick around until Porsche is cleaned up and asleep.

“Is this okay for your shoulder?” Kinn asks, ten minutes into the movie.  “Do you want to take the sling off?”

“I might sleep in it,” Porsche says, and cuddles into Kinn’s chest.

Kinn thinks of making a fuss about it, reminding Porsche that he’s supposed to be out of it as much as he can stand, but he doesn’t.  Maybe Porsche is a little sorer after being jostled around than he’d like to admit, and Kinn can respect that.  He kisses Porsche’s shoulder, right next to the nylon strapping.  “Can I get you a shirt before bed?”

“Mm,” Porsche says.  “I can get it.”

Kinn fucked him so good that his legs are still intermittently trembling.  He's not going to get it.  He's going to fall asleep cuddled up against Kinn's chest and wake up complaining about how the sling rubbed his nipple raw.

Kinn gets out of bed.  He finds Porsche a long-sleeve t-shirt and helps him ease out of the sling and wrestle into the shirt.  “I can do it,” Porsche mumbles.

“I know you can,” Kinn says.  He gets Porsche’s sling and helps him ease his arm back into it.  “But isn’t this better?”

“It’s easier with help,” Porsche agrees, and leans up for a couple more kisses.

Porsche dozes off not too long after, still sitting up between Kinn’s legs, his head pillowed on Kinn’s shoulder.  Kinn isn’t tired yet, so he sits through the movie and puts on another one, enjoying the feeling of Porsche’s soft, even breathing against his neck.

It feels good that he’s done his job properly.  Porsche is comfortable and satisfied, taken care of.  Kinn did good.

Tomorrow, he’ll go into work, and try to take care of all of the TK Group employees.  Taking care of the employees means his brothers are taken care of, and their security staff, and the kitchen workers and all of the rest of the "family."  Taking care keeps the minor family under the cover they need, protects his cousins and Pete.

Thinking of all that, Kinn feels tired, like he’s just run a long, long race.  He shifts and Porsche wakes from his doze.  “Bed?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, come lie down,” Kinn says, and they disentangle to sleep.

Porsche needs to sleep on his back because of his shoulder, so he settles into his little heap of pillows.  Kinn understands, but he also misses the way Porsche sometimes curls up on his chest.

“C’mere,” Porsche mumbles and reaches for Kinn.  Kinn lets himself be reached for, but Porsche isn't trying to figure out how to get Kinn to hold him.  He pulls Kinn's head under his chin and wraps his good arm around Kinn.

They don’t usually sleep like this.  Kinn has always slept on his back and Porsche cuddles up to him.  Kinn’s fairly sure he won’t be able to drift off like this, but…

He can hear Porsche’s heart beating.  Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.   And it’s nice, being tucked under Porsche’s arm like he’s a baby bird.

Kinn lets his eyes flutter shut.  He’ll just rest here, and…

The next day, Kinn goes to work out with P’Chan.  He has thoughts rattling around in his brain, trying to form.  A workout and talk with P’Chan is what he needs to get them out.

Chan is somewhat unique in Kinn's life as being someone who likes him and treats him like a normal person.  Of course Porsche loves Kinn, and so do his brothers and maybe even his cousins.  

But there's such a hierarchy.  Kinn's been on top of everyone in his life for so long.  For a long time there was such a big distance between him and Kim and Khun, and even Porsche, once he became minor family head, was often resentful and even a little scared of Kinn.

Chan has always managed to just treat Kinn like a regular person.  When Kinn was small, even his nannies were a little too deferential to him, scared of his grandfather.  But Chan wasn't.  He treated Kinn like a regular little kid.

Most of Kinn's early memories of being treated like a normal person are Chan or his mother.  To Mama, he wasn't a Theerapanyakun, he was her son.  And Chan would pick him up when he was tired, comfort him when he was scared, and chide him when he was being a little asshole.

Chan liked Kinn and Kim.  He'd do extra shifts on Mama's detail to spend time with them.  All of the other bodyguards were a little wary of Kinn, which was weird as a four year-old boy.  Chan just treated him like a kid, a kid who Chan cared about and wanted to spend time with.

Chan still feels like a safe place for Kinn.  Yes, Kinn employs him, but he’s still P’Chan.  He does whatever the hell he wants and never asks Kinn for permission.  Talking to him and asking for advice from him doesn’t feel like failing in the way it can with almost everyone else in Kinn’s life.

Tonight it feels especially good to hang out with him.  Kinn’s just tired.  Nothing’s gone horribly wrong at work lately, but he’s always braced for some big explosion.  Chan isn’t someone Kinn has to hide those worries from.

“What’s up?” Chan says, once they’ve done cardio and some work with the heavy bag.  “You look like there’s something on your mind.”

Kinn shrugs.  A few months ago, Porsche asked him if he’d ever bottomed, and he’s been thinking about it ever since.  He promised they’d talk about it later, and they sort of have, but not really.

“Do you remember that night you helped me find some company?” Kinn asks, and Chan hmms in affirmative.  “I, um.  We did that checklist together.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Chan says, and is quiet.

That was a fucking awful night.  With hindsight, Kinn can say things were… rough, even before Papa got sick.  But after Papa's heart attack, while he’d been incapacitated, had been hellish.

Part of what had been so awful was how upset Tankhun had been.  Kinn doesn’t know why Khun would have been otherwise - Mama’s death had crushed him into a half-decade waking coma - but Kinn had taken Tankhun’s obvious fear hard.  He needed - needs - Khun’s support, and the depth of Khun’s panic had seemed like a referendum on Kinn’s ability to lead the family.

Papa was hovering between life and death.  Khun had retreated back into a temporary fog.  Kim was out of the house and refusing to come back, even for this.  Tawan was dead (well, “dead.”)  Kinn had felt so alone.

But Chan had been there.  He'd stood behind Kinn's chair and talked things over with him after meetings.  It had felt very similar to Chan coaching him in boxing.  He might not be amazing yet, but Chan trusted him to get there, and walked with him step-by-step.

On the night Kinn had gone to talk to Chan about the escorts, he’d been thinking a lot about killing himself.  It wasn’t that he wanted to; in fact he was terrified that he’d slip up and go through with it in a moment of weakness.  Death had represented a release from the constant pressure and uncertainty that had crept into his life, especially now that Papa was awake and able to criticise all Kinn’s decisions.  It was so tempting to finally make things quiet, for once, as much as Kinn would have hated to hurt Khun and Kim.

In the security office, with P’Chan, he’d been safe from the staggering pressure of his new position.  Chan didn’t tell him off for wanting company.  He didn’t judge Kinn.  

(And if Kinn had gone for his gun, like he’d been thinking about all afternoon and evening, Chan would have stopped him.  He would have kept Kinn safe from himself, like he did when Kinn was a child and trying to throw himself down a flight of stairs, or drown himself in a fountain.  As long as he stayed in the security office with his phi, he was safe.)

But that’s not what Kinn came here to talk to him about.  “Do you remember, you asked me if I topped or bottomed?” he asks.

“I do, I know you top,” Chan says.  “What’s up?”

“I, um,” Kinn says.  He’s not really sure what he’s trying to ask.  “Porsche asked me if I ever bottomed.”

“Oh,” Chan says.  He knows this.  They talked about it months ago, when Porsche first asked.  “Have you?”

“No,” Kinn says.  He’s not sure how to say what he’s trying to say.  He’s not even really sure what he’s trying to say.

Sex with Porsche means something.  Kinn doesn’t think that it makes all the sex before it less worthy, but it’s different with Porsche than it was with an escort.  Sex means opening up to each other, means showing care for each other.  It means being vulnerable and sometimes even silly.

Chan just waits for Kinn to go on.  Kinn appreciates the silence.  He’s always felt like a slow thinker compared to Tankhun, and Chan doesn’t go sprouting off ten different possible ideas while Kinn is trying to find the words for what he means.

“I feel tired,” he says, not sure how this is going to make sense to P’Chan.  “I’m just… yeah.  Really tired.”

“Of the way you have sex?” Chan asks.

Kinn shakes his head.  He loves that Porsche will ask him for things and let Kinn give him what he wants.  They still have penetrative sex less frequently than they used to, but they’re also not 23 and 26 anymore.  And Porsche is happy and satisfied after their encounters.  Kinn wouldn’t give that up for anything.  He loves making Porsche happy.

“It’s not that,” he says, still trying to figure out what he’s talking about.  “Just with… everyone expects things from me.”

“That’s true,” Chan says.  “I can see how that would be tiring.”

“And sometimes, I wish I could…”  Kinn’s not sure what he wishes for, but he longs for it.  He is tired.

Chan nods, and thinks for a few seconds.  Kinn waits.  “I know I always talk about what your mom would have done and you scoff at me,” Chan says.  “But Kinn, she’d want you to be happy.  She’d tell you to fuck what everyone thinks.  If you need permission from me to do that, you’ve got it.”

Kinn nods.  Maybe that’s what he was asking.  He just wants to know he won’t be a disappointment.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Stretch,” Chan says, because he is totally incapable of accepting thanks for looking after them.  “What’s tight today?”

Chapter Text

Kinn wakes up to Porsche having a nightmare.  He was kind of expecting one, if he's honest.  Porsche had therapy yesterday and his mind kicks up bad dreams for a few nights after.

“Baby,” Kinn says, and gently touches Porsche's shoulder.  “Sweetheart.”

Porsche blinks awake, his lashline damp with tears.  His face is so open, just waking up, and he looks so relieved to see Kinn next to him.

Kinn opens his arms and Porsche crawls into them.  He's not very good at calming himself down after bad dreams.  If someone isn't in bed with him, he'll stay up the rest of the night and feel like dog shit in the morning, and the bad feeling will linger for a couple days at least.

Kinn knows Porsche thinks he’s slick, sneaking out of bed, but he’s been a restless sleeper as long as they’ve been together, even if he doesn't always wake Kinn up.  While he was still head of the minor family, he did wake Kinn up with nightmares from time to time, although not nearly as frequently as he does now that he’s in their bed every night.  Sometimes Kinn would talk to him soothingly and rub his back and he’d fall into a more easy sleep.  Sometimes he’d wake up and they’d fuck about it. 

At the time, it had just made sense to.  How else was Kinn supposed to show affection?  At what other time was it safe to cling together like they are now?

Now that they talk about things instead of fucking about them, Porsche has tried to assure Kinn that sex after a nightmare is welcome, that he likes the distraction.  And now that their sex life works with Porsche asking and Kinn giving, Kinn believes it.  But there’s a few times before he thinks of more than he should, where Porsche woke up quiet and disoriented, and Kinn assumed that the way he clung to Kinn meant fuck me.   He wishes so much that he’d asked and that he could have trusted Porsche to say no if he didn’t want to.

Another thing Kinn thinks about a lot is the last time they had sex before Porsche’s mom got sick.  Porsche had been naked in their bed with his fingers up his ass.  It had seemed obvious what he wanted, and Kinn had given it to him.

In retrospect, Porsche had seemed a little off while they were doing it.  It was almost a too-perfect performance.  But Kinn hadn’t been thinking about that at the time.  He’d been thinking that he was horny, and Porsche had been cold to him for the last few days, and that he loved Porsche and needed him, and that this was good for them.  He’d been thinking that they were better when they could talk with their bodies.

He’d finished, and Porsche had wobbled off his hands and knees, and in a strangely pliant state, opened his legs for a blowjob.  Kinn still remembers how odd that had been.  Porsche had gone from moaning for it to dead silent, covering his face with both arms like he didn’t want to look at what was happening.

Kinn slipped two fingers back in his ass, playing with his own come.  Porsche made a choked noise, then, and orgasmed.  

At the time, Kinn was relieved.  Porsche was being kind of weird, but an orgasm meant things were good between them, right?  Now he thinks all the time of Porsche saying how upset he was Kinn hadn’t even used a condom the night of the diamond auction.  He'd mentioned once that he could tell what happened because Kinn's cum was dripping out of him the next morning.  Was that what he was thinking of then?

After, Porsche behaved like he wanted to crawl inside Kinn’s skin with him.  Kinn had been happy about it, happy to be close, and then angry when he woke up alone the next morning.  He hadn't stopped to think what happened?  Why did Porsche do that?   At the time, Porsche made about as much sense as the sky did when it rained.

They’ve unpicked a lot of that since it happened.  Kinn used to assume orgasms were a sign that everything was alright, but he’s since learned that Porsche has a sensitive prostate, and that he essentially taught himself to finish on command while he was bartending.  Some of the girls liked it, apparently.

“Yeah, I just… as long as I’m hard, if I get enough…” Porsche had made a jerking off motion.  “And then I have this fantasy, and… yeah.  I can do it.”

“What’s the fantasy?” Kinn asked, teasingly.  He’d wanted to do it for Porsche.

But Porsche had gotten shy about it.  He still won’t say what it is, which leads Kinn to believe it’s something shockingly vanilla that he’s scared to ask for.  Kinn thinks it might be hearing I love you.

Kinn’s not sure if he said it that night.  They’d been fighting.  Porsche wasn’t very chatty after they fucked.

So he says it now, in their bed in the middle of the night.  Porsche lets out a shaky breath.  “I dreamed you didn't want me anymore,” he mumbles.  “You told me to go.”

“I want you so much,” Kinn says.  “I’ll never tell you to go.”

“Okay,” Porsche says.  He blinks away some tears, and leans up for a kiss.  “Okay.”

Kinn’s so much better now at comforting him.  He does his best to be gentle, kisses the tears off Porsche’s cheeks, rubs his back under the old t-shirt he wore to bed.

Porsche sighs.  “Just a dream,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself that’s true.  His hands are fisted in Kinn’s pajamas.  “Just a dream.”

“Just a dream,” Kinn reassures him.  “Do you want to tell me more about what happened or just go back to sleep?”

“I um.  I was the head of the minor family again,” Porsche says.  “And I fucked up, and, uh…”  He swallows hard and squeezes his eyes shut.  A fresh wave of tears spills down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Kinn says.  “I’m sorry I was so hard on you.  I never wanted you to leave.”

“Kay,” Porsche says.  “Just… I want…”

They rearrange so Porsche can lie flat on his back and Kinn is half on top of him, like a human blanket.  It’s more comfortable for his shoulder to be on his back, and he likes the weight and the pressure, sometimes, when he doesn’t feel very there.   They settle, and Porsche wraps his arms around Kinn and holds on so tight Kinn almost can’t breathe.

“Do you want the big light on?” Kinn asks, because he can tell this dream got Porsche bad.  

Porsche shakes his head and tucks his face in against Kinn’s neck.  “I’m just… don’t go, okay?”

“Okay,” Kinn agrees, and lies there until Porsche falls back asleep, still clutching at Kinn’s pajamas so hard the silk is pulled out of shape when Kinn wakes up the next morning.

At first Kinn was so confused why Porsche would feel like Kinn wasn’t safe.  And now he thinks he gets it.  The rape.  And then death by a thousand cuts, a thousand times Kinn assumed that it was normal for them to be “equal” but for Kinn to be a little more equal than everyone else.  A thousand times where Porsche had to weigh up their boardroom fight that morning against a bedroom fight that night.

And somehow Kinn is still the person he reaches for to comfort him.  Kinn was the person he needed after his mother died.  Kinn is the person who helps him fall back asleep after nightmares where he’s tossed aside again.

It makes more sense now why Porsche isn’t straightforward about saying no.  Kinn thinks of himself as a fairly logical and unemotional guy.  He has to be, to do the job he does.  But he feels so deeply guilty that he hurt Porsche and is still the person Porsche wants when he dreams about Kinn hurting him.  Kinn doesn't think the world is fair, but it feels wrong that Porsche has to let one person be both those things to him.  He wishes he could split himself in two so Porsche would only have the good parts of Kinn.

He waits until Porsche is fully asleep, and carefully rolls away, so he doesn’t crush Porsche lying on top of him all night.  If Porsche’s collarbone wasn’t broken, Kinn could probably shift him onto his side and spoon him.  But that’s not an option tonight.

Despite not deserving it, he puts his head down on Porsche’s chest and curls up there to sleep.

Kinn just feels kind of… off over the next few days.  Weird and sad and tired.

He tries to put a good face on it.  Nobody needs to hear him complain about how exhausted he is.  And he’s not even sure why he’s so tired - work hasn’t been particularly stressful, he hasn’t been travelling and he isn’t fighting with Porsche.

Tonight he’s having dinner with Porsche and Tankhun.  It’s been hard to focus all day, but he had to so he did.  Now he’s exhausted.

He almost wishes Porsche wasn’t here and it was just him and Khun, because his hia will baby him if he thinks Kinn needs it and it won’t embarrass him too much, which means not ever in front of people.  And maybe right now Kinn needs it.

“Kinn,” Tankhun says, aggrieved, when Kinn comes in, and makes Kinn sit down on the couch so he can inspect Kinn’s T-zone.  Kinn melts into his hands.  “Look at this!  Congestion!  Have you been smoking?  Eating dairy?"

“No,” Kinn says, and Tankhun huffily stalks around the suite gathering various implements of relaxation.

Porsche comes in halfway through Tankhun trying to twist Kinn’s eyebrow frown lines to relax.  Kinn has a facialist and a masseuse.  P’Chan made him see the PT a couple times to try to get him to stop clenching his jaw.  But somehow he can’t relax for them like he can for his big brother.

“Spa night?” Porsche asks, and sits down on the floor next to where Kinn is lying on the sectional.

“No,” Kinn says, and tries to sit up.  He feels like he’s made of sand, so he doesn’t get very far before Tankhun shoves him back down.

“Yes,” Tankhun says.  “Look at the state of him!”

“He looks good to me,” Porsche says, and grabs Kinn’s hand to give it a kiss hello.  “But I’m reporting for duty, chief, what can I do?”

“Better,” Tankhun sniffs, and puts Kinn’s hand in Porsche’s.  “Here, you can be my assistant.”

Kinn should probably protest this, because it’s silly.  But Tankhun said he needed it, and so he doesn’t, even if he’s faintly embarrassed that Porsche is here for the brotherly rituals.

Tankhun has always been Kinn’s rock.  At first it was just the natural way of things - Tankhun was the big brother, the apple of Grandfather’s eye, the future leader of all that he surveyed.  And he was so much fun to be around that Kinn and Vegas never minded that he took control of all their games and soaked up so much of the adult attention.  In a way it was good for them that Tankhun drew Grandfather’s focus and held it.  Grandfather was a terrifying man.

Part of what had been so hard about their mother’s death was that Tankhun had vanished.   He’d still been there in body, in his bedroom watching endless series.  And sometimes he’d managed to pull it together for Kim, to hold his hand and help him sleep.

But Kinn’s big brother was gone.  Even after Tankhun had been kidnapped, and he’d been confined, shattered, to bed, he’d still been there for Kinn as he figured out how to be the family heir.  Khun had been different, lying in a hospital bed as his broken bones recovered, but he’d light up when he saw Kinn.  He'd spend an hour giving him little tricks to deal with Papa being unreasonable and to not look ten years old when he had to come say hello in meetings before the doctor would say he had to rest.

And then their mother died and Kinn needed him so badly.  And that light was gone.   There wasn’t even grief left behind, just emptiness.  If the kidnapping had shattered Tankhun, her death had ground the remaining pieces of him to sand.

He’s not sand now, and he hasn’t been for a long time.  “Does Porsche know the hand trick?” Tankhun asks Kinn.

“The hand trick?” Porsche says, curious.  Kinn can barely slit his eyes open to see the expression on Porsche’s face.  He’s just there, a Porsche-coloured blur of smiles and Kinn’s own eyelashes.

“Here,” Tankhun says, and takes Kinn’s hand from Porsche.  “Rub his palm, and wherever you find a sore spot, it’s the acupoint for something wrong inside of him.”

“Interesting,” Porsche says, and doesn’t make fun of Tankhun for being pseudoscientific or for fussing.  He takes Kinn’s hand and massages it thoroughly, the meat under his thumb, the joining place of all the muscles and tendons in the middle of his hands, the boney conjunctions of Kinn’s fingers.

There are a lot of little sore spots.  “Better?” Porsche asks, finding one and working it out with his thumb.  Kinn’s eyes fly open at the ache of it, and he can’t look away from Porsche’s face of concentration as he tries to work the knot loose.

“Yeah,” Kinn says, when the ache starts to subside.  “Thanks.”

“Keep going,” Tankhun says, imperiously.  “He’s got two hands.”

“Yessir,” Porsche says, and laughs when Tankhun shoves him.

Kinn feels how he does sometimes in the gym with P’Chan, when he’s sure he’s alone and can let go of his public face.  He means it figuratively but also quite literally.  He lets his jaw relax and tries to work out the tight muscles there and in his forehead and behind his ears, working his mouth in that stupid fish-face gasp he has to do for any kind of relief.

“Hmph,” Tankhun says, and pulls Kinn’s head into his lap so he can work on the hinges of his jaw for him.  The masseuse does this too, but it’s still a stranger touching him.  It’s hard to let go of being who he is, even naked on a massage table.

“How are you doing that?” Porsche asks, leaning in curiously.

“Here,” Khun says, and takes Porsche’s hands under his.  Porsche makes the movement and Tankhun sets the pressure.  Kinn melts.

“He has a very tense face,” Tankhun says, and their combined hands go away.  When Kinn looks up, he can mostly see chins, Porsche and Khun at a strange angle. Tankhun is demonstrating to Porsche all of the places Kinn holds tension by touching Porsche’s face.  

Kinn is shocked by it.  Khun doesn’t touch people, other than him and Kim (and maybe Arm and Pol.)  It’s a big show of trust.

“You do too,” Tankhun says, and strokes down the side of Porsche’s jaw.  Kinn wishes he could see Porsche’s expression as he gets the full hia treatment.

Tankhun is good at this.  He came back to life after Kinn shot Tawan.  They’ve never talked about it but the timing wasn’t coincidental.  Kinn needed him, and Tankhun gathered up all the little scattered fragments of sand and put himself back together.

People like to say that Khun is fragile, that he’s like glass, and maybe that’s true.  But Kinn thinks it ignores Khun’s strength.  If you put him in a crucible, he won’t smoke up to ash.  He’ll bend and warp and remould himself and somehow still stay Khun.

Kinn closes his eyes, and listens to the sound of Porsche laughing at how tender the muscles of his jaw can be as Tankhun scolds him for not following a proper routine of jaw-relaxing oral hygiene exercises.

Kinn feels better the next day, more like himself.  It isn’t hard to be who he is today.  

It’s a Wednesday, so Porsche is at the bar late but not late-late.  That’s alright because Kinn stays at the office late but not late-late, and finishes a few things he was too scattered to do the day before.

Porsche is home when Kinn comes upstairs, which is a nice feeling.  He starts to call and ask what Porsche wants to do for dinner, and then sniffs the air.  He can’t identify all the separate spices, but there is a nice food smell wafting from the kitchen.  Porsche cooked for him.

“I made duck,” Porsche says, popping into the living room.  “Is that okay?”

“That’s great,” Kinn says.  At first he didn’t understand what it meant when Porsche made food for him, but he thinks now he does.  Yes, they could call the kitchen, but Porsche did this for Kinn.  He used his own two hands to juice the limes, salt the curry sauce, and pluck the meat from the duck’s bones.  

Kinn could call Ana and have her get a chef in here in an hour, but it wouldn’t be his effort that made them dinner.  It would be a stranger’s.  Home-cooked food from his own kitchen is a gift no one can give him but Porsche.

And Kinn really likes duck.  Porsche makes his detail stop at certain market on the way home from a bar, and picks up a pre-roasted bird from a stall.  Kinn loves the flavour of it, loves eating bits of meat from the cutting board as Porsche does all the actual cooking.  The kitchen aunties are slightly horrified that Kinn has been eating street meat, but the market's roasted duck is really good and even better in curry sauce.

He can’t remember if his mother ever actually cooked for him, but they had rituals like this.  He’d come find her in the garden and they’d have tea together, and she’d ask him about his day.  Even Papa and Grandfather never got in the way of their after-school ritual.  It was sacred for both Kinn and Tankhun to spend an hour or so with Mama and tell her about school and their friends and their problems before they went on to lessons and family duties.

Watching Porsche cook and eating together feels the same as that.  “How was your day?” Porsche asks, coming into the living room with two bowls of curry and rice on a tray.  He leans over and kisses Kinn on the cheek as he passes.

“Long,” Kinn says, and helps him lay out the food and the water glasses and the knives and forks.  “How about you?”

Kinn really missed this.  All the money in the world can’t buy his boyfriend’s genuine attention as he talks about his day.  He feels so stupid that he assumed it would be the same between them when they worked together and he’d come home with Porsche as his main workday headache.  It’s so much better now.

They eat, and then Porsche is in a good mood, so they make out on the couch for a bit, Porsche in Kinn’s lap and Kinn’s hands up Porsche’s shirt.  Kinn’s growing to like it, just touching each other and not needing it to progress into anything else.

Tonight it does, and that’s good too, but it would have been fine if it hadn’t.  Kinn gets a blowjob, leaning back against the couch cushions, and gives one to Porsche after sprawled out on the living room rug.  “Ha,” Porsche says after, grinning.  “That was great.”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and gives him a salty-bitter kiss with a hint of red-curry duck.  They get up to go brush their teeth, and Kinn turns the tub on so they can soak for a while.

Porsche really likes just hanging out in the tub.  At work, Kinn and Chay joke that Porsche is a cat sometimes, when they’re trying to get ahold of him and he’s ignoring his phone.  But the way he likes to hang out in the water isn’t very cat-like.

Kinn tells him this while they’re in the bath, massaging shampoo into Porsche’s hair.  This is another thing he’s missed, dumb post-coital conversations.  Things were very quiet between the two of them for a very long time, as they tried to avoid bringing up a bad work day and starting the “contributions to failure” conversation again, or when they needed to not start another fight when they were fighting all the time, or when Porsche just didn’t have much energy to talk after his mom died.

Porsche laughs.  “Then I’m a tiger,” he says, and starts to reach for his phone, likely to show Kinn swimming tiger videos, before deciding that’s a bad idea.  “Big cats love water.”

“Oh, I see,” Kinn says, and kisses him behind the ear.  “You’re a tiger in the sack, that’s for sure.”

“You’re so fucking corny,” Porsche says, laughing.  “... I didn’t scratch you this time, did I?”

“I don’t think so,” Kinn says.  Clawed-up shoulders are another thing he’s been enjoying recently, after a long time without.  “You want to check?”

“Mm, mmhmm,” Porsche says.  “Scoot up.”

“Sure,” Kinn says, and lets Porsche laughingly inspect the skin of his back.  Porsche is in a good mood, a touchy, fiddly mood, and Kinn likes that.

He looks over the skin of Kinn’s back, and pokes at a mole he finds there.  And then he sits down in Kinn’s lap again, and looks very closely at the skin of his face.  “Are you my dermatologist?” Kinn asks, amused, and brings one hand up to Porsche’s hip to hold him there.

“Yes,” Porsche says, and kisses his forehead.  “I’m checking to see if you have pores.”

“Sure,” Kinn says, and leans back in the tub while Porsche inspects him for blemishes.  It’s silly.  But maybe there needs to be some room in Kinn’s life for silliness.

He tries to imagine Marsh sitting in his lap and looking him over for blackheads and pre-cancerous moles.  He’s sure that’s something he could have paid extra for and received.  But Kinn, and his body, weren’t interesting to Marsh (or even Tawan) in the way they are to Porsche.  He was a job, not a person.  Not someone loved.

He really, really missed this.

“Ow, ow,” he says, as Porsche finds something.  “That’s a mole.”

“Yok showed me all these pimple videos,” Porsche says, grudgingly letting up on it.  “There are some really giant blackheads.  And ingrown hairs.”

“Thank you, Dr. Porsche,” Kinn says, dry, and leans back against the lip of the tub again, closing his eyes.  “If anything gross comes out, don’t show me.”

“Awh, Kinn,” Porsche says, but continues his hunt.  “It’s your body, I don’t see how that could be gross to you.”

“It’s supposed to know better than to grow… whatever it is that you’re trying to squeeze out of that one,” Kinn says, mostly joking.

“Bodies don’t work like that,” Porsche says, sagely, and Kinn cracks an eye open to see if he’s looking wise or if he’s joking.  His expression is somewhere in between.  “But don’t worry, when we’re old, I’ll take care of all your giant blackheads for you and I’ll never let you see.”

“You’re so giving,” Kinn says, and leans up for a kiss.  “Nope, mole.  Move on.”

Porsche laughs at him, and makes him turn over so he can really see Kinn’s back.

When they get into bed that night, Kinn is covered - well, not covered.  He has pretty good skin.  He’s scattered with little red marks where Porsche found something icky and dealt with it for Kinn.  Porsche kept his word and didn’t make Kinn look at what he was squeezing out.

“Are you going to read?” Porsche asks, yawning.

“Not tonight,” Kinn says, and rolls onto his side so he can hold Porsche.  Porsche shoves at him.  “What?”

“Do the thing I like,” Porsche demands, and Kinn cups his dick, mostly as a joke.  He has absolutely no idea what the thing I like might be referring to.  Porsche laughs.  “No, no, come here.”

He tugs until Kinn is lying with his head on Porsche’s chest again.  “You like this?” Kinn asks.

“Mm,” Porsche says.  “You have a really heavy head.  S’nice.”  His hand sneaks up and twines in Kinn’s damp hair, petting the strands there.  “Soft.”

“Glad me and my soft giant head can be of use to you, Khun Porsche,” Kinn says, but Porsche is already almost asleep.

With permission, it’s easier to enjoy being curled up between Porsche’s arm and his body.  Kinn can hear Porsche’s heart beating.  He can hear the soft whoosh of his breath.

It should be soporific, but Kinn is enjoying it too much to fall asleep.  He pulls Porsche’s arm a little tighter around his shoulders, and lies and watches the lights through the window for a very long time.  There’s something bubbling up in his chest, but it’s too late at night for him to try to say what.  Eventually, he closes his eyes and lets sleep take him.

Chapter Text

Kinn isn’t really a dreamer, or if he is, he doesn’t remember his dreams.  Since Mama died, he’s had trouble getting enough rest, and often when he finally makes it to bed, he drops off immediately and sleeps deeply for hours.  Porsche is the dreamer.

He’s away for a few days, in Kyoto for a meeting for the legitimate side of the business.  He’s staying at a truly lovely hotel with a truly lovely hot spring, and he’s missing Porsche all the more for it.  Porsche would love the bathtub with the view of the bamboo grove.

Kinn’s sleeping more lightly than he usually does, maybe because he’s not in his own bed, maybe because he’s away from Porsche, or maybe because January in Kyoto is a lot colder than January in Bangkok, and he hasn’t quite felt warm since he got here.

He goes to bed late because of a business dinner.  He sleeps fitfully, and dreams.  In the dream, he’s warm, in bed with Porsche, and they’re making out.  Porsche’s hands are wandering up and down his body the way they did when they first got together, and Porsche touched Kinn like he found him fascinating.

Usually Kinn takes control when they’re in bed, but tonight, in the privacy of his own mind, he doesn’t have to.  He just lets Porsche touch him and touch him.

Porsche’s fingers dip between Kinn’s cheeks and Kinn lets out a shaky breath.  He spreads his legs.

In the dream, the fingers dip inside.  It feels good, but the dream is getting hazy, maybe because Kinn’s barely got any memory of what this feels like.  The only time he did it was in high school with Time, in the bathroom at a party.

He wakes hard and lonely and still kind of cold.  It’s too late (or too early) to call Porsche, but he’s probably not getting back to sleep.  He pulls the covers over his head and rubs his hands together, but that doesn’t make it not January in the mountains, and being fully under the covers feels kind of claustrophobic.  Kinn doesn’t know how Porsche manages to sleep fully under the bedding sometimes, with just the top of his head sticking out.  It makes all of the noises of the building and the wind so loud when Kinn can’t see what’s happening.

He pops his head out from under the blankets.  From the bed, he can see the edge of the huge tub in the ensuite.  Porsche is maybe onto something with taking baths.  If Kinn fills the tub up, he hopes it’ll finally cut through the miserable chill he feels.

Kinn drags the duvet along with him to the bathroom and sits huddled in it while the bathtub fills with steaming water.  He’ll soak for a while, and he’ll jerk off in the tub, and then maybe he can nap for an hour before he has to get up for meetings.

But when the tub is finally full and the water is warming Kinn’s bones, it doesn’t feel like enough to close his eyes and wrap his hand around his cock.  The dream still feels very real.

Kinn wouldn’t usually feel… right, touching himself there.  It was fine that time in high school, because it was just an experiment, and he was with Time.  Time doesn’t kiss and tell, and never has.  It’s mostly because even three years after they broke up, he’s still worried about what Tay will think if he hears about it.  Kinn was never the other man, but Tay probably wouldn’t have looked favourably on hearing Time fingered Kinn in P’Chai’s parent’s ensuite at an end-of-year party.  Maybe that’s why the whole thing makes Kinn so uncomfortable.  He’d never want to hurt Tay.

But tonight he’s by himself in another country and it’s been a good fifteen years since that ill-fated night in the bathroom with Time.  When he pulls the plug on the tub, his sins will literally be washed away.  He could…

He could?  He could.

He doesn’t want to get out of the tub to look for lube because of the cold.  And anyway, he hasn’t been on a trip with Porsche since last year.  He’s pretty sure there isn’t any left in his toiletries kit.

It makes him miss Big.  Big was someone Kinn could trust with his secrets.  He likes the guys on his current detail, but it’s not the same.  Kinn’s not asking any of them to run to a 7-11 to buy sex stuff for him and trusting them to keep their mouths shut, especially not when he’s here alone.  God forbid someone tells Chay he has an escort up here.

Kinn almost decides to forget it.  He doesn’t even really need to jerk off.  He was just cold.

But there is a little thing of conditioner sitting on the edge of the tub, calling to him.  He’s by himself, he reasons again,  and coats his fingers in it.  He sits up on his knees so it doesn’t all wash away in the water, the cool air stinging his torso and abdomen.

He’s topped for years and had his fingers in a lot of asses.  He knows what he’s doing here, except for navigating the awkward angle.

Still, he tenses at the first touch of his own fingers and has to remind himself to breathe out.  His fingers slip in with a sting, and he bends forward, feeling the cool porcelain of the tub against his chest.  It takes a second to get the right angle to touch his prostate like this, but…

The feeling of his fingers sends a shiver through him.  He takes his cock in hand and strokes, and that’s better, more intense.  He bows his back into it.  It feels…

It feels exposed.  Even an ocean away from home, it feels like too much to be face-down, ass-up in a bathtub.  Kinn can’t shake the feeling someone is watching him.

He pulls his fingers away.  And then he looks down at them and thinks those were in my ass and the idea of washing them in the bathtub water he’s going to sit back down in grosses him out.  He climbs out of the hot bathwater, shivering, and washes his hands in the sink.

When he gets back into the hot bath, it’s not as hot anymore.  He runs the hot water tap for a minute, trying to get it to warm up, but all it does is create hot and cold layers in the tub so that he’s simultaneously cold and scalded.  Fucking…  

Kinn gets out, towels dry and takes his whole frozen self back to bed, which is also now cold.  Just as he’s about to rend his garments with misery, his phone flashes.  jst got home, the message reads.  miis yuo.

Kinn hits the call button without a second’s thought.  “Hey,” he says when Porsche picks up.  “I miss you too.”

“Hey, handsome,” Porsche says, and flops down on their bed.  Kinn wishes he was there.  “Isn’t it like 4am there?”

“Yeah, I woke up,” Kinn says.  “Did you have a good night?”

“Not bad,” Porsche says, and snuggles under their covers.  Kinn is jealous he’s in warm, sunny Bangkok, in their bedroom where there are blankets and sweaters and socks.  Porsche raises his eyebrows.  “You look… cold.”

“It’s the humidity or something,” Kinn says, because yeah, he probably does look freezing, he’s got the blanket pulled up practically to his ears.

“You know, there’s usually another blanket in the closet,” Porsche points out gently.  “And you can call the front desk and ask for a heater.”

Being seen in his pajamas by a bell boy seems like too much considering what he’s just been doing, but the extra blanket…  Kinn takes his blanket cape with him to the closet and discovers a robe and extra duvet.

“Better?” Porsche asks, smiling with his eyes when Kinn comes back to bed wearing the terrycloth robe over his thin pajamas and carrying the second, heavier duvet.

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and gets back into bed.  The sheets aren’t warm yet, but just the weight of the extra blanket makes him feel better.  “It’s really beautiful here.  But it’s cold.  Can’t wait to be home.”

“Yeah, me too,” Porsche says.  “... you wanna jerk off with me?  Since you can’t sleep?”

“Ha,” Kinn says, and tells Porsche at least a little of the story about being too cold and getting into the bath.  Porsche laughs at him and Kinn feels a little better about trying something and not having it work, even if he hasn’t told Porsche the most important part.  This isn’t a secure line.

“Well, you should finish,” Porsche says, and Kinn hears the rustle of the duvet.  Porsche switches the camera, and Kinn gets a shot of his body, laid out on their sheets.  Porsche palms himself through his underwear and pulls himself out.

He looks really good, like he always does.  But… “I think I'd rather see your face,” Kinn says, a little embarrassed to be making such a soppy request.  Porsche has an amazing body, Kinn should…  

The camera flips back.  “Oh,” Porsche says, but looks quite pleased.  “If you want.”

“I do want,” Kinn says, more confident now that he can see Porsche likes what he asked for.  “What would you want me to do if I was with you?”

“Well,” Porsche starts, and Kinn finally gets off, in time to sleep for about half an hour before his wakeup call.  He’s still exhausted the next day, but he feels more settled in his skin for having spoken to Porsche.

Kinn returns from Kyoto two nights later.  They fly private coming home - it makes more sense when he's got himself, five other TK Group employees and several bodyguards with him - but it's still a six hour flight, and Kinn can't sleep with fifteen people milling around the plane cabin with him, and this jet is a charter and doesn’t have a private space to retreat to.

He can feel himself getting grumpier and grumpier and tenser and tenser.  Finally, Chay comes and takes the seat next to him.

Chay doesn't make a lot of their family connection, even though that does play into why Kinn has promoted him so quickly.  He understands who the major players are, and what the two families do, and he's Kim's husband so he has Kinn's total trust.  This is definitely a rare I'm your brother-in-law move and not I'm three layers of management below you thing.

Kinn feels better with Chay in the seat next to him.  Everyone on the plane is someone he trusts implicitly, but it’s hard on him to be away from home.  He misses Porsche, of course, but it’s hard for him to turn off when he feels… vulnerable.  He feels like he’s been running at top speed for the whole five days they were away.

“Here,” Chay says, and hands Kinn a couple of advil.  Kinn realizes his head hurts, and his shoulders, and his back.  He swallows the pills down and asks Sept to bring him his laptop so he can get some work done, if sleep isn’t going to come.

He specifically scheduled an overnight flight so he could get home and sleep for a few hours in the morning before the business day starts, but when he touches down in Bangkok, there’s a literal fire for him to deal with.  The initial reports make it sound catastrophic, like a whole wing of one of their newer resorts has gone up in smoke.

By lunchtime, it’s evident that the fire damage isn’t nearly as extensive as it was first made out to be, but Kinn’s been in the office for six hours, after a night-flight where he didn’t even try to sleep.  He sends Ana home early since she’s been up with him, and tells Chay to take the rest of the day off.  He doesn’t want his best people burning out.

Chan sidles into his office about an hour later.  “Kinn,” he says, and Kinn nearly jumps out of his chair.  The computer screen is so bright and he’s having to squint to read the words that are swimming all over it.  He didn’t even hear the door open.  “Do you have a migraine?”

“No,” Kinn says, but he does, a bad one, and he’s not sure how he’s ignored it for so long.  The room is suddenly swimming around him and he feels like he’s going to pass out.

“Okay,” Chan says.  “Let’s go say hi to Porsche and lie down.  Could you eat?”  Kinn hasn’t eaten in a while, maybe that…

A wave of nausea hits him and he narrowly holds in a black-coffee flavoured belch.  He suddenly feels so uncomfortable in his body, in the suit that he’s been wearing for almost twenty-four hours, with the tension that’s been building in his shoulders for a week, with dirty hair and a dirty face.

“Yeah,” Chan says, sympathetically.  “Let’s go, kid.”

Kinn’s legs shake when he stands.  Chan walks him to the door of his suite, and Kinn doesn’t think of much besides how horrible the light is, and how much his back hurts, and…

Oh god, he totally bypassed Porsche for some stupid work emergency after being gone for a week.  He’s probably in shit with his boyfriend, too.

Chan squeezes his shoulder.  “Just go lie down,” he says.  “You’ll feel better.”

“Right,” Kinn says.  Things were so good with Porsche after that middle-of-the-night call, and now he’s totally fucked them up again.  He’s not totally sure what day of the week it is - will Porsche even be here?  Maybe he’s with Vegas.

Kinn feels like he’s going to be sick, but it’s his apartment and Chan is standing right there, so he opens the door anyway.  If he’s alone…

But he’s not.  “Hey, how was the fire?” Porsche shouts, and Kinn hears the sounds of video game football from their living room, which then cut off.  “Everything okay?”

“It wasn’t as bad as they thought,” Kinn says, and toes out of his shoes.  The room is spinning slightly.  Hopefully Porsche will take pity on him and at least not fight with him loudly.

“That’s good,” Porsche says, from much nearer.  “I… woah, you look rough.”

“I…” Kinn says, but Porsche is right there, giving him a boa constrictor hug and Kinn clings onto him.  “I’m sorry I didn’t come straight home, I…”

“You had a literal fire on your hands,” Porsche says, and runs his nose up the side of Kinn’s cheek in a sniff-kiss.  Kinn wants to flinch away - he’s gross, he hasn’t showered in more than a day, he’s greasy, he was sweating, he…

Porsche just follows the sniff-kiss up with a kiss-kiss, and then lifts Kinn off the floor with arms around his waist and cracks his back.  “Oh,” Kinn says dumbly.  “That’s better.”

Porsche laughs at him.  “Come clean up.”

Kinn is so tired he can’t bring himself to shower.  He washes his face, then strips down and mechanically puts on the pajamas Porsche set out for him.  Then he thinks about lying down in bed unshowered after flying across most of the continent.  He feels like a human oil slick.

He still can’t make himself shower.  He stumbles out of the bathroom, thinking of the half-moon of face grease he’s going to leave on his clean pillow, and…

“Do you want to take a nap on the couch?” Porsche asks, holding Kinn’s eye mask.  “I know you’re tired, but it’d be nice to hang out with you.”

“Yes,” Kinn says, because that’s so much less disgusting than getting into bed with 24 hours worth of airport dirt and charter plane grime caked on him.  People sit on the couch in their outside clothes.  He can lie on it without showering and not feel like he needs to burn it after.

“Great!” Porsche says.  “I’m gonna play FIFA while you sleep but I’m happy you’re home.”

“Me too,” Kinn says.  He doesn’t usually sleep on the couch - he barely gave himself time to sleep on the bed, for a long time.  But Porsche seems to have the couch-nap protocol covered.

Porsche pulls the blanket he took from his house out from its hiding spot, and grabs one of the pillows off their bed.  “Let me know if I’m too loud,” he says to Kinn, and picks up the controller.

Just lying on the couch with his eye mask on feels a lot better than staring at his bright computer screen did, even if Kinn doesn’t know if he can actually sleep out here.  He’s not great at turning off and his head is still pounding.

“You’re, ah…” Porsche says, and picks Kinn’s head up, digging his fingers in under the base of Kinn’s skull like Tankhun must have shown him.  He follows the tense line of Kinn’s neck down until he finds what feels like a golf-ball sized knot under one of his shoulder blades, and digs in.

It hurts.   Kinn’s not sure how he was working and eating and sleeping with so much tension in his body.  And Porsche isn’t being gentle or elegant in his approach to dealing with the bad spot.  He pushes it with his fingers, and then switches to his knuckles, working Kinn like he’s so much tough meat.

All at once, the knot gives.  Kinn isn’t sure if it’s good or bad - his body feels strange without the pain.  He tears up, whether with the pain of the treatment or with relief, he’s not sure.

Porsche is better at dealing with tears than Kinn ever has been.  He sets Kinn’s head down in his lap, and carefully thumbs away a tear that escapes Kinn’s sleep mask.  But he doesn’t say anything about Kinn’s lack of control, just grabs one of Kinn’s hands in his and the TV remote in the other.

Kinn has felt like an exposed nerve since he left for the airport nearly a week ago.  He’s supposed to be the strong brother, the stoic brother.  Between Tankhun and Kim there was never as much room for Kinn to make a scene.  So he got used to not doing it.

Sure, he’ll buy out a restaurant to take Porsche for a date, or call for blood if he perceives that someone is disrespecting the family.  But that’s not really for him.   It’s in service of the greater cause.

When he was small, he got used to being ignored by Papa and Grandfather.  And then Kim came along, and he wasn’t even the baby of the family anymore.  To make things worse, Vegas, two years younger, was somehow more important than Kinn.

And until he was eleven, Kinn played the role of dutiful younger brother and cousin.  There was the singing contest, the dream of lights and attention from an adoring public if not from Grandfather and Papa, but Kinn thinks he knew it was a pipe dream, just as Wik ultimately didn’t keep Kim away from the family.

Mama still knew Kinn could be kind of sensitive, even if not quite as much so as Khun.  She didn’t treat him like he was made of brick.  But that was his mother.

It feels so strange and vulnerable to show Porsche that he’s exhausted and honestly kind of overstimulated and generally out of sorts.  He couldn’t have done this before Porsche’s mother died, when they each took their problems away from the other to be handled privately.

But he can now, because Porsche was brave and let Kinn help him, and now Kinn can be brave too.  Kinn pulls the blanket up all the way to his nose, and rolls so his face is pressed in against Porsche’s belly.  Porsche puts his hand in Kinn’s greasy, horrible hair, and Kinn blinks his eyes shut and falls asleep.

Porsche is in the kitchen when Kinn wakes up again.  It’s dark out, although Kinn’s not really sure how long he was asleep for because he doesn’t know when Chan called him out of the office.  Kinn keeps the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, even though he can feel the proper tropical warmth again, and stumbles into the kitchen to drape himself all over Porsche as he tries to cook.

“How was your trip?” Porsche asks, and doesn’t lecture Kinn for behaving like a caped koala as he stirs shallots in a pan.  “Chay said he thought the meetings went well, did something happen?”

Kinn shakes his head.  He’s honestly not sure what has him so bent out of shape.  He doesn’t love travelling for work, and he doesn’t love winter, but it usually doesn’t leave him quite this stressed.

“Was the hotel dirty?” Porsche asks, and Kinn shakes his head again.  “What, you missed me?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says.  He thinks of that dream, Porsche smiling up at him from between his legs, and curls in tighter around Porsche’s back, embarrassed for reasons he can’t put into words.

Porsche puts the spoon down and turns in Kinn’s arms.  “I missed you too,” he says, and holds Kinn tight back.

Kinn’s not sure what’s going on.  He feels wrong in his skin, somehow, for wanting…

He pulls away from Porsche and pulls the blanket tighter around himself like someone will see… what?

“Do you wanna shower now?” Porsche asks.  “Dinner will be ready in a few.”  

That must be it, Kinn thinks, still groggy, and stumbles off to clean up properly.  He still feels like there’s something else, just out of reach, but he’s too tired to try to jump and grab it.

Chapter Text

The feeling of something else lingers over the next few weeks, but Kinn is too busy to think about it.  His trip to Kyoto was fruitful, which means strategy meetings, followed by hosting a Japanese delegation at a Theerapanyakun resort for a week, followed by the careful review of contracts and more meetings over final details.

The fire was not catastrophic, but the repairs and the investigation are still something Kinn follows.  He takes a day trip to the south with Chay to get his eyes on the damage and talk through the event with the hotel management.  He leaves feeling like they have a decent handle on contributions to the accident and remediation, but he’ll probably still replace the head of safety, which also takes up some of his time.  Recruitment means HR meetings and interviews and meetings with the finance team to talk about the budget for onboarding a new hire.

He needs to meet with Vegas and Pete, as he always does, because they’re making progress in their struggle with the lost coke trade, but it’s still a struggle.  Their legitimate businesses could run without the money they launder, but there’s a strategic advantage to having quick infusions of cash.  Their resorts are more luxurious because of the extra money, and they attract the kind of clients that keep the family reputation safe.

And Kinn wants the family to be safe.  He thinks about it in his Tuesday security meeting with Kim.  He thinks about it on the jet south with Chay.  And he thinks about it when he comes home to Porsche or Khun at the end of the day.

He’s not coming home today, but to the bar.  One of Porsche’s staff called in, so he’s opening on a Wednesay evening, which is usually a day he does managerial work in the afternoon and then comes home early.  It probably won’t be a busy night, so Kinn is heading over with Tay to get dinner and a drink.

Porsche gives Kinn a bright grin when he comes in, and comes around the bar to smooch Tay on the cheek.  “Hey,” he says.  “My favourite high rollers.”

“Kinn is paying,” Tay says, smiling with his eyes.  “How’s your night going, handsome?”

Porsche gestures around the nearly empty bar.  “Living the dream,” he says.  “Dinner?  Drinks?”

They order, and Porsche stands and chats with them between serving the trickle of Wednesday barflies and happy hour diners.  Kinn takes a deep breath and lets it out again.

He’s with Porsche, and Tay is here too.  Even though he’s slammed at work, he’s not there anymore.  It’s important to give his all for the company when he’s on company time, but as he gets older, it gets more and more important to be with his people when he’s with them.  He’s trying harder and harder not to let his job consume him.

And anyway, it’s kind of interesting to see Porsche in the midst of his work.  He's a lot more comfortable bartending than he was as head of the minor family.  He laughs, he flirts a bit with the girls, and his smiles are genuine.  Kinn doesn't think Porsche ever smiled in a meeting as the minor family head.  There wasn't a lot to smile about.

“Earth to Kinn,” Tay says, and Kinn's attention draws back to his friend and the food on the bar between them.

Tay is studying Kinn as intently as Kinn was looking around the bar.  “What?” Kinn says, and grabs a napkin to wipe his mouth.

“There's something on your mind,” Tay says, narrowing his eyes.  “Is everything okay?  With the fire?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says.  “P’Chan thought it might be sabotage or something malicious, but it seems like it was guests being stupid with a candle.”

“Well, that's something,” Tay says.  “Do you want a sip of my drink?  It's really good.”

“Sure,” Kinn says, because he's a little more settled about his drinking these days.  He trusts himself to have a couple and not let it turn into an entire bottle of Scotch.

And Porsche is a pretty great bartender.  Kinn's happy to be in a place where it isn't threatening to him to be in the bar or to hear about Porsche's mixology experiments.

Porsche catches Kinn taking a sip and bops back over to him.  “Good, right?” he says.  “Do you like it?”

“It's really well balanced,” Kinn says, because Porsche teases Kinn for being a connoisseur but he also really likes when someone goes beyond it tastes good.

Predictably, Porsche lights up at the words.  He gets a silly little grin and turns to some new customers to hide it.  “Hi ladies, what can I get for you?”

Kinn looks back at Tay, who is looking awfully amused.  “What?” he says.

“Ah, young love,” Tay says, and Kinn elbows him.  The cook brings out another plate of food, and they both shut up to eat it, people-watching by mutual silent agreement.

Kinn's been surprised at what he can observe, just sitting at the bar and looking around.  Porsche is far more exposed to people's inner thoughts and private moments than Kinn ever would have guessed.  Kinn is only here every couple of weeks, but he's seen breakups, infidelity negotiated and forgiven, the early stages of a threesome, and much more.  It’s strange to him that people will reveal so much of themselves to strangers, but maybe that’s what it is not to be known everywhere one goes.

The two young women next to them are scrolling through some social network, looking for bridesmaid dress inspo.  Kinn thinks it's cute, until -

“Ugh, look at her,” one says, and Kinn glanced over to see an actress who has been in the news this week for accusing a producer of sexual assault.  “As if he would even want her.”

“She must have been asking for it,” her friend agrees.  “Look at her, she looks so brown and dirty.”

The actress in question has just about the same skin tone as Porsche, who is standing in front of the two women, pouring their drinks.  He's still smiling, but Kinn can see that his smile has gone flat and fake.  He slides the cocktails onto the bar with a polite murmur and flits off across the bar without looking at Kinn.

Kinn doesn't know what to do.  This isn't a problem he can shoot or spend his way out of.  He knows people think like this, but he can't believe someone would say it so plainly, and right in front of his boyfriend.  Don't they know that Porsche has feelings?

Tay leans over.  “I know Som, actually,” he says, smiling.  “And she doesn't look dirty, but your bad contour does.”

The girls turn to him, stuttering.  Tay flashes them a bigger smile and leans back on his stool.  One of the girls takes some cash out of her purse, and they leave, their drinks untouched.

Tay turns and winks at Porsche, who gives him a little nod from where he's chatting with his other table.  “Honestly, so rude,” he says to Kinn.  “How was Kyoto?”

The second employee for the shift rolls in at seven, and Porsche disappears to the back to let her deal with customers and make money.  Kinn follows him.  “You okay?” he asks Porsche.  He still feels angry that he was so helpless against two tiny young women.

“Hmm?” Porsche says.  “Oh, those girls?  Whatever.”

Are you sure? Kinn wants to ask.  It was a triple punch of things that unsettle Porsche.  Kinn knows he hesitates to speak about what Kinn did to him, because he's worried about being told that he was asking for it, or being blamed for flirting with Kinn first.  Kinn's seen him scrub himself almost raw because he feels like he can't get clean after a bad nightmare.  And to have someone speak about him like it's baked into him because of his skin color is just…

“That's not the first time I've heard something like that this week,” Porsche says, and gives a tired chuckle.  “Hearing dumb shit is part of working with the public, Kinn.”

“Oh,” Kinn says.  He's not sure what else to say.  He opens his arms, and Porsche steps close and lets Kinn hold him for a minute.  “I'm sorry,” Kinn says, and it feels so horribly inadequate.

“I'm fine,” Porsche says, and gives Kinn a peck on the hinge of his jaw.  “Shoo and let me count the float.”

He tells P’Chan about the whole thing in the gym on Friday.  “People can be shitty,” Chan agrees.  “Especially to service workers.”

“I don't…” Kinn says, because he's trying to have a thought and it feels like he's giving birth to it rather than just letting it pass into his mind.  His brain is squeezing and folding around it.

“Obviously no one says shit to him in front of you,” Chan says.  “But yeah, he got it both ways sometimes.”

“Both ways?” Kinn says, but he knows what P’Chan means without ever having thought about it before.  There's a reason Kinn was so careful about making it known he was the top.  When he was in his early twenties, his reputation wouldn't have survived letting it be known he ever bent over and took it.  But then that meant Porsche...

“Yeah,” Chan says, apparently able to see that Kinn knows what he means.  “I was worried about it for Pete, but apparently whatever he and Vegas have going on, um…”

He doesn't finish his sentence, but Kinn can see the difference in how the underworld reacts to Pete and how they used to react to Porsche.  Somehow Pete showing up with visible, scabbed tooth marks and once a very obvious welt from a whip wrapping down his arm and over his wrist doesn't invite comment.  But Porsche opening his legs for Kinn did, and apparently lots of it, even if it wasn't where Kinn could hear.

He doesn't say anything to Chan, just looks over at him, but apparently that's enough.

“Yeah,” Chan says, and clears his throat, like he's embarassed he didn't go around cutting people's tongues out.  Kinn knows there's not all that much they can do to stop talk, that's why it's so important not to let it get started in the first place.  And yet...  “Yeah.”

They don't talk about it anymore that night.  But Kinn doesn’t sleep very well.

Kinn wakes up in the middle of the night to the shower running.  They fucked before bed, and Porsche had a quick rinse off to clean up, so…

He gets out of bed and tries the bathroom door.  It's open.  “Porsche?” Kinn says, and comes into the bathroom.

Porsche is barely visible in the shower stall under all the steam, but he looks up when Kinn comes in.  He looks haunted.

It was one of those dreams.  “Do you want me to go?” Kinn asks.  A few times, Porsche has, wanting to have their bed to himself for the rest of the night.

Through the steam, Porsche shakes his head.  “Help,” he says, barely audible over the roar of the shower.

Kinn steps into the shower stall with his pajamas still on.  “What do you need?” he asks Porsche, and wrestles the soap out of his hands because he’s scrubbing himself raw.  “C'mere, baby, let me…”

“Dreamed they did it,” Porsche sobs.  “And then you didn't want me after, Kinn -”

Kinn doesn't know what to say to that, so he crushes Porsche into his arms.  “I’m sorry,” he says.  “You're - I would still want you, Porsche.  And you're safe.  Just us here, right?  Where are we?”

Eventually he gets Porsche calmed down enough to come out of the shower.  He grabs some of Porsche's thicker, baggier pajamas and together they get him dressed.  “You scratched yourself,” Kinn says, looking at Porsche's upper arm where he’s clawed himself bloody.  “You want a bandaid?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, still quaking with tremors.  “It was the debt collectors, and I should have fought, but I just froze, I…”

Kinn freezes, suddenly concerned this is a memory and not a dream.  He doesn't know how to ask.  God, if Porsche…

“But how would they get into the gym?” Porsche asks himself, still sounding hazy.  “That's…”

“It was just a dream,” Kinn soothes Porsche and himself. “It didn't happen.”

They get back into bed and Kinn turns the TV on.  Porsche gradually calms down.  “Sorry,” he says.  “That was like a bad dream smoothie, it got all jumbled together, I…”

“Did anything like that happen?” Kinn asks, carefully.  His heart hurts thinking of how vulnerable Porsche was for so many years.  It's coming into sharper and sharper focus for him the longer they're together.  In so many ways, Porsche's life was harder than Kinn's is.

“No,” Porsche says.  “But I used to worry that the debt collectors would do something bad, to me or to…”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and feels sick about the possibility of the target of violence being fifteen or sixteen year-old Chay, even more than he already feels sick about someone hurting nineteen year-old Porsche.  The minor family employs some pretty bad people.  Rape is definitely not outside of the realm of unspecified bad consequences.  Even Vegas finds the money lending unsavory after how much it fucked Porsche up.  They've been doing less of it, which mostly just means the desperate go elsewhere.  But at least the blood isn't on their hands.

Porsche grabs his phone and checks that Chay's tracker(s) are all safe in his apartment.  “I don't think I'm gonna be able to sleep,” he tells Kinn.  “I'm…”

“I'll stay up with you,” Kinn promises.  “You wanna talk about it?”

“Fuck no,” Porsche says, and slides back down into Kinn's arms.  And then he does talk about it.  “I got a few threats when I was working for you, you know?  And every time, I thought that the thing to make them back off and leave me alone would be to be more like Vegas, and I still couldn't.  Do you think…”

“I think you're a good person,” Kinn says.  “And you do the right thing even if it has a personal cost.  I think you're really brave.”

Porsche nods and settles down against the pillows.  “The dream wasn't really to do with how we fucked,” he says, even though Kinn thinks there might be a link between the rape dream and them fucking.  “You were really good.”

“So were you,” Kinn says, and brushes a kiss over Porsche's nose.  “I know you're not going to sleep.  But what if you just close your eyes?  I'll be here, I'll keep a lookout for you.”

“I'll just close ‘em,” Porsche mutters, and does manage to doze on and off until the morning while Kinn keeps watch.  It's the least he can do, after...

A few days later, Kinn has dinner with Tay and one of his harem of fit young things.  The fellow, fittingly named Top, is fine enough.  He's hopelessly devoted to Tay and looks like he fucks like a stallion.  He doesn't have much to add to their conversation, but he's nice to look at.

Kinn says as much to Tay when Top runs to the washroom.  “I know,” Tay says.  “And he's smart enough, just a little shy.  He's getting a master's in biological something.  I just don't follow it enough to talk to him about it.”

“That's two of us,” Kinn says, and pours the rest of the bottle of wine into his glass.

Tay raises his eyebrows, and with the little gesture, manages to say as your best friend, I do keep a running tally of your drinks, to make sure you don't almost die of alcohol poisoning like you did that night in prep school when I had to call P’Chan, for information purposes because I support you new healthy lifestyle and I want to see what that means to you, and so I can tattle on you to Porsche if I see a concerning trend.  And I know you're an adult and I'm the person you cut loose with, so I'm not going to stop you (this time,) but I do want to know why you're having three glasses of Beaujolais on a Thursday night.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Kinn says.  “Can we lose Top and go back to your place after dinner?”

“Sure,” Tay says, and painlessly dispatches Top and summons the bill in one easy beat while Kinn finishes his wine.

Kinn feels more relaxed at Tay's place, a luxury penthouse three blocks from Chay and Kim.  But he still needs to be a little drunk to talk about this, and three glasses of wine over a long dinner isn't getting him more than buzzed.

Tay looks at Kinn, assessing, and pours him a large scotch.  “Don't make this a habit,” he says.

“I know,” Kinn agrees, and waits while Tay fixes himself a drink that isn't just alcohol in a glass.

Tay sits down on the other end of the sofa, within touching distance, which Kinn appreciates.  Tay was his first friend and his best friend.  The Lerttravinonts were old family friends of his mother's family, far more high society than the Theerapanyakuns, but not sufficiently high that they could scorn Korn and his useful connections after Kinn's Mama married him.

When they were little, Tay’s house seemed so much calmer and more settled than Kinn's.  Tay’s father is a judge, and his grandfather, and now his uncle and oldest brother, own a large chain of mid-range hotels.  Out of respect for Tay, Kinn doesn't do more than nibble at their business, staying in the six- and seven-star arena.

Tay prods Kinn with his toes.  “What?” he says.  “I’m not getting laid tonight for you, this better be interesting.”

“I let Time finger me in the bathroom at a party at P’Chai’s in high school,” Kinn blurts out.

Tay double blinks.  “I knew that, I think,” he says.  “You told me at the next one.  The one where you gave yourself alcohol poisoning and you threw up on P’Chan.  And on me.”

“Oh,” Kinn says.  He'd been grounded for a long time after that - well, not grounded, per say, but Papa had intimated that he didn't really approve of P’Chai, and P’Chan had definitely been annoyed with Kinn about sitting up with him in medical all night while he got an IV.  He hadn't gone to another party like that until college.

“My recollection is probably a little clearer than yours,” Tay says.  “You felt pretty guilty about it.”

“Yeah,” Kinn says.  “I, um.  I'm sorry.  That I was messing around with Time.  I know you weren’t dating yet, but…  Did I say that?”

“Babe, you never apologized for anything until you met Porsche,” Tay says, which makes Kinn feel worse.

“Did I say something awful?” he asks, dreading the answer.  He has a vague, extremely hazy memory of Tay’s face, annoyed and a little hurt.  “You were so pissed at me after, I assumed it was because I hurled on you.”

“It was mostly that,” Tay says, sitting up very straight and enunciating like he's back in Speech Arts at their prep school.  Fuck, whatever Kinn said that night lingered.

“I said something gross and horrible,” Kinn extrapolates.  Outside of Porsche and maybe Tankhun, Tay is the last person in the world he wants to hurt.  And he’s usually pretty fucking durable, Kinn must have…

Tay shrugs.  “You said your father would be ashamed of you for the whole bathroom fingering situation and you were ashamed of yourself too, I think.  And a couple other fairly homophobic bon mots.”

“I'm sorry,” Kinn says again.  In high school, he'd had all the tact of a shovel, which wasn't that surprising.  But now he's old enough to know that I’m ashamed of myself for getting fingered was a shitty thing to say to his best friend, who bottoms.

Tay shifts so his foot is touching Kinn's shin.  “I really didn't expect you to say that when you asked to talk," he says, still a little stiff.  “God, what a trip.  You and Time in high school.”

Various other ill-considered remarks filter up in Kinn's memory.  “We talked a lot of shit,” he says, cringing.  “I don't think there's anything wrong with bottoming, you know that, right?”

Tay shrugs again.  “I'm sure you've grown out of it,” he says.  “But it was kind of shitty hearing the two of you talk about it like it made me gross and weak.  I probably should have said something about it at the time, but…”

“You were fifteen too,” Kinn says softly.  Tay has always been so much himself that Kinn never really considered that he could struggle.  “I really admired you in high school, you know.  I was kind of jealous of you.”

“Oh God, don't say that,” Tay laughs.  “Do you remember how I had that honest to fuck medieval ruff I wore in eleventh grade?  It was awful.”

Kinn smiles at the memory.  It has been a lot of look and Tay hadn't always pulled it off very well.  “It um.  You were brave to wear it.”

“Don't call my outfit choices brave,” Tay says, and kicks Kinn, relaxing backwards into the couch.  “Why do you bring up the whole unfortunate era?”

“I've um, just been kind of thinking about it,” Kinn says.  “Because of some stuff with Porsche.”

“It's probably not all that nice for him, either, if his boyfriend treats him like bottoming makes him the girl,” Tay says, a hint of judgement creeping back into his voice and steel back into his spine.  Kinn doesn’t think he’s ever said exactly that, but he’s definitely thought it.  And thought it loudly enough Tay picked up on it

Kinn cringes.  “I don't - he's not - Tay, you know I'm so gay, how can you…”

“Just checking,” Tay says.  “Go ahead.”

“I um…” Kinn says.  “How did you ignore how shitty we were?”

“Mm, thank you for acknowledging you were shitty,” Tay says, and takes another sip of his drink.  “I'm over it, but you did hurt my feelings, back in the day.” He pauses and looks down at his glass.  “I dunno, Kinn.  I'm not like you, I wasn't good at hiding myself away.  I realized pretty early that I had to be me, and I couldn't control what people said about me.  I just had to do it and face the consequences.”

Kinn had always been taught to care so much about what people thought of him and the family.  Our reputation keeps us safe, Grandfather used to say.  Papa did as well.  Kinn was never allowed to risk something so valuable as his image on something as silly as his own happiness.

Tay nudges him again with his foot.  “And you did help,” he says.  “I'd trade the occasional dickish comment any day for you not letting me get my head flushed in a toilet.  You weren't perfect but you were definitely on my side.”

That reminds Kinn of what Porsche says all the time.  I'm on our side.   He's not really sure what he thinks of everything Tay has said, but he is thinking about it.

“If you can keep a secret, I'll tell you a stupid story,” he says, because he wants to give Tay a peace offering for bringing up something that hurt him, and tells Tay the full, unvarnished tale of trying to finger himself in Japan and completely failing.  

Tay laughs at Kinn, but not in a mean way.  And he doesn't ask any pointed questions, or call Kinn a hypocrite or a wimp or a sissy.  Just for a second, Kinn feels like maybe he can do something like… that and still be safe.

But in the car home, he sits alone and feels the full force of Papa's disapproval, just like he did after that party twenty years ago.  You're dead, he tells the voice in his head.  Fuck off, you're dead.   But it doesn't make him feel any better.

He lies awake until Porsche comes home from the bar, and then feigns sleep so he won't have to talk about how dinner with Tay went.  Porsche doesn't say anything if he notices Kinn is faking.  Kinn finally drifts off to the soothing noise of the water hitting the walls of the shower.  He fucking hates having to think about things.  It's...

It must be exhausting, because he manages to be asleep before Porsche makes it back to bed.

Chapter Text

Kinn is out of the apartment before Porsche wakes up, and goes through the whole day feeling guilty that he was shitty to Tay in high school.  It had seemed really important to let Time know that Kinn wasn't like that, all those years ago.  But he can see how it would hurt Tay.

He comes home tired.  “Hey!” Porsche calls from the kitchen.

“I wasn't expecting you to be home,” Kinn says, following the smell of food down the hallway.

“Praew asked me if I could give her extra shifts, so she's working for me tonight,” Porsche says.  “It was kind of last minute, sorry I didn't text.”

“Mm,” Kinn says, and buries his face in the back of Porsche's neck.  The skin right under his shirt collar is exactly the smell of home, with a little note of lemon from whatever Porsche was prepping at the bar.  Kinn gives him a kiss there.

“I see you don't mind,” Porsche laughs, and turns to hug Kinn back and give him a kiss hello.  “How was your day?  You were quiet on text, were you super busy?”

“I'm tired,” Kinn says.  He is, he's so tired, between the fire and the Kyoto deal and the not-fight with Tay, and…

It's just all so much, and it never stops.  A few years ago, Kinn would have indulged himself for a moment with what he’s thought of since high school as Hamlet thoughts, thoughts of making his own quietus with a bare bodkin (or a gun, although that would disappoint his World Literature teacher.)  It used to be so comforting to know that the option was there.

But tonight Porsche is here with him, and he doesn't think about that.  Porsche gives him another kiss, this time on the forehead.  “Were you drinking last night?” he asks.  “You sound kind of low.”

“Yeah, I was,” Kinn says, and feels… sad, about everything.  That's another new thing about drinking and not drinking, he feels fucking tragic now whenever he gets a hangover.  Apparently alcohol is a depressant, who knew.  “I'm sorry.”

“You're an adult, you're allowed to have a drink if you want,” Porsche says, and doesn't let go of Kinn.  Kinn is so  grateful.  “Was everything okay with Tay?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and then shakes his head.  “I mean, we started talking about some stuff from high school, and, um…”

“Did you guys fight?” Porsche asks, and Kinn can hear the surprise in his voice.  Kinn and Time had it out when Tay broke up with Time, and even before that, Kinn got pissed off at Time because he's an idiot sometimes.  But Kinn and Tay don't fight.

“No, I just… we talked about some stuff that I did to him back then, and I feel… um… bad about how I treated him, and…” It feels weird, admitting that he did something wrong.  It feels like he's going to be in shit with Porsche now, too.  He doesn't know if it was intentional, but Papa taught him to shift blame, never to admit fault.

“Oh,” Porsche says.  “Well, did you apologize?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, feeling like his throat is closing up.  Apologies are weak.  “I said I was sorry.”

“Then he'll forgive you even if he's mad right now,” Porsche says.  “Tay’s not the kind to hold a grudge, right?”

“He already forgave me,” Kinn says, and his throat aches with the words.  He doesn’t deserve forgiveness, not from Tay, and not so easily.

“So you're feeling sad you hurt him,” Porsche says.  “Poor Kinn.”  He leans in and gives Kinn a very tender kiss.  “You gonna watch me cook?  You can do your koala thing.”

Kinn nods.  He feels tilted off his axis, showing so much vulnerability.  “I'm just gonna text P’Chan and let him know I'm skipping the gym,” he mumbles.

“You can still work out if you want,” Porsche says, and pats Kinn's shoulder as he turns back to the stove.  “Don't let me interrupt you.”

“I’m really glad you're home,” Kinn says, and shakes his head to clear it.  “Is it okay if we hang out?  I'm just… tired.”

“Of course,” Porsche says, and grabs another spoon out of the drawer.  “Here, help me taste.”

Kinn gratefully hooks his chin over Porsche's shoulder and lets Porsche jab a spoon at his cheek.  He doesn't miss the period right after Porsche's mother died, but it was nice, sometimes, just holding him in their bed.  It was nice knowing exactly what he should do.

He used to feel like that when Papa was alive, too.  If he just did what Papa said, ultimately he'd be alright.  It's a thought he'd like to still be able to cling to.

Now everything is on his shoulders and it's crushing him knowing that he can be wrong.  He closed his eyes tight and shoves his face back into Porsche's neck.  It’s all too much tonight.

This is why you don't drink, he tells himself, censoriously.  This is his own fault.  His body is a temple, Papa used to say.  He needs to look after it.

“Ai’Kinn,” Porsche says, his voice warm and concerned like he can hear Kinn beating himself up.  “Go take your work clothes off and we'll eat.”

That's something Kinn can do, he thinks.  He can't fuck up changing.  He puts on lounge clothes and comes back to the kitchen.  Porsche gets him to take the food to the table, and water glasses, and do a few other small tasks that help Kinn settle out of his funk.  He likes doing well at things.

The food helps too.  He wasn't hungover like he used to be hungover, but he still didn't eat well.  Porsche's cooking is just right, filling but not too much, a little greasy but not in a gross way, and tasty.  Kinn eats lots and drinks lots of water, and a headache he didn't realize he had starts to melt away.

They lie on the couch after with a movie playing, Kinn with his head in Porsche's lap, and for a while, that's good.  Kinn doesn't think too much because his body is focused on digesting.  His mind stays pleasantly blank.

And then the thoughts start again.  He has so much to do, and he's taken two nights off in a row.  He's skipping the gym, which is lazy.  Maybe Porsche wanted him to leave so he could have the apartment to himself?  He should check on Tay, he should check on Tankhun, he should check on…

“Ai’Kinn,” Porsche says, warmly, and rubs a little circle against Kinn’s frown lines.  “Do you need to take your mind off things?”

“Maybe,” Kinn says.  He's just… he's doing a lot of thinking.

Porsche shifts, and when Kinn looks up, he's sitting up a little straighter.  Kinn's curious.  There's a way they do things, and it's with Kinn in control.

But… he's tired.  Yeah, he's really tired.

“Go to the bedroom and take off your clothes,” Porsche says, and the voice he's using reminded Kinn of Vegas.

For a second, he hesitates.  Does he want their sex life to look like his cousin's?  Is Porsche going to chain him up from the ceiling and leave toothmarks all over his skin?

And then he remembers that this is also the voice Vegas uses on Macau, on Porsche and Chay and even on Kim sometimes.  It's the voice he uses to say take seconds, to say lie down and close your eyes for a minute.  It's the voice he used to get Porsche's dying mother to eat.

“Kinn?” Porsche says, and sounds a little more hesitant.

Kinn sits up and smiles at Porsche.  “I got hung up on how sexy your voice is,” he says, and Porsche leans in and pinches his nipple through his shirt, which makes the thoughts stop for a minute.

“Well listen to what I'm telling you and go get naked,” Porsche says, more himself but with that iron core.

“Gladly,” Kinn says, and takes himself to the bedroom.

He's not expecting Porsche to follow him and watch him strip.  This is his apartment, he's walked around naked before - he's fucked in front of the windows before - but it makes him feel small and vulnerable, to have Porsche lean against the door frame and just watch.

“Now what?” Kinn says, when he's naked and his clothes are draped over the bedroom chair for the cleaning lady to pick up.  He fights the urge to cup his hands over his cock.  He and Porsche have been together for more than half a decade, Porsche has seen him naked and half-hard before.  But this feels new.

“Get on the bed,” Porsche says, and comes around, still clothed, and opens their bedside drawer.  He pulls out the lube - expected - and then rummages around.

Kinn's not really sure for what.  They don't have a lot of toys in their bedroom (or anywhere.). They're both a little paranoid about what the cleaning staff might think, although Porsche asked the aunties to stop going through their nightstand a while back.  But that still…

Porsche pulls out the eye mask Kinn sleeps in and throws the lube back in the drawer.  “Is this okay?” he asks Kinn.

“Yeah, of course,” Kinn says.  He wears the eye mask every night, how different can it be to wear it during sex?  If anything, he's now worried it’ll make him sleepy, and that'll be…

“Kinn,” Porsche says, and leans in to kiss him.  “I can see you worrying.  Trust me?”

“Yeah, I do,” Kinn says.  They have done it like this before, they've just never talked about it.  That's probably what's throwing him tonight.  He hates that they have to talk about things.  He wants it to just be easy between them, but -

Porsche bites down hard on his bottom lip, just this side of drawing blood.  

Kinn yelps.  He's the biter, not the bitee.  He doesn't get chewed on.  People are gentle with him.

“Too much?” Porsche asks.

Kinn shakes his head.  He feels… something, but it isn't too much?  It's…

“It's good,” Kinn says, lacking other words, and lets Porsche push him down to the sheets.  He reaches out and grips the sheets, feeling strangely like he's falling.

Porsche picks up the eye mask from the sheets.  “I'm gonna take care of you,” he says, and Kinn is glad for the silk of the mask sliding over his temples because the words make his eyes prickle.  He's just so tired.

In the darkness, he feels himself softening out, relaxing into the bed.  He reaches for Porsche, but Porsche pushes his hands back to the mattress and wraps them under Kinn's pillow.

“Can you keep them there?” he asks, and it's in a Porsche voice, not the demanding Vegas voice from earlier.  Kinn likes that better.

“Yeah,” he says.  “I think so.”

“Good,” Porsche says, and the words are like honey in Kinn’s ears.

Kinn shivers.  He's worried, suddenly, that he's being too obvious about how much he likes this.  But Porsche doesn't say anything else.

His hands settle, warm, on Kinn's chest, and then his mouth closes on Kinn's neck.  It feels wetter than usual, or maybe it's that Kinn doesn't give Porsche much opportunity to play with him like this.

Everything is so much.   It doesn't make sense.  It should be more when Kinn can see Porsche, his handsome face, his long body sprawled out between Kinn's legs.

But like this he's forced to focus on the warmth of Porsche's tongue and teeth and the cool air brushing the wetness they leave behind.  He can hear his own breathing, and the slick sounds of Porsche's mouth as he kisses down Kinn's body, and the small noises of the bed and the sheets and their skin.  And he can feel the brush of Porsche's trousers against his naked skin, and it makes him…

He can't put it into words.  Porsche's mouth closes around the head of his cock and Kinn startles himself with how loudly he groans.  He feels strangely self-conscious, even though it’s not at all strange to  enjoy a blowjob, and flushes so hard he can feel his face heating against the cool silk of his eye mask.

He wants to reach out and touch Porsche, to direct his movements, but…  His hands flex in the pillows, and he writhes for a second with the effort of keeping still.  He…

Porsche pulls away from his dick.  “You're doing so good, Kinn,” he says, and presses a soft kiss to Kinn's vulnerable belly.  “So good for me.  Let me hear.”

Kinn is so overcome by the words that he can't speak to answer.  He can't even give voice to another sound, when Porsche takes Kinn's cock into his mouth again.  He can only gasp and choke on air.

Porsche takes him deeper, and Kinn grips the sheets over his head stranglingly tight.  “Uhn,” he manages, punched out of his diaphragm, and then, “Mm!”

“So good,” Porsche says, his voice floating up Kinn's body.  “So good.”

Kinn is starting to shake with the effort of just letting Porsche control his pleasure.  It's so hard not to reach down and stroke himself, to just let Porsche…

Porsche cups his balls and takes Kinn deeper, into his throat.  Kinn is quaking now, his whole body stuttering in time to the wet noises Porsche makes as he bobs up and down.  Kinn just needs…

But he doesn't get to grab Porsche’s hair and work him just a little faster until Kinn spills in his mouth.  Instead he clings to the bed, feeling strangely as though he's going to fly straight off it as Porsche ratchets the pressure in Kinn's groin and balls higher and higher until…

“Porsche,” Kinn gasps, and sounds like he's been underwater a long time and is saying Porsche's name with his first breath in.  He needs…

Porsche's hand sneaks up behind his balls and presses, rubbing hard at the soft place behind the root of Kinn's cock.  It feels…

Kinn gasps again and almost shakes apart with the force of his orgasm.  When his body stops spasming, he collapses down to the bed, sweat dripping from under the eye mask and down his nose.

Porsche sprawls out in the bed beside Kinn, a long warm weight.  Kinn can feel more skin than before, like Porsche has taken off his shirt and pants.  “So good, Kinn, so good,” Porsche murmurs, and helps Kinn unclench his fingers from the sheets and pillowcase.

Kinn doesn't want to let go.  He still feels like he’ll fall off the bed if he doesn't hold on.  He clutches Porsche's hands instead.

“I got you,” Porsche reassures him.  “I have you, Kinn.  Is it time to take the blindfold off?”

Kinn doesn't want to.  He knows the sweat is really tears.  There's no reason for him to cry about this, but…

He nods anyway because he wants to see Porsche's face.  Porsche transfers Kinn's two clinging hands into one of his, and slips the silk up, his hand coming down to cover Kinn's wet eyes.

“You did so good,” Porsche says again.  “Let your eyes adjust, alright?”

He draws his hand away slowly, and Kinn blinks his eyes open.  The room is dim, but the light still makes him wince.  But he wants…

He looks up at Porsche, making his eyes focus despite their reluctance.  He really needs to see what Porsche thinks about…

Porsche is smiling like Kinn did something good.  He leans in close and gives Kinn a kiss, and then another and another, until Kinn stops shaking like a wet kitten and clinging to his forearm.  It takes a while, Kinn thinks, even though his grasp on time is fuzzy.  But he thinks they just lie quietly together for a long time.

“Are you hungry?” Porsche asks, eventually.

“We just ate,” Kinn says, even though he doesn’t know how true that is anymore.  Porsche leans down and smacks a kiss on his forehead in a way that clearly says that wasn't my question.   Kinn closes his eyes and thinks for a second.

He's still shaking, just a fine little tremor like he's run too far too fast.  It would be nice to…  “Something sweet?” he suggested, and then grabs Porsche's arm, terrified he'll get up to go prepare it.  He doesn't want Porsche to leave.

“I'll call the kitchen,” Porsche says.  “Do you want something hot to drink?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says.  “I'm… yeah.” Another thought strikes him.  “Can you ask them to leave it at the door?  I'm…”

“Of course,” Porsche says, and kisses Kinn again.  “Hand me the house phone.”

The food comes and they eat it on top of the covers.  Kinn still feels trembly but it gets better with the mangoes, rice cake and hot ginger tea.  

“How was that?” Porsche asks.  He hasn't stopped touching Kinn since dinner, except to pick up the tray from the hall.  “Good?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, except now he's starting to feel embarrassed that he's so overwhelmed by a simple blowjob.  He didn't even reciprocate, he's…. “Porsche, I…”

“How are you feeling?” Porsche asks.  Kinn struggled a lot with that when they were in therapy together.  It's hard for him to name feelings.

“Sad,” Kinn says, and doesn't know why.

“Because you hurt Tay?” Porsche asks.

That's a lot of it.  Kinn nods.  “And my Papa,” he says, not really sure what he means by that.  He blinks and tears start running down his nose again.

“Hey,” Porsche says, and puts the tray on the floor.  He reaches for Kinn.  “What's wrong?”

“No one is happy with me,” Kinn says, and then can't think of another thought to go with that.  But it feels very true.  He always lets everyone down, and…

“I’m happy with you,” Porsche says, but Kinn’s not sure.

He hiccups.  He feels awful.  Maybe he felt awful all day.  He doesn't know.

“I'm tired,” he says.

“Okay,” Porsche agrees.  “Let's sleep.”

He feels over-exposed the next morning, like Porsche took a layer of his skin off.  It's cowardly, but he can't face the office.

But he can't just not go into work.  He sits up in bed, paralyzed, until his alarm goes off again and Porsche wakes up too.  “Why not work from home?” Porsche suggests.  “Ask P’Khun if he'll take your design meeting, he likes those.”

“Aren't I just hiding?” Kinn asks.  “Shouldn't I…”

“You're recovering,” Porsche says.  “Yesterday was a lot for you.  Take it easy.”

Knowing that he can be out of public view for the day helps Kinn feel more settled.  He gets up, dresses and eats.  He opens his laptop in the study and answers a couple emails.  He feels more like himself.

Porsche appears in the doorway.  “Was that too much?” he asks, his hands shoved in his pockets like if they aren’t he’ll be wringing them together like a worried mother.  “I was trying to make you feel better, I'm…”

“I do,” Kinn says.  “I'm… yeah, I think that was bigger than I thought it would be.” 

He holds out his hand and Porsche comes into the study.  Kinn stands up, and holds Porsche close, and buries his nose in Porsche's hair.  This feels more natural, a return to how things usually are.  It bolsters him.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Kinn says, and Porsche nods.  “Maybe… do you want to let me take care of you too?”

“If you're offering,” Porsche says, and manages a cheeky grin.  Kinn sits him down on the desk and blows him, and the world rights on its axis for the time being.

He meets Chan in the gym that night, still feeling sorry for himself.  Chan is sitting on a weight bench, reading something on his phone when Kinn comes in and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge.  “Hey,” Chan says, distracted.  “Start…”

And then he actually looks up at Kinn, and his face goes all weird and soft.  It’s hard for Kinn to be looked at like that, so he ducks his head and pays very close attention to his water.

“What’s wrong?” Chan asks.  His hand twitches like he’s going to go for his gun.  Kinn almost smiles at that even though he's pretending he can't see P'Chan's expressions.  They’re all absolutely shit at problems they can’t shoot.

“Just tired,” Kinn says.

Chan gets this look like don’t bullshit me, that Kinn’s been seeing since he was a kid.  There’s been something a little warmer and more worried about it since he told Chan a few months ago he used to think about killing himself.  It’s probably sick that Kinn likes that P’Chan worries about him, but he does.

“I got into it a bit with Tay about how I was awful to him in high school,” Kinn says.

“Weird to bring it up after fifteen years,” Chan says.  He’s not much of a talker.  He lets bygones be bygones.

“I brought it up,” Kinn says, and Chan nods and lets Kinn tell him the whole story.  It’s easier to talk to Chan about this than it is to Porsche, and at first Kinn doesn’t know why.  But halfway through his story he realizes.  If he was thinking Tay was weak and silly and less than, he was also thinking that at least a little about Porsche, and that feels like shit.

P’Chan has that face he wears sometimes, like he is Being Very Brave about hearing details about Kinn’s sex life.  “Sorry,” Kinn says, because he is an adult, not a sex-obsessed sixteen year-old boy, and he can be respectful of boundaries even if the face is a little funny.  “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s just… I don’t totally get it,” Chan admits.  “But I want you to have someone to talk to.  I’m fine.”

“Have you ever…?” Kinn says and isn’t quite sure what he means.  Surely he did not just ask his phi if he’s a virgin.

“I’ve messed around with guys,” Chan says, which is… Kinn has to think how he feels for a minute.

He’s shocked?  He definitely thought P’Chan was straight all the way down.  He wonders for a second if this means Chan has always understood him more than he thought, but they’re still very different men, which Chan confirms with his next sentence.

“But not… that,” he says, and Kinn loves that.   He doesn’t think he could live without it, in some form or another.  “It seemed… more trouble than it was worth, given the circumstances,” Chan goes on, looking like he’s struggling to put concepts into words.

“Oh,” Kinn says, a little more secure in his view of the world but still reeling .   Would it be rude to tell Kim about this?  He’s not sure he can resist it, and he doesn’t think Chan would mind.   It’s more like this has never come up before, like it never came up before that Chan and Kinn’s mother had… how had Chan put it?  A warm respect.   That's something else Kinn is still making sense of.

“But I understand not everyone is concerned with convenience,” Chan says, and kicks Kinn’s foot in a friendly sort of gesture, like a cat might paw at a dog.

“Yeah,” Kinn says, because that gets at the heart of what he’s been feeling.  It’s not that he thinks it wouldn’t feel good if he had something in his ass.  It’s not that he’s worried that he’d be messy (although he is, a little, especially now that he knows Porsche has an involved routine before they fuck.)  It’s a different, bigger thing.

He thinks back to last night, telling Porsche that no one was ever happy with him.  If he pleases himself, he’s disappointing Papa.  If he does what Papa wanted him to do, it hurts Porsche (or Tawan, or Kim, or…)  It’s been like that almost his whole life, ever since Tankhun was kidnapped.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about that now, but he is.  “I was really worried P’Khun would hate me when they made me the heir,” he says.  He hasn’t thought about that for a long time, but it was his first thought and biggest fear when they told him Tankhun was too sick to lead the family.

“That was rough on both of you,” Chan says.  “I think he was more upset about it than he showed you, if I’m honest.”

“But I had to, right?”  Kinn’s not sure why he needs that confirmed.  It wasn’t as if he’d asked for his hia to be kidnapped and to have to usurp his place in the family.  And even in being forced to take Tankhun’s place, there’d been that tension - Kinn was absolutely a better heir to Papa than Khun would have been, but what would Grandfather have said?  Tankhun was the light of his old age, his chosen successor.  How had Papa simply undermined all those plans?  And knowing what Kinn knows now, how had he hurt Khun like that?

“I mean, you were ten,” Chan says.  “It’s not like they asked you about it.  You had to.”

“And same thing with… this,” Kinn says, wanting to be let off the hook.  He had to become who he is.  Their world isn’t a kind one.

Chan nods and stretches.  They’re sprawled out on the mats now, like they often do to talk.  Kinn turns his head so he can see Chan’s face and try to read his expression.

“Do you remember that night after Tawan died, when you came to the security office?” Chan asks.  

Kinn nods.  Of course he does.  He almost killed himself that night.

“Selfishly, when you said you were an exclusive top, I was glad.”  Chan turns too, so they’re looking each other in the face.  “Like you said, there’s nothing wrong with bottoming, but it would have been… difficult, if it had become known.  I was glad to have one fewer problem on my plate.”

“So I couldn’t,” Kinn says.  “It would have caused you problems.”  That seems simple.  It settles everything.  It’s out of Kinn’s control.

“My job is solving the problems you cause me,” Chan says, and doesn’t exactly smile, but there’s an undeniable fondness in how he’s looking at Kinn.  “If you’d wanted that, we could have figured it out.  It’s not… it’s just an activity, Kinn.  There’s nothing inherently weak about it, any more than there is about gardening.  So I’m sorry I didn’t say that to you then.  I’m sorry I acted like one way was better than the other.”

Kinn wants to argue, but he doesn’t.  Chan must see it in his face.  He smiles and gives Kinn another kick in the foot.

“C’mon, you need some exercise, sad sack.  How do you want to warm up?”

Chapter Text

Kinn notices that Porsche is spending a lot of time with his brother. Not Kim - now that he's married to Chay, Porsche has an exercise-based rapport with him, and they're fond of each other, but they're pretty different people. They don't hang out outside the gym and nights with Chay or Kinn.

No, Porsche is hanging around with Tankhun. He's pretty shy about it, which Kinn finds out one night talking to Porsche about it over dinner.

“You've been spending a lot of time with Khun lately,” he says, because Porsche has gone shopping with Tankhun twice this week, and met him and Arm and Pol for dinner while Kinn was at an event.

He's expecting Porsche to say something smart alecky, like you're welcome or reporting for duty, sir or one of the hundred other ways people have talked about Tankhun over the years to make it clear he's a burden.

Instead Porsche's ears go red like he's been caught out at something. He clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says. “We um, we're looking for a couple things for my apartment, so.”

“That sounds nice,” Kinn says, not sure why Porsche is blushing over this. Khun has excellent taste and he and Porsche have been working together on the new apartment for months. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Porsche grabs his phone. “Um, we found a couple of options,” he says, and pulls them up to show Kinn. “Do you want to see?”

“I'd love to,” Kinn says, and makes the appropriate approving noises and asks the appropriate questions about the furniture photos in Porsche's camera roll.

They have a family dinner later in the week, and Porsche ends up squished between Chan and Tankhun on the sofa as they play some kind of party game on the TV. Kinn is sitting at the table, talking to Vegas about some repairs to the minor family house.

Porsche is chatting to P’Chan about his strategy for the game and Tankhun is teasing him about it. The jibes are obviously not meant to wound, and they're making Porsche laugh, especially when P’Chan joins in. Porsche turns to Kinn and grins at him, a sunny open smile that Kinn hasn't seen for a very long time, maybe since Porsche was his bodyguard.

He's helpless to it. He smiles back, and Vegas laughs softly. “That's my cue to get home to Pete,” he says, and sticks out his hand for Kinn to shake. “Thanks for letting me talk about rain gutters for an hour.”

“I was riveted,” Kinn says, because gutter repair is the kind of thing his brain loves to chew on. “Text me tomorrow, I'll send you some names.”

“Appreciate it,” Vegas says. He stands and heads over to the sofa to say goodbye. There's a nod for Chan, another handshake for Tankhun, a cool handshake-hug for Kim and an earnest full-bodied embrace for Chay. Porsche doesn't stand, but Vegas leans over the back of the couch and drapes himself over Porsche's shoulders, and kisses his cheek.

Kinn would be jealous, but he can hear Vegas' words to his boyfriend. “Rest well,” says Vegas. “Remember to eat lunch, na? I can send something for you to the bar.”

“Yes, mom,” Porsche says, laughing, and gives Vegas a quick peck back. “Say hi to Pete.”

“I will,” Vegas says, and ruffles his hair. “Sleep well.”

Kinn stays a little apart from the others while they finish this round of their game. He thinks about the jealous rage he would have slipped into when he first started dating Porsche and how now he finds Vegas feeding his boyfriend to be… sweet. Nothing is being hidden from him. Nothing bad is happening. Porsche goes back to chatting with Chan like nothing noteworthy occured at all.

Porsche is smiley when they finally leave to go to bed. Kinn can’t stop yawning, but there was something about watching his boyfriend slouch down on the couch between his big brother and… whatever P’Chan is to him.  He liked seeing it.

He remembers Porsche saying that he needed Chay after what Kinn did, and that Kinn was his family. And he remembers all of the detail that Vegas painfully colored in at the breakfast before Kinn finally sat down and listened. It’s good to see Porsche letting himself have a family, not just Kinn’s support but Khun and Chan, too.  

Kinn loves him so fiercely. He would move mountains for Porsche. He would, and has, killed for him.

But it’s kind of a relief that Porsche is letting other people look after him, just a tiny bit. Like that night he broke his collarbone - it was horrible, and he was obviously miserable, but he let P’Chan and Vegas be there with him instead of insisting on doing it all himself when Kinn couldn't get there fast enough. Kinn doesn’t have to feel so guilty he can’t split into a hundred copies of himself if he knows he can trust P’Chan and Tankhun to help his boyfriend.

He has lunch with Tankhun after a meeting the next day and says as much, sitting in a pile of fabric samples for the new hotel. “I don’t know why he felt like there was such a problem going to you for help before,” he says, because he’s rambling a bit while they dig through swatches. It’s just him and Khun up here right now. Their bodyguards are at bay on the other side of the executive suite.

Tankhun looks up at him over a pair of comically oversized lensless glasses that he is somehow making the fashion trend of the year. “Kinn, my sweet angel baby,” he says. “I was keeping him at a bit of a distance.”

“I like this colour,” Kinn says, fingering something in a heavy gold silk, and then the words finally sink in. “What? Why?”

Tankhun shrugs, and looks back down at the pattern book he’s holding. “I thought he was going to dump you.” He holds his hands out for the swatch Kinn said he liked, and Kinn passes it to him.

Kinn wants to defend Porsche, and tell Khun that, well, Porsche would have had a reason to dump him. But there’s no good way to say I am a rapist without the corollary Porsche was raped, and it’s not Kinn’s place to share that. So he sits, gawp-jawed, as Tankhun holds the silk against the pages of a wallpaper sample book.

Tankhun looks up at him. “I wouldn’t have blamed him,” he assures Kinn. “I know what you did to him. Or, well, enough of it.”

“What?” Kinn says. “How?”

“You had Arm and Pete with you that night,” Tankhun says. “You’ve done plenty of bad things, Kinn.  We both have.  I don’t know why you expect me to disown you over this one.  You go watch Vegas torture people with some regularity and I understand that."

“Yes, but -” Kinn starts.

Tankhun cuts in, shaking his head.  "I’m not saying it was good, but at the end of the day you’re my brother and he’s not, so I’m on your side.”

“I don’t think you should be,” Kinn says. “I don’t think I deserve that.”

Tankhun nods again, and flips another page in the sample book before looking up. He looks like he used to, when Grandfather was alive. Kinn’s not sure how to describe it except unbending. No one had been all that surprised when the trauma and the pressure had finally been enough to make Khun shatter. Even as a preteen he’d never been very flexible.

“It’s not about what you deserve,” he says, patiently but inexorably, as if Kinn has suddenly revealed himself to be a flat earther or something equally ridiculous. “You’re my brother. And now he is too. But he wouldn’t have been if he left you.”

Kinn nods. “Did he tell you he wasn’t going to break up with me?” he asks.  He'd like to hear that, even secondhand.

“No,” Tankhun says, apparently done with eye contact for today. “But I know.” He finds a wallpaper he likes and slides it back across the table to Kinn with the silk fabric. “What do you think of this? I like the color match,” and that’s the end of the conversation.

Kinn doesn’t bring up the conversation to Porsche, but he thinks Porsche knows, anyway. Not that Kinn talked to Tankhun, but that he was being held a little on the outside, and that now he’s not. They don’t talk about it, but Kinn thinks that maybe what he sees in Porsche is… relief?

Kinn likes to see it, in any case. He comes home from work one boring Tuesday, and finds Porsche and Tankhun in his bedroom, high-end shopping bags strewn around them. Porsche is standing in his underwear in front of the three-way mirror, and Tankhun is holding a shirt up to his shoulders.

Porsche looks up when Kinn comes in, and smiles. “Hi,” he says. “We went shopping.”

Tankhun looks up, too, and points at the bed. “Go take your outside clothes off,” he says to Kinn. “Fashion show!”

Kinn looks over at Porsche, who is still smiling, easy and relaxed in front of the mirror. “Your wish is my command,” he says, and Tankhun and Porsche both shoo him into the dressing room.

Porsche is dressed when Kinn gets back. “I picked the shirt!” he says, happily, and looks at Tankhun for approval.

“You look great,” Kinn says, autopilot supportive, trying to figure out why that’s significant.

Now that he thinks about it, he can’t remember the last time Porsche actually bought clothing. The tailors downstairs retake his measurements periodically. Kinn, or rather Ana, has mostly ensured he is appropriately clothed to any events he’s attending ever since he and Kinn stopped sneaking around together.

Kinn remembers walking in on Porsche in his fitting for a bodyguard suit, and how uncomfortable he’d seemed out of his black button downs and t-shirts. He remembers Porsche letting him hold up a tie in the mirror, as if Porsche was a doll Kinn was dressing, and the way Kinn’s dick twitched in his pants at the thought of it.

Subsequent shopping trips had not changed that vibe substantially, except maybe that the edge of defiance in Porsche’s gaze was gone. After his first couple of meetings, he’d understood the need for suits as battle armor, and he’d given in to Kinn’s preferences on them without a fight.

Kinn thinks back to an early fitting, just after Porsche had ascended as head of the minor family. Porsche was standing on the tailor’s podium, holding obediently still as the head tailor draped fabric over him for Kinn to review, and the assistant measured and remeasured Porsche’s inseam. He’d stared blankly into the mirror, as if the man there was someone he was trying to recognize.

What Kinn had assumed was tiredness or boredom he now recognizes as a dissociative episode. Neither of them really had the vocabulary for something like that so many years ago, but in hindsight, Kinn can see all the elements that were tearing at Porsche. Being touched so intimately by a stranger, in a public place, while Kinn and the tailor talked about him like he was a mannequin they were dressing…

He regrets how much he was still playing using Tawan’s playbook. Tawan loved when Kinn took him shopping. He loved being a dress-up doll and borrowing Kinn's expensive taste. He would have…

But that’s in the past. Now Porsche is excitedly talking to Tankhun about socks, and Kinn doesn’t want to ruin that. He smiles and leans forward on his elbows and joins the conversation.

Eventually Tankhun leaves them in the ruins of their bedroom, and Porsche strips back down to his underwear, still grinning. “I really like these,” he says, heaping his new shirts over the bedroom chair. They’re different than what Kinn would have picked for him but they look great.

“You look really good,” Kinn says, and leans back on the bed, only to sit up when he crunches onto a nest of tissue paper. “I love the green one on you.”

“We charged it to your account,” Porsche says, like he's testing Kinn and isn't sure of his reaction.

Kinn's dick twitches in his pants. “Glad to provide,” he says, and hopes he doesn't sound too hoarse. “You look happy with what you bought, you could -”

Porsche tackles Kinn back down to the tissue paper and slots their mouths together. Kinn shivers at the feeling of being pinned down to the bed by Porsche's long lean body. Maybe he should feel more powerful because he's still dressed, but today he doesn't.

Porsche flattens out on top of Kinn, and pulls back enough to take a deep breath, like he's settling in for a deep dive into Kinn's mouth. Kinn sets his hands on Porsche's hips to keep him in place, and leans up to kiss him again. Porsche makes a small, breathy noise, and snakes his hand into Kinn's hair, keeping him close.

Kinn feels deeply tender about how much Porsche likes to kiss him. He never let the escorts do it, and Tawan liked to fuck in front of a mirror, watching them like he might watch a porno. Kissing like this wouldn't have looked good.

Porsche likes to make out, though. It makes Kinn feel… young. Unburdened.

He gets lost for a little while in the way their mouths fit together and how Porsche feels on top of him. It's not how he used to have sex. There's no imagined audience standing next to the bed. There's no voice in the back of his head criticizing Kinn for enjoying hands in his hair.

Eventually Porsche rolls them on their sides and pulls Kinn's sweatpants down to paw at his cock. “Good?” he asks into Kinn's mouth, pulling himself out so he can work their cocks together.

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and hooks his calf around Porsche's so they can rock together in a messy pile of old shopping bags. It doesn't look like anything when Kinn finally groans and spills over their stupid bed of crinkly paper. If this was a porno, they wouldn't sell ten copies.

He lets go of where he's still clutching at Porsche's hip, and wraps his hand around Porsche's, helping him stripe his own cock faster and faster. “You gonna show me?” Kinn asks him. “Gonna let me see?”

“Yeah,” Porsche breathes, and finishes over their joined hands.

They've ruined quite a bit of expensive tissue paper, and there's a Dior bag stuck to Porsche's flank when they sit up. Kinn peels it away and there's a strange scrit-t-t noise as it comes loose from Porsche's skin. Porsche startles and then laughs, and they go to clean up.

“I might call down for dinner,” Porsche says, leaning back against Kinn's chest in the tub. “I'm hungry now, I don't want to cook.”

“Whatever you want,” Kinn says, and kisses Porsche's temple. He's been holding Porsche jealously close since they got into the bath. He's telling himself it's for Porsche but he thinks it might be for him.

“It was really okay I bought all that stuff?” Porsche asks, and pulls Kinn's arms closer around him. “I… I dunno, I feel like I got a little carried away, it was…”

“You really only got three or four outfits,” Kinn says. He doesn't care if Porsche buys a thousand shirts, but he knows the cost is probably a little uncomfortable if Porsche is comparing it to his salary at the bar. He thinks carefully about his next words. “And if you like them, and you're happy, I like being able to take care of you.”

Porsche nods, looking down at the water and hiding his face. “I um… I really liked going shopping with Khun. Sometimes when I'm with you, the people in the store talk about me like I'm not there.”

“It makes me happy when you spend time with him,” Kinn says, and wraps himself around Porsche a little tighter. He can see them in the mirror, and the way they're sitting looks kind of stupid, a tangle of limbs and two mops of black hair. His, particularly, is sticking up like a parrot's feathers. But it feels good to just hold Porsche like this so he does it.

Porsche turns and gives Kinn another soft kiss. He doesn't say anything, but the kiss is so tender he doesn't need to. Kinn strokes Porsche's wet hair off his face and gives him one back.

Kinn's not sure how to describe the next few days. They're just… very in sync. Their relationship almost feels like a living thing between them, like a vine they've made flourish or a chain they've polished gold.

They're lying in bed together. Porsche is wearing some new underwear he got with Tankhun and one of Kinn's T-shirts, and he's got his head on Kinn's chest while Kinn reads and Porsche plays a game on his phone.

Kinn's eyes start to droop, so he puts the book on the bedside table, and Porsche puts his phone away. They snuggle down under the covers. Kinn waits to see if Porsche is going to use him as a pillow tonight. He's in the mood to sleep tucked up together.

Porsche yawns and puts his head down on his pillow, but reaches for Kinn's hand under the covers. Kinn puts his hand over Porsche's, and for a few minutes they just cling to each other like the otter videos Kim pretends he doesn't love to watch.

Kinn feels very safe, very free, here in his bed with his boyfriend. “Can I tell you something dumb?” he asks.

Porsche pulls their joined hands out from under the covers and gives them a sleepy kiss. “Always,” he says.

So Kinn tells him the story of trying to finger himself in the bathtub in Kyoto. He tries to tell it like a funny thing that happens, but Porsche listens very seriously, and doesn't laugh, although he smiles when he comes in as a deus ex machina at the end to save the day. Kinn's secretly very relieved he doesn't think it's funny.

“Did it feel good?” Porsche asks, still sleepy-eyed. He gives Kinn's hands a squeeze under the blankets.

“I'm not sure,” Kinn says, and remembers the swaying bamboo and the dark of the night outside his hotel room. “I um. I chickened out. I felt…”

Even now, the memory of the huge windows make him feel too exposed. He shrinks back down under the covers, not sure how to go on. He doesn't like admitting that he feels vulnerable or…

Or scared.

Porsche lets go of Kinn's hands, but only to pull him in, forehead to forehead. Kinn blinks rapidly, feeling like he's going to cry, and wraps his arms around Porsche's middle so he won't go anywhere. He doesn’t want Porsche to leave him.

He doesn't have any right to feel as terrified as he does about Porsche suddenly getting up and walking straight out of the compound. He worked hard to let go enough that Porsche could come and go from their relationship. He figured out how to navigate Porsche's friendship with Vegas, how to make some small amends for the rape, even how to give Porsche a safe place that Kinn can't reach. But that doesn't mean he wants Porsche to go.

“I'm here,” Porsche says, the way Kinn does to him when Porsche has nightmares. “I'm not going anywhere, Kinn. It's okay.”

Kinn takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax his fingers. He's probably left bruises. “Sorry,” he says.

Porsche rubs their noses together. He's so fucking cute. Kinn's heart stops hammering and he can fully breathe again.

“Was that bigger than you thought it was going to be?” Porsche asks, echoing Kinn's words from a few weeks ago back to him.

That's such a perfect way of putting it. Kinn can't come up with any better words. He just nods, and tries to squirm a little closer to Porsche.

“I love you,” he adds, because that's important. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Porsche says. “I'm here when you're ready to tell me more, my Kinn. Take your time.”

Kinn works from home the next day. He sits in his study. He looks out over the city and thinks about his mother.

Not really about her, but about the day she died. He'd been at school when it happened. He was sitting in history class, bored, when his head bodyguard came in without knocking. Kinn stood, reaching for his backpack, but the man had nearly picked him up and carried him out before he could grab it. Tae had ended up keeping it for him until Kinn came back to school.

No one would tell Kinn what was happening in the car, but he wasn't stupid. Nothing good would precipitate this. Papa, Uncle Gun, Tankhun, Vegas…

He hadn't thought it was his mother, until he saw Kim through a cracked curtain, shell shocked and still smeared with blood.

The doctor told him and Khun together a moment later. Tankhun had screamed and screamed and screamed. Kinn still hears it in his worst nightmares.

And then he'd had to face Kim, who looked like he'd suddenly found himself on an alien planet. He'd tried to bite the medical staff, and Kinn had held him so they could clean him up, trying to ignore that Kim was smeared with her blood.

P’Chan had stayed with them until Papa could come. Kinn doesn't know what he was expecting there, either. Something comforting. But Papa had merely praised him for being strong for his brothers, and told Kinn he'd need him even more now.

P’Chan was the one who had stayed behind after, while the doctor sedated Kim.  He sat next to Kinn on the edge of the bed.  He was the one who had been there when Kinn had finally started to cry, like a frightened toddler.

“It's…” P’Chan started, and stopped before the okay.   Instead he'd simply held Kinn and not told him off for wailing like he was an air raid siren.  “I'm here,” he said, when Kinn was in a fit state to hear him.  “I'm here.”

Kinn doesn't know why he's thinking of this now.  He tries not to think about the period right after her death, if he can avoid it.  It was very overwhelming, and he's not a man who likes being overwhelmed.

He felt very numb, for a very long time.  It covered all the thoughts he was trying not to think.  He was sad, of course, and at times both very annoyed with Kim and desperately in need of him, and…

And he was angry with Papa.

Papa had been better the next day, once Kinn had loosed the worst of his emotions on Chan.  Then he'd had a hug and a kiss for Kinn.  In front of Uncle Gun, he'd been a solicitous and caring father.

But he'd just left after talking to Kinn like a mafia lieutenant.  Kinn tried not to be stung by it, but he was.

He'd grown up his whole life until the kidnapping in Tankhun's shadow.  He knew what it was like to be without his father's attention.  Foolishly, he thought he'd merit it on the day that Mama died, but…

It was ridiculous to think like that.  Kinn was only transferring his emotions about Mama to his blameless father.  (He'd been around a lot of therapists after Mama died, for Kim and Khun.)

And he'd always known in the back of his mind that if Papa's affection could be gained, it could be lost again.  Anger was a threat to Kinn's position as number one.  Whatever Papa needed from him, Kinn had to give or risk being pushed aside, like Khun.

And under all that, there was guilt.  Maybe if Kinn was in the car, he could have protected his mother and his little brother.  Maybe if he'd been better, stronger, more mature, he'd still have Mama with him.  He…

He felt like it was his fault.  He'd just been figuring out that he was gay.  On top of all the guilt and grief, he had a raging crush on Time.  He didn't think it was bad or sinful to be gay, necessarily, but everyone who talked about men like him talked about fragility.  And Kinn couldn't let himself be anything delicate and breakable, even if he couldn't change being gay.

Now while he thinks about it, he realises how much the two had become linked in his head, that he was too weak to protect his own mother, and that he was gay.  He thinks back to himself at fourteen and for the first time, feels some compassion for the poor broken-hearted kid he was.

You weren't weak, he tells himself.  Fourteen was so much closer to Kim's nine than it is to his present age.  You were a child.

He shakes his head to clear it and turns back to his email.

Chapter Text

Kinn would like to lie in bed with Porsche and tell him more, but the next month is hellish.  He works a hundred hours two weeks in a row, not including four nights he spends trying to sleep in the small bedroom of the jet.  He has to split his team so his staff can get some work-life balance (or at least time to do laundry and eat.)  But it leaves him uneasy to not have both Chay and Ana with him when he travels.

Even the bodyguards are tired.  Kinn usually tries to spend some evenings at home in a week, to let his detail rest, but almost every night he's out of the compound.  He wants to rest, but he's needed at dinners in Kyoto, inspecting stalled work in Phuket, or attending meetings with the Bratva with Pete and Vegas.

The third week is lighter but he still puts in close to eighty hours.  All the time he saves is spent sleeping, except one night when he comes home so late he runs into Porsche arriving back from Hum Bar.  They exchange blow jobs in the shower.

Towards the end of the fourth week, the problems start to resolve.  The issues with the Kyoto deal are ironed out and Kinn can hand off a signed contract to his design team.  Construction issues with the Phuket property get figured out.  And Pete gets tired of going to so many meetings and blows up a boat, which somehow settles the Bratva down.

On Thursday at 6pm, Kinn looks down at his must-do list and finds that they are all must-dones.  He blearily takes himself home, looking for Porsche, and then checks his watch and realizes it's the start of the busiest part of Porsche's work-week.  He stands in their small kitchen, unsure of what to do.

Gym? he texts Chan, and then eats some bar pizza he finds in the fridge.  He could call down to the aunties for dinner, but he's craving his boyfriend's cooking.  His phone chimes and he goes to change, trying to ignore how horribly lonely he feels.

“You look tired,” Chan says, finding Kinn in the gym.  Kinn's sitting on the bench, holding some hand wraps, which Chan takes from him and returns to the basket.  “Let’s stretch you out.”

Kinn nods.  He wants to box, but he's also so exhausted he can barely stand up from the bench.  Chan has to give him a hand up.

“You're not looking after yourself,” Chan says, his voice deeply disapproving.  It's so close to what Papa would say when Kinn was up late with an escort, and Kinn is so tired from his awful month, that it cuts into him in a way he's sure Chan is not intending.

He flinches, and his eyes feel hot like he's about to cry.  Mama used to say he was the most sensitive of the three of them, and Kinn's done a lot of work to hide that over the years.  He spent most of the last three weeks being shouted at in Japanese, Russian, and Keren by various business partners and contractors.  He doesn't know why a single sentence from P’Chan takes it out of him like this.

“... that came out too harsh, I’m sorry,” Chan says, and wraps his arm loosely around Kinn's shoulders.  “You're exhausted, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and swipes at his eyes.  “Sorry, I…”

Chan hugs him.  Kinn wants to protest.  He's a thirty-five year old man.  He doesn't need to be coddled.  He…

He puts his head down on Chan’s shoulder like he used to do when he was little.  He's so very tired, and he feels so lonely after a month of basically no human contact, except the occasional fist-bump with Chay.  Working that steadily was miserable and he suddenly feels so keenly the loss of every kind of human comfort he forwent for the company.

“What about taking next week off?” Chan asks, and starts rubbing Kinn's back.  “You're gonna get sick if you keep working like this, that’s all I meant.  Take Porsche somewhere nice and rest up.”

Kinn shakes his head.  He can't, he doesn't deserve…

And then he thinks that he would give any employee a week off after the month he just had.  Chay and Ana are both off next week.  He and Porsche could maybe even take a trip with Chay and Kim, and Porsche would really like that, and…

“Think about it,” Chan says.  Kinn nods and finally feels steady enough to pull back.  Chan gruffly pulls Kinn in for another quick hug and messes up his hair.  They spend the rest of their time in the gym stretching to loosen up Kinn's aching jaw and neck.

Kinn sleeps through Porsche coming home, and he sleeps through his own alarm the next morning.  He wakes up to Porsche gently shaking him.  “Kinn,” he says.  “Ai’Kinn, it's morning.  C'mon.”

“Hrrn?” Kinn manages to say, and then realizes that his alarm is blaring and has been for fifteen minutes.  He immediately feels bad for waking Porsche up in the middle of his sleep.  He tries to be respectful of Porsche getting home in the middle of the night and to get ready quietly.

“No, it's okay,” Porsche says.  “I didn't want to let you sleep if you had an important meeting, and then I kind of wanted to check you were still alive.  Are you…”

“I should go in,” Kinn mumbles, but he's so tired he can barely make his arms move to push at the blankets.

“Do you want some coffee?” Porsche asks, and brings Kinn a cup without waiting for him to answer.  “Is this almost done?” he asks, sitting down next to Kinn on the bed.  “I'm worried about you.”

"After today,” Kinn says, or at least tries to say.  “P’Chan…” he can't even string words together.  “Chay… trip?”

Porsche doesn't look like that's really cleared things up.  “It's done today?” he says.  Kinn nods and takes a big slurp of coffee.  “Do you have a meeting this morning?”

“No,” Kinn says.

Porsche takes the coffee away.  “Go back to sleep,” he says.  “You can go to the office this afternoon.”

“Mm,” Kinn says, and without the coffee cup to remind his brain to stay awake, he passes out sitting up in bed.

He doesn't end up going into the office at all because Porsche lets him sleep until 5pm.  “P’Khun took care of things for you,” Porsche says, when Kinn finds him in the kitchen.  “I'm making you dinner.”

He turns and feels Kinn's face with the back of his hands, frowning.  “You're warm,” he accuses Kinn, and then looks over to the counter at a bowl of ice water and vegetables, like he's realizing maybe his hands are just cold.  Kinn still feels gross but he doesn’t think he’s feverish, just hungry and over-rested.

Kinn leans their foreheads together.  He hasn't brushed his teeth yet and the inside of his mouth tastes and feels like a dirty sock, but Porsche doesn’t complain.  “P’Chan suggested we take the week off,” he says, trying not to open his mouth too much as he does it.  “We could go away somewhere with Kim and Chay.”

Porsche's face softens.  “Yeah, I'd like that,” he says.  “I missed you.  And my brother.”

“Tell me where,” Kinn says.

Porsche picks Paris.  Ana is away, so Kinn handles the bookings himself, with a little help from Chay.  “Why this hotel, phi?” Chay asks.  They’ve got a couple of chairs pulled up to Kinn's desk in the study, and they’re looking at restaurants together.  Kinn just remembered he actually needs to book the hotel, not just decide to stay there.

“Hm?” Kinn says.  This is simply where they stay in Paris.  He didn’t think twice about it, but he supposes it’s not a very “Theerapanyakun” hotel.  It’s classically French, fairly understated (for a six star hotel) and Mama’s favourite place in the eighth arrondissement.

“I like it,” Chay hastens to assure Kinn, taking the mouse from him so he can browse images of the rooms.  “It’s just not like where we usually stay?  Not that that’s bad!”

“My - our - mother liked it here,” Kinn says, and swallows down the lump in his throat.  Porsche never pushes Kinn to talk about her, but Chay isn’t as careful as Porsche is.  In some ways that’s easier.  It doesn’t make Kinn feel like he’s someone Chay needs to be careful around.

Chay nods and is quiet, not making a big deal of it.  Kinn loves this kid, he’s so… deft.  He has the emotional maturity of someone three times his age.

“I think it’s really nice,” Chay says, and closes the gallery.  “I’m excited, P’Kinn!  Restaurants?”

Tankhun sees them off, but he's not coming with them.  Kinn is embarrassed to admit that it didn’t even occur to him to ask his older brother if he wanted to join them, but again, thankfully, there is Chay.

Chay brings it up over dinner the night after Kinn asked Kim.  “I can work from Paris if we need someone like, answering emails,” he says, winsomely, as if Tankhun has ever been concerned about emails.

Khun takes a large bite of pasta, and chews contemplatively.  Kinn exchanges quick glances with Porsche and Kim, feeling equally guilty he didn't invite Khun and shocked Khun is seriously considering the offer, but… it’s Chay, Tankhun's babiest brother.

“Maybe next time, nong,” Tankhun says, and sounds like he means it.  “It’s too cold for me this time of year.”

Tankhun doesn’t get out of the car to see them off at the airport, but it seems like he’s thinking about it.  It's still novel for him to leave the tower, and often when he does, he likes to stay in the safety of the car.  Kinn’s sitting next to him in the limo, and he watches Tankhun study the stairs up to the jet, the pilot in his trimmed uniform.  He can see the wheels turning in Khun’s head.

“It’s not going to be as much fun without you,” he says, still a little embarrassed that only Chay thought to invite Khun along with them.  He’s been so much better these last few years.  It’s not fair to treat him like he’s still a terrified, drugged-up sixteen year-old.

“Next time,” Tankhun says, and squeezes Kinn’s hand under the fur rug that he for some reason insists on travelling with, like they’re being bundled into a horse and carriage in Central Park rather than a Thai Maserati.

Kinn nods and leans over to give Tankhun a hug, which feels awkward, but he’s trying to be better about showing people how important they are to him, since everything with Porsche.  Khun holds on for a second longer than Kinn thought he would.  “Take lots of pictures,” he says, when he lets Kinn go.  “Next time I'll come.”

Kim, Chay and Porsche are in the car behind them, and Kinn gets out of the Maserati to supervise the loading of luggage onto the plane and have one last quiet word with his head bodyguard while everyone hugs Khun goodbye.  

Kinn doesn’t turn back to see if Tankhun looks sad or quietly resigned.  It's too much for him today, to know that he can fly to Paris with his boyfriend and Khun will be here taking care of business.  It feels like shirking his duty.

Porsche catches up with Kinn before the cars pull away, and leans into Kinn’s side, which distracts him from how guilty he feels about leaving Tankhun.  “I’ve never really been out of the country before,” he says, which means all Kinn hears as Chay and Kim finish saying goodbye is Chay’s bright laugh and a genuine wash of shouted well-wishes as Pol closes the door on Tankhun.  The lump in his stomach eases at the lightness in Tankhun's voice and it feels okay to pay attention to something else.

“Really?” Kinn asks Porsche, and puts his arm around Porsche’s waist.  Somehow it makes him feel better that even if he's deserting his hia, it's in service of taking care of Porsche.  There was one night they spent together in Cambodia, but it was at a TK resort and they were really only there for one night.  They barely ate breakfast before getting back on the plane.

“Really,” Porsche says.  He smirks up at Kinn, but also leans more heavily into his side.  “You gonna show me all the sights?  Bright lights, big city?”

“Of course,” Kinn says, and leans in to kiss Porsche.  Kim, somewhere behind them, makes an ick sound.  “Sounds like I should have done this a lot earlier.”

“We were busy,” Porsche says, his voice still light, so Kinn decides to take a leaf out of Chay's book and not to make a whole thing about it.

“I’ll make sure you have a good time,” he says, and rubs their noses together.  Porsche deserves every good thing.  Kinn's issues shouldn't keep him from Paris and Tokyo and Hong Kong and Sydney.

Porsche nods and smiles.  He looks happy, if just a shade nervous, and…

“Let’s go!” Kim hollers from the top of the stairs.  “Phi!  Porsche!  We’re leaving without you!”

“Will they leave without you?” Porsche asks, letting Kinn lead him up the gangway and into the jet.

“As it's my plane, I doubt it,” Kinn says, and gives Kim a kick in the shin.  “But here, get a good view for take off.  Sept, is my laptop bag up here?  I'll need…”

Kinn hasn’t actually taken a vacation in a very long time.  As soon as they set foot on the tarmac in Paris (well, in Roissy), he can’t believe that it’s taken him seven years to properly take Porsche on a trip outside of Thailand.  And he hasn’t properly taken a week off in even longer, maybe even since he was dating Tawan.

For the first day, Kinn keeps waiting for one of the bodyguards to come to him with a cellphone or tablet so he can participate in a war council with Vegas or be drafted to run a meeting Khun can’t handle.  He calls home, a little disbelieving of how well things are going, and Khun squawks at him over the zoom call.

“I am handling things,” he says.  “I could do this with my eyes closed, little brother.  You should go to the bahn mi place Mae liked and see if it’s still good.  Porsche will like it.”

Kinn’s throat tries to close up at the mention of their mother, but he doesn’t let it.  “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he says, and they take Kim and Chay too.  It's just as good as Kinn remembered.

On the third day of vacation, Kinn wakes up to an empty bed.  For a second, he’s reminded of how things used to be, when Porsche would wake up in the middle of the night and sneak outside to smoke, or simply leave for the minor family house.

But the doors to the balcony are slightly open, and the curtains are blowing in the breeze.  Porsche is leaning against the wrought-iron railings, his slim hips cocked as he drinks his coffee.  He’s wearing Kinn’s pajama pants and he’s wrapped up against the morning chill in Kinn’s dinner jacket from last night.

Kinn comes up behind him, making sure to make enough noise that Porsche can warn him off if he’d like some privacy.  “The light is different,” Porsche says, when Kinn wraps his arms around Porsche’s middle.  He looks up at Kinn.  “Is that stupid to say?  Even the dirt smells different.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Kinn says, and Porsche presses the steaming bowl of coffee into his hands.  “The milk tastes different too.”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, and leans back against Kinn while they share the cafe au lait and stare out over the Parisian rooftops.

They go back to bed after.  Jetlag hit Chay hard and it’ll probably be a few hours before he and Kim are up for anything.  Kinn’s not tired, and it doesn’t seem like Porsche is either.

Porsche is watching the light shadow through the leaves of the trees outside their room.  Kinn watches him, the way the shadows play over his face, how happy and interested he looks.  He feels dizzy with how much he loves Porsche.

Eventually, Porsche turns and notices Kinn staring at him.  “What?” he says, laughing a little.  “You said it wasn’t stupid.”

“It’s not,” Kinn says.  “I… I like looking at you.”  He doesn’t want to make this about Porsche’s looks, so he goes on.  “You’re happy.”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, and his eyes crinkle even further.  He looks like Chay’s cat.  “I feel like… you know when you took me in that helicopter?”

That remains perhaps the most memorable blowjob of Kinn’s life.  “I remember,” Kinn says.

“I feel… like that,” Porsche says.  “But also kind of like I don’t need to say thank you this time.”

“You don’t,” Kinn says, and reaches for Porsche’s hand.  “I’m sorry that I made you -”

“Ssh,” Porsche says, and pulls Kinn’s hand up to kiss it.  “You didn’t make me.”  

Kinn doesn’t know what to say to that.  There must be a change in the wind, because the shadows of the leaves change and dapple in a new pattern over Porsche’s face.  Kinn momentarily loses his breath at how breathtakingly beautiful Porsche is.  

Porsche smiles again, wider,  and Kinn’s whole chest goes tight.  “What I’m trying to say is, do you want to fool around in Paris?” he asks.  “Chay won’t be up for hours.”

Kinn answers him with a kiss and they spend the next few hours in bed in the watery Parisian sunlight.

“You look better,” Kim says, startling Kinn out of his thoughts.  Porsche and Chay have gone to look at the Mona Lisa together, and neither Kim nor Kinn fucks with big crowds, so they’re at one of Mama’s favourite restaurants for lunch.  The waiter cleared their main course a while ago and they’ve been lingering over their wine while they wait for dessert.

Kim’s been quiet most of lunch, but that’s alright.  It feels good just to be with him.  Being closer with his brothers has helped Kinn recalibrate his possessiveness a little.  Kinn has never thought of Kim as a tool or a thing, and while he doesn’t want to have sex with his little brother, it’s made it stand out a bit more that sometimes he thinks of other people that way.

“Do I?” Kinn asks.  He's felt lighter over the last few days.  He’s not looking forward to going back to work.

“Yeah,” Kim says, and cocks his head, studying Kinn.  “... you know I can help you too, right?  Not just hia?”

“Kim,” Kinn says, and almost comes out with you’re just a kid.   But that’s not true anymore.  Kim is a married thirty year-old with a successful career as a musician.  He’s been doing more production work recently and has started to be paid handsomely for it.  Kinn doesn’t want family business to get in the way of that.

Kim seems to see what Kinn is thinking.  He struggles with outsiders, but he’s always been good at reading Kinn.  “The music stuff is more like a hobby that pays really well,” he confides.

“Yeah?” Kinn asks.  Kim still doesn’t talk much about his music career to Kim, seemingly out of fear that Kinn will be jealous.  When they were younger, Kinn can admit now that he was jealous, that it was hard for him to see Kim with the career he once wanted so badly.  It was hard to see what a life without the shackles of the family business could look like.

But in his mid-thirties, he’s past his shelf-life as an idol.  He doesn’t feel as jealous of Kim now that they’re both on the other side of that dream.  And it’s both easier and harder knowing that Kim never really got out, that every part of his life as Wik was in some ways smoke and mirrors.

“Yeah,” Kim says.  “I um.  I’m gonna take over for P’Chan.”

Kinn’s not sure what to say to this.  For a second, he has that old anger rise in his throat, that Chan and Kim would talk about this behind his back, that they’d steal control from him.  But that goes quickly.  He trusts them.

“We haven’t talked about it, or anything,” Kim says, maybe reading Kinn’s face again.  “And I’m not going to stand behind your chair all day like he does.  But… I’m really good at it.  Better than Arm and Pol.”

“You’ve been doing a great job,” Kinn says.  He’s felt so much safer and more secure knowing that Chan has Kim backing him up when he has a bad pain day.  It’s a good combination of energy and experience.  “But…”

Kim shakes his head.  “No buts,” he says.  “This last month was brutal, wasn’t it?  And I saw you trying to take care of Chay and your bodyguards and your staff, but you didn’t take care of yourself.”  He swallows hard, and suddenly Kinn remembers him when he was little and he’d wake Kinn up after nightmares.  “Papa started this job at forty and he had a heart attack at sixty, phi.  I don’t want…”

Kinn wants to reassure him, tell him that it was fine, that Kinn didn’t mind working like he did over the last month.  He wants to say that everything is okay.

But… it wasn’t.   The last month was grueling.  It felt like waking up and running a marathon every day.  He missed Porsche.  He missed his brothers.  He missed P’Chan.  He worried about the toll it was taking on Chay.

It feels like slow going, but as he goes on, Kinn can see all these little pieces of Papa that aren’t good for him.  The drinking was bad, for his dick and his stomach and his relationship.  His rivalry with Vegas did shit for anyone.  There's his high-handedness.  His control issues.

Maybe this could be another thing that could go.  “I like having you with me on trips,” Kinn admits.  “I value your input.  And I feel better knowing you’re running security.”

Kim smiles, a private little cat-like smile.  “Sure,” he says.

The waiter seems to sense that this is a good moment, and swoops in with their dessert.  They don’t say anything else, but the silence feels good.

The week flies by, but it also seems to stretch out forever.  Kinn almost feels like he’s not Kinn Theerapanyakun, one of Thailand’s leading businessmen and head of one of Asia’s foremost crime families.  He feels like he’s just a regular wealthy person.  Maybe he’s a younger son, like Tay or Time.

Porsche seems into it, or else there’s something in the Paris air.  They’re fucking like they’re twenty again.  Kinn didn’t know he could still get it up like this.

They’re in bed together on the second-to-last morning of the trip, and they’ve both already come, but Porsche isn’t done yet.  He backed off for a few minutes to let Kinn get past the worst sensitivity, and now he’s just…

The best words to describe what Porsche is doing would probably be playing with it.   They got off together right when they woke up, just hands.  But now Porsche is lying between Kinn’s legs, Kinn’s half-hard cock in his mouth.  Kinn’s not sure if Porsche is trying to get him hard again, or if he’s just enjoying tracing the head of Kinn’s dick with his tongue, but Kinn doesn’t care.  It feels good, and the heat of Porsche’s body between his legs feels good, and Kinn has nowhere to be.

Porsche’s hand gets in on the action, loosely cupping Kinn’s balls and rolling them in his palm.  Kinn makes a small noise of appreciation, and settles his hand in Porsche’s hair, petting him.  Porsche lets out his own small groan, and Kinn delights in the feeling of the noise against his cock.

Porsche pulls off and studies Kinn’s junk for a second, like he’s never seen it before.  “The skin here is really soft,” he says, and pets Kinn like there’s a baby bunny between his legs and not a rather sizeable cock.  “This is okay, right?  I just like…”

“I’ll tell you if you do something I don’t like,” Kinn says.  “You’re having fun?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, and blinks up at Kinn.  “It’s not weird?  I just, we never have time for this, and…”

“I like it,” Kinn says, because it’s fun and novel to be touched like he’s a toy Porsche can play with.  It reminds him of the first few weeks they dated, when Porsche was so openly obsessed with Kinn’s body.  He misses that.

“Mm,” Porsche says, and settles back down between Kinn’s legs.  He closes his eyes and then seems to get into a competition with himself to see how far down his throat he can take Kinn’s half-hard cock.

Porsche is partly covered by the blankets, but Kinn can see that he’s palming himself, too, and that he’s about as erect as Kinn is.  He thinks about suggesting they 69, but that doesn’t seem to be what this is for Porsche.  It’s more like he’s exploring.

Porsche’s free hand keeps roaming, from Kinn’s balls to the base of his shaft, to his balls again, to his perineum, and then back further, tracing Kinn’s rim.  Kinn doesn’t say anything, but Porsche realizes quickly where he’s put his hand and pulls it away.  “Sorry,” he mumbles, because he’s careful about where he touches Kinn even if Kinn hasn’t always extended that same courtesy to him.

“You can,” Kinn says.  They’re half a world away from home, six stories up, and it seems to fit the mood.  Suddenly it’s not so terrifying.  It’s just fingers, instead of a referendum on who he is as a man, and Porsche will take good care of him.  Maybe it’ll even be fun.

“You sure?” Porsche asks, pulling away from Kinn’s cock a little more fully.

“You don’t have to,” Kinn says.  “But yeah, I’m sure.”

Porsche gropes for the lube, and Kinn hands it to him, and then laughs when it tickles, cold, at his hole.  Porsche smiles around his dick, and then presses his finger in.

It’s… fine.  Anticlimactic, after so many years of Kinn building it up in his head.  It’s tight and a little stingy, and it feels strange to have something inside him when he usually doesn’t.

But it’s not bad, or anything.  It feels good in the same way Porsche’s lazy mouth on his cock has felt good for the last hour or so.  It feels good in the way it feels good when Porsche curls up with him to sleep.

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and relaxes into the pillows.  Porsche curls his finger, hunting around, and then finds what must be Kinn’s prostate.  “You can do another finger.”

Porsche makes an affirmative noise and swallows around Kinn’s dick, which is starting to make it all the way to hard.  The second finger is a bit more of a burn, but it doesn’t hurt.  Kinn feels good.

Kinn leans back against the pillows and closes his eyes against the electric and uneven pleasure of being stroked from the inside.  He clenches down a little, experimentally, and that feels good too.  Porsche makes a pleased noise around his cock, and takes Kinn a little deeper.  Kinn, for once in his life, relaxes and lets someone else take control of his orgasm.

When he comes it feels like Porsche is milking it out of him in jolty little squeezes.  It’s not magical, but Kinn enjoys it.

“Gonna wash my hands,” Porsche says.  He’s been sucking Kinn’s dick so long it’s started to prune, like Kinn spent too long in the bath.  Kinn stares down at himself, trying to decide if that’s gross or hot.

Porsche comes back and gets into bed, and rubs himself restlessly against Kinn’s hip.  Whatever that was, it must have done something for him too.

Kinn’s head is almost totally empty, but he feels like it might be nicer to have something to fuck into.  Hee licks his hand and wraps it around Porsche’s cock.  Porsche comes again like that, fucking Kinn's fist, and then they sleep for a couple more hours, tangled in the sweaty-damp sheets.  Maybe this should be a revelation, but Kinn’s too relaxed for it to happen today.

Back in Bangkok, Kinn has lunch with Vegas.  It's still surprising to him sometimes, but part of the reason he could fuck off to Paris for a week was that he trusts his cousin.

“You look better,” Vegas says, scanning Kinn.  Kinn used to take that as an insult, but it seems stupid to when Kim said exactly the same thing.  Kinn does look better.

“I finally got enough sleep,” Kinn agrees.

“I don't know how you keep on your schedule,” Vegas says.  “If I can say one good thing about my Papa, he let me sleep in when I was up late.”

“I was always kind of jealous of that,” Kinn says, and realizes as he says it that it's true.

A major part of Vegas' job has always been nightlife.  He'd stay up til dawn and sleep til dusk pretty regularly when they were younger.  Kinn's Papa would tut about it, but it was the one thing Uncle Gun was reasonable about.  “Vegas needs to sleep to stay sharp,” he said, when Pa disapproved.  “You wouldn't understand, hia.”

Kinn was expected at his desk after late nights, whether they were for business or pleasure.  Even on the weekends, there was golf, brunches, and more meetings.  For most of his twenties, Kinn had dreams about getting enough sleep.

Now, he tries to at least take Sunday off, but he doesn't always manage it.  The golf, at least, he put away with Papa.

He hates golf.  He refuses to get up for it anymore.  It's too hot to golf in Bangkok.  And so far that's been his only professional rebellion against his father.

“You could make your own schedule, you know,” Vegas says, and pours Kinn more tea.  “We don't have to do things their way.”

“I guess that's true,” Kinn says, and thinks longingly about the kind of morning sex they haven't had since Porsche was his bodyguard.  Maybe this is another little piece of Papa he can pick away at.

Chapter Text

After his Paris vacation, Kinn goes to Kyoto one more time.  He asks Porsche to come with him, but Porsche has his own life, his own business and his own work to do at the bar, and he can’t.  So Kinn gets on the plane, this time just with Ana, and flies to Kyoto for a few days of glad-handing and photos now that the deal is signed.

When he gets back, Porsche is lounging in their living room, wearing only their sex watch and his tighty-whiteys.  “Hey,” he says, and grins.

“Hey,” Kinn says, and tries not to look too shocked.  He manages what he thinks is a reasonably pleased smile.  This is a good surprise, he thinks?  He’s tired, and there was nothing in their texts that indicated this was coming, but he can rise to the occasion, if Porsche wants him.  It’s just that he really wasn’t expecting this - Porsche usually doesn’t want to fuck right when he gets home.  “I missed you.”

Something about the way Porsche is grinning changes and softens.  He was smiling his bar smile, Kinn realizes, which is quite close to his real smile because Porsche genuinely does like people.  It’s just that Kinn’s not sure why he’s seeing the public-facing version of Porsche, but he rolls with it even if he's now a little more confused.

Porsche stands and takes a few steps closer to Kinn.  Kinn lets him lean in close, and waits, still trying to calibrate his expectations for the evening.  If he’s getting a sexy surprise, that’s great.  If Porsche wants a blowjob, that’s fine.  If he forgot which watch he was putting on, that’s also acceptable (if extremely unlikely - Porsche does not, as a rule, wear a watch.)

Porsche hesitates, like he’s waiting for Kinn to take initiative.  Kinn’s still not sure what the vibe is, or what Porsche wants from him, so he closes the gap and gives Porsche a soft kiss and rubs their noses together.  “I missed you,” he says again.

“I missed you too,” Porsche says, and kisses Kinn back, hard and desperate.  Kinn’s not really sure where this is coming from - he was only gone for four days, surely Porsche isn’t that hard up? - but he matches Porsche’s energy and meets him in a messy kiss, sliding one arm around his waist and the other into his hair.

There’s a few things that Kinn knows will make Porsche’s knees a little weak and the hair-pulling thing is definitely one of them.  But instead of melting into Kinn, he goes a little stiff and then kisses Kinn even harder, like he wants to make up for it.  

“I got myself ready for you,” Porsche pants, and maybe that’s why this feels so zero-to-sixty?  Now Kinn is nervous.  The pressure doesn’t always go… well.

Kinn would like to fuck, but he also feels a little… careful.  If Porsche is offering his ass, Kinn will rise from the dead for it.  But something about how they’re going about this seems like Porsche trying to reverse the deliberate and safe dynamic they’ve built between them, and Kinn’s not sure how he feels about that.

But he also doesn’t think it’ll be great if he turns Porsche down flat.  It’s tough for Porsche when Kinn goes away, and Kinn knows the travel hits him right in the abandonment issues.  If he's trying to ask for connection, Kinn doesn't want to shut him down.

So he fumbles forward.  “Fuck, that’s so hot,” he growls into Porsche’s ear.  “Can you show me?”

“In… in the bedroom,” Porsche says, and clings to Kinn as he accidentally walks them both backwards into the doorframe and then further into the bedroom.

Kinn thinks about picking him up and tossing him on the bed, but that just doesn’t feel right, so he simply lets Porsche slide onto their mattress and crawls on top of him.  “This is a nice surprise,” Kinn says, because it is.  Porsche stiffens again, and then grabs Kinn’s wrist and shoves his hand down the back of Porsche’s underwear.  Kinn is really not sure what to do about all the mixed signals, but Porsche is asking, so he should give?

Porsche further confuses things by giving Kinn an absolutely devouring kiss, like he wants to crawl inside Kinn’s mouth.  Kinn tries again to match his intensity, and gently strokes over his lube-wet hole.  Porsche jumps.

Kinn backs off, pulls his hand away.  “Do you want me to eat you out first?” he asks, even though he doesn’t love the idea of a mouthful of lube after a long flight.  Kinn’s not sure what’s going on, but there’s something, and if he can move them back to the safe footing of Porsche asking to get fucked instead of trying to get Kinn to jump him, that’ll feel better.

“... yeah,” Porsche says, and Kinn crawls down his body.  Porsche jumps again at the first swipe of his tongue, and pulls his legs closed.  He’s quiet for a long minute, and Kinn thinks furiously, trapped between Porsche’s closed legs.  He can’t come up with a good way to say I think you’re lying to yourself about wanting this.

Porsche does it for him.  “I um.  Maybe I don’t want to, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Kinn says.  He’s tired from the trip, and honestly, it isn’t his favourite thing in the world when Porsche runs hot and cold.  He'd prefer that they either fuck, or that he be allowed to shower and crawl into bed.

But… this feels like a big deal.  He can’t remember another time where Porsche actually said no to him and didn’t just get up and leave, or go through with sex and get angry after.  Porsche is trying, and Kinn wants to try too.  “I can run you a bath, or do you want to cuddle in bed for a bit?”

“Can you hold me?” Porsche says, hesitantly.  “I think… I think maybe that’s what I wanted, I’m sorry, that was…”

Kinn strips out of his suit and pulls back the covers.  “Yeah, of course.  I could sleep for a bit, could you?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says gratefully, and makes himself into a little Porsche burrito like he does sometimes when his head’s not right.  He rolls himself up until he takes up basically no space on the bed and 99.5% of their bedding.  Kinn’s not shocked he’s triggered - Porsche sexily draping himself over the furniture in his underwear and then waiting for an hour or so has historically not turned out well for their sex life.  But he’s happy that this hasn’t caused a fight or made Porsche cry.

Kinn gets into bed, and Porsche frees up some of the bedding for him and pillows his arm on Kinn’s bicep, facing away from him.   They lie together for a while, which should be nice, but Porsche feels weird in Kinn’s arms, tense and miserable.  Kinn doesn’t want to push the tentative peace in the bed, and he’s not a mindreader.  If Porsche asks to be held, Kinn has to believe he wants it.

Eventually, Porsche shifts a little and licks his lips.  “If I tell you why I’m being crazy, do you promise not to laugh?”

“I promise,” Kinn says, and presses a kiss to Porsche’s shoulder, trying to get him to relax.

Porsche nods.  “Some girl grabbed me at the bar,” he says, his voice thick, like he’s… embarrassed?

“Like kidnapped you?” Kinn says, stupidly.  He's been flying for several hours and up late for several days.  Wouldn't someone have told him if…?

“No,” Porsche says, and goes stiffer.  He doesn’t elaborate.  

Kinn’s still not sure what he means so he makes a little questioning noise, trying not to start a fight.  

Porsche swallows.  “Like… like my dick.  I had a tray in my hands, I couldn’t block her.”

“Oh,” Kinn says, and tries, unsuccessfully, to swallow down bile-tasting rage at someone touching his boyfriend.  Porsche can probably hear how angry the idea makes him in his voice.  “Where was your security?”

“I don't think they even saw,” Porsche mumbles, and shifts to pull the blankets up closer to his ears.  “Don't go shouting at Ink, it's not like she stabbed me.  I work with drunk people, I don't want them flattening everyone who stumbles into me.”  He pauses, tries again to pull the blankets higher, and then goes on, his voice recriminating.  “I should have just dropped the tray and blocked her.  Fuck.”

“It wasn't your fault,” Kinn says, which probably should have been the first thing he said.  He's still angry but it's shifting from someone touched what’s mine to someone made Porsche upset.   This isn't about him.  He doesn't need to react like another mob boss disrespected the family.  He can just be Porsche's supportive boyfriend who is upset for him he was sexually harassed in his place of work.

“I just froze,” Porsche says miserably.  “And I was flirting with her, I mean…”

He's getting the shakes.  Kinn holds him tighter.  He’s angry on Porsche’s behalf, but he’s also really glad they didn't have sex.  He always feels like a monster when Porsche says yes and then realizes after he didn’t want to.

“I'm not upset with you,” Kinn soothes him.  He feels guilty that he thinks this is Porsche's first concern, but before...

Porsche nods but doesn’t say more.  If he doesn’t say more, Kinn won’t know how to help him.  And he really wants to say the right thing, for once in his fucking life.

Kinn thinks for a moment.  “Sounds like it made you feel not very safe,” he tries.  They had so much therapy, surely he can come up with a few words to make Porsche feel better.

“I'm making a big deal out of nothing,” Porsche says, but cuddles back against Kinn like he does when he has nightmares, so maybe that was a good thing to say.  “She was a tiny little shit-faced twenty year-old, and I was kind of asking for it, I should have just moved, I…”

“Porsche, this wasn't your fault,” Kinn says again, keeping his voice as level as he can.  He knows he can be threatening when he’s mad and he needs to be reassuring.  “People shouldn't grope you while you’re working.  I won't talk to Ink if you don't want me to, but I think you should ban her from the bar.  Did this happen yesterday?”

“Friday,” Porsche says and shakes hard for a few seconds before he goes on.  “I should have just texted you, but I was embarrassed, I should have…”

“Hey,” Kinn says.  “Not your fault.  You don’t have to tell me, you’re not my property.  And you weren’t asking for it, and you don’t need to be embarrassed about it.”

“You’re not mad?” Porsche says, and sounds about six years old.

“Not at you,” Kinn says, again.  He has a million solutions to the problem crowding his throat, ranging from assassination to simply asking Ink or P’Chan to review footage from the bar that night.  But he swallows them back down.  “I’m sorry, baby.  We can talk later about what to do about this, if you want.  Is this what you need right now?”

Porsche rolls over and tucks his head under Kinn’s head.  “Yeah.  I’m sorry about earlier, I just thought… I dunno, I’ve been feeling kind of spacey, and I thought maybe if you touched me, I’d feel…”

“I don’t mind,” Kinn says, because that makes sense to him.  Sometimes they fuck, or at least fool around, after Porsche’s nightmares.  The touch is grounding.  “Is this helping?  I can rub your back.”

Porsche nods.  “This is good,” he says, and his voice sounds a lot less thick.  “Sorry.  You’re tired, and I’m freaking out, and…”

“I’m not that tired,” Kinn says, and kisses the top of Porsche’s head.  Porsche shifts, and then pulls Kinn’s hand down into his underwear.  

Kinn’s confused for a second - does he want a handjob? - but Porsche seems to relax when Kinn just leaves his hand loosely, defensively cupped against his junk.  Kinn shifts, getting a better angle, and leaves his hand where Porsche put it.  

Maybe it’s stupid, but Kinn feels proud that Porsche finds being touched like this helpful.   It feels good that his touch is protective or healing or whatever Porsche might be thinking.  For once, he’s not the bad guy.

“I’ve got you,” he says again, reassuring.  “You want to talk more?  No?  What else happened while I was gone?”

“Mm, the liquor shipment fucked up again,” says Porsche, and untucks his head from under Kinn's chin so they’re nose-to-nose on the pillow.  “How was Kyoto?”

“Pretty,” Kinn says.  “I want to take you next time.”

For the last few months, it’s seemed (to Kinn, anyway) like there was still a little question in Porsche’s mind as to whether he’d really changed, or if he’d snap back to the old Kinn if Porsche pushed his buttons wrong.  Somewhere between the Paris trip and Kinn not ordering a hit on the drunk girl from the bar, it seems like that’s finally gone.  Kinn is trusted again.

It’s not a huge difference.  Kinn’s not sure if anyone outside their relationship would even be able to tell.  But there’s something.

They’re in bed together a few nights later and Porsche is teasing him.  Kinn’s not even really sure what they were doing, but Porsche has got two of Kinn’s fingers sucked into his mouth, and he’s smiling with his eyes, and…

“I love you,” Kinn says, and Porsche smiles wider.

While Kinn was the boss and Porsche was his subordinate, it felt like Kinn had to be in control.  He was everywhere else.  Porsche was inexperienced.  He’d go so pliant in bed sometimes that Kinn had trouble imagining him on top, let alone topping.

And then when they started to try to fix things, it felt like handing Porsche all the control.  Porsche said when and where and how they fucked.  Porsche said what they could do and what wasn’t okay.  And Kinn just toed the line.

Now Kinn thinks it feels almost playful between them.  Porsche tackled him down to the bed, laughing, and Kinn got on top of him and pretended to pin his hands and kissed him, and now Porsche is holding his wrist and deepthroating his fingers and smiling.  It feels like when they were first dating again, long ago when Kinn’s whispered sorry had been enough.

“I love you too,” Porsche says, around Kinn’s fingers, his eyes happy-crinkled, like a big cat.  He lets the fingers slide out of his mouth.  “I want to blow you.”

“Your wish is my command,” Kinn says, which is cheesy, but Porsche is into cheesy.

Porsche snorts.  “You would say that when I offer you a blowjob,” he says.  He’s under Kinn, but in one quick motion, he’s got Kinn between his legs and he’s flipping them, landing on top with a bright grin.

Kinn didn’t land hard, but he feels breathless.  No one flips Kinn Theerapanyakun.  No one manhandles him.

Except Porsche, apparently, because he’s grabbing Kinn’s ankles and dragging his legs wider.  “Good?” he says.

“Yeah, good,” Kinn says, and catches a glimpse of himself, and how blown his pupils are, in the reflection of the window.  “Do you want me to suck you?”

“After,” Porsche says, and leans over Kinn’s naked chest with intent.  Kinn likes to do this to Porsche, but there’s rarely space for Porsche to reciprocate, except…

He hisses, and claws his fingers in Porsche’s hair to keep him close.  Porsche laughs again.  It’s the sweetest song in Kinn’s ears, like his mother singing him to sleep.

Porsche bites down and Kinn’s leg kicks involuntarily before he gets himself back under control.  “Trying to get me to button my shirts?” he asks.  He’s pretty sure the mark will be hidden - Porsche is considerate like that - but he likes the idea of going around with Porsche’s mark on him all day.

“You can show it off,” Porsche says, and leans over to suck Kinn’s other nipple in his mouth.

Kinn’s cock is leaking and his nipples are peaked stiff and sore when Porsche finally kisses his way down Kinn’s stomach.  It tickles.  Porsche laughs again at Kinn trying not to squirm.

“Baby,” he says affectionately, and sucks the head of Kinn’s dick into his mouth.

Kinn has received a lot of blowjobs in his life, but he was in control of nearly all of them.  A throat, including Porsche’s, was just another wet tight hole to fuck into.

Porsche curls his fist around the base of Kinn’s cock, and uses his forearm to pin Kinn to the bed.  And then he swirls his tongue around the head of Kinn’s cock and pulls back to grin, like Kinn’s dick is a particularly delicious icy treat.

“I like you like this,” he says, and Kinn’s brain is melting out of his ears, so he doesn’t respond with more than a moan as Porsche swirls his tongue around Kinn’s cock again.

It’s another long, slow blowjob.  It’s not quite like the morning in the hotel - Porsche clearly has intent here and he was just playing there.  But it’s the same in how Porsche takes control, takes his time, and explores.

He cups Kinn’s balls, and then his hand wanders lower.  “Okay?” he asks.

“Sure,” Kinn says, and Porsche slides his fingers into his mouth next to Kinn’s cock, and gives another spitty ice-cream-cone lick.

Kinn’s curious how it’ll feel without lube.  Porsche’s fingers are pretty wet, but it’s not the same as the high-end slick Kinn buys for them.  The fingers don’t slip in as easily, and there’s a hot drag of friction that wasn’t there before.

Kinn spreads his legs wider so Porsche can get deeper and stroke his prostate.  It felt so good last time when he was only halfway there. Tonight he’s rock-hard and leaking for it.

Porsche does something, and Kinn grunts, his head thrashing on the pillow.  He makes eye-contact with himself in the window again, and can’t look away.

For a second, he thinks that if someone - a mob leader, a subordinate, his father - could see him now, they’d think he looked weak.  He’s sprawled on the bed, his legs wide for Porsche, twitching in pleasure as Porsche strokes him.  It’s hardly controlled.

He starts to feel embarrassed, but Porsche crooks his fingers in hard, and it hurts and it makes stars burst behind Kinn’s eyelids as they slide closed.  When he opens them again, the face he sees in the mirror is grimaced in pleasure, but happy.

Kinn wants to be happy, for once in his fucking life.  He keeps his eyes closed and focuses on the feeling of Porsche fucking him with his too-dry fingers, and the smooth slide of his mouth and spit-slicked fist over Kinn’s cock.  He feels good.  He feels good, and no one is here but them.

“Good?” Porsche asks, after.  Kinn sucked him after, but he was too boneless to move.  It was more like Porsche jerking himself off with the head of his cock in Kinn’s mouth.  But he didn’t seem to mind.  “You liked it?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says.  He still feels weighed down with the pleasure of his orgasm, his limbs like sand and his mouth salty.  “Yeah, that was really good.”

“That was fun,” Porsche says, and grins.  “Am I cleared to do that regularly?  Or is it just for vacations and Wednesdays?”

“Fingers?” Kinn says, and rubs his legs together.  He still feels a little sore and open, but in a good way.  “Yeah, that’s… if you want?”

Porsche nods, still smiling.  “Yeah, I want,” he says.  “I uh, I dunno, I can’t always tell if you’re into it when I blow you?  But you were definitely into that.”

Kinn’s a little offended by that.  He’s a very appreciative lover.  “I finish, don’t I?” he asks.

“Yeah, but this you like,” Porsche says, and sounds proud of himself.  Kinn’s not going to grump that away from him.

“Yeah, I do,” he admits.  “From you.”

“It better be from me,” Porsche snorts, and pulls the covers up over them.  “Do you have another boyfriend hidden somewhere in the walk-in?”

“Very funny,” Kinn says, and sneaks his hand up Porsche’s shirt to rub his back until he falls asleep.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep himself.  He keeps thinking of how things were with the escorts, and how different they were when he started dating Porsche.  And then he starts to think about how, after a while, things were the same again.

He never really thought of Porsche selling sex until their first big sex talk, but the more Porsche talks about it, the more obvious it is that he was.  And the more Kinn thinks about it, the more obvious it is that it was an easy dynamic for them to fall into again.  When they couldn’t be vulnerable with each other, Kinn could behave like he was buying and Porsche like he was selling.

When they first talked about some of their issues, Kinn couldn’t understand why Porsche hadn’t just said he was uncomfortable.  But it makes more sense when he thinks of himself as the client.  He can’t remember an escort ever asking him for more than a position change.  He doesn’t think he was a dick - he made all his partners come and he didn’t have any weird requests - but it’s not like anyone would have told him.  And he paid well enough to keep from being blacklisted even if he was a minor asshole.

Porsche flipping into customer service mode makes sense, as does the shitty night where he’d told Kinn that not only was sex not that great for him at times, he’d push himself until it hurt if Kinn needed him to.  “I didn’t ask you to do that,” Kinn remembers saying, and he still feels ill when he thinks about it.

But whether he was asking for it or not, he knows there were nights when he was drinking too much and everything felt unreal and impersonal.  There were nights when he’d look down at Porsche like he was a piece of furniture Kinn was thinking of buying.  And he knows now how much Porsche hates that, and he recognizes that on those nights, maybe they were more like client and buyer than equal partners.

Kinn hardly recognizes himself in those memories.  He doesn’t even think of the art around the compound like a dead, lifeless thing.  It feels so wrong that he’d ever think that way about Porsche.  His mother used to talk about all of their paintings and vases like they were alive, as if they were treasured pets or honored guests in her home.  Kinn doesn’t like thinking that he forgot to do that for things, let alone the most important person in his life.

Porsche lets out a soft whuffle in his sleep.  Kinn smiles down at him, and keeps rubbing his back.  He missed all of this so fucking much.

He keeps waiting to see if he’ll feel weird about getting fingered during blowjobs.  He doesn’t, not really, although he imagines a silent panel of watchers a few times and has to concentrate hard on what Porsche is doing to make them go away.

He goes to a meeting with Pete and Vegas and no one jumps up and accuses him of bending over for it.  Kinn has never been totally sure what Pete and Vegas’ dynamic is - tonight Vegas has a very prominent dental outline on his upper arm that exactly fits with Pete’s mouth - but one of them must also bend over for it.  He doesn’t understand why it was such a big deal for Porsche to be the receptive partner, or why it felt so threatening to him when he was a teenager.

Tay moves again, and invites Kinn over to see the new place.  He has dinner with Tay and another member of his harem, this one an architect or an engineer, Kinn can’t quite remember.  The young man brings dessert in from the kitchen so Tay and Kinn can keep chatting.  Kinn thinks he’s nice enough, but he’d rather just talk to Tay.

Tay must sense this.  “Chai, honey, I’m sending you home,” he says.  “Kinn has dark mafia secrets to tell me, and I don’t want you to know where the bodies are buried.”

Chai, who has handled a one-on-one home dinner with Kinn with admirable cool up to this point, goes pale and wide-eyed.  “There are no bodies,” Kinn says, and slaps Tay with his napkin.  “But I do want Tay’s opinion on some construction stock options, and I’d rather neither of us were accused of insider trading.”

“Of course, P’Kinn,” Chai says, relaxing somewhat, but still looking a bit suspicious.  Kinn wouldn’t believe himself either.

Tay gives Chai a kiss at the door and packs him out without much further ceremony.  “You should have seen your eyebrows,” he says as soon as the door is shut.  “You hated that line.”

“They specifically don’t tell me where the bodies are buried so I don’t have to perjure myself if it ever comes up,” Kinn says, dryly, and stretches out on the sofa.  Tay goes to the bar and holds up a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of sparkling water.  Kinn already had a glass of wine, but the whiskey is his favourite.  “Just a small one, and I’ll take the water.  Thanks.”

“I assume you’re here to tell me you discovered your prostate,” Tay says, coming over with the water and the whiskey and taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

“... yes,” Kinn agrees, hating that Tay knows him so well.

“You communicated it well enough psychically that I think my boytoy could have stayed,” Tay says.  “What?  You’re very relaxed.”

“Maybe I’m high,” Kinn says, and stretches out on the couch with his whiskey.  Tay is a master of buying furniture that looks good but is still very comfortable.  There’s a handsome little throw pillow that puts his head at the perfect height to drink and keep talking while the rest of his body melts into the couch.

“No, just really well-fucked,” Tay says, and laughs when Kinn kicks him.  “Is that what you came over here to tell me?”

“No, and stop guessing,” Kinn says.  “But yeah, I let him finger me.”

“And the world didn’t stop turning?” Tay says, still light, and then looks down at Kinn and studies him.  “Mm, so this is a big deal.  C’mere.”

Kinn sits up, and Tay pulls him in for a hug.  For some reason, Kinn remembers coming back to school two weeks after his mother died.  No one had contacted him while he was away - he wasn’t really sure what his friends had been told and he hadn’t had the bandwidth for teenage boys when his little brother wouldn’t let go of his hand and his big brother wouldn’t stop crying.  And when he returned, no one had known what to say to him, so the guys had mostly treated him like it didn’t happen.

So he’d come into the school and walked down the freshman hallway, a completely different person than when he left that history class two weeks ago, in a completely foreign world, a world without his mother.  Tay had been waiting at his locker with his backpack.  He hadn’t said anything either, but he’d hugged Kinn as hard as he possibly could, like he was just as angry and sad and confused as Kinn was.

And that’s why Tay is his best friend.  Kinn gives him a gentle squeeze, careful not to crush his outfit, and lets him go.  “It feels like I built it up in my head.”

“You never do that,” Tay says, and laughs at him again.  “Are you gonna let him fuck you?”

Kinn wasn’t really considering that.  “I don’t think he’d want to,” he says, because aren’t they happy with how things are?  If Kinn’s a top, that makes Porsche a bottom, right?  There’s no need to change that.

“Mm, that’s revealing,” Tay says, and steals a sip of Kinn’s whiskey.  “He fucked women before you, didn’t he?  It’s not like he’s a strict bottom.”

“That’s just… how straight people have to do it,” Kinn says.  He’s not particularly well-informed on heterosexual mechanics.  He figured out pretty early he was gay and P’Chan gave him the birds and the bees after he started fooling around with Time.  The heavy focus on STI prevention rather than pregnancy suggests that he had been aware that the person leaving badly placed hickeys under Kinn’s dress shirt was not a young lady.

“My sweet baby,” Tay says.  “You know nothing.  I think he could top, if you ever wanted to play for the other team.”

Kinn’s not sure what to say to that so he takes the whiskey back and takes a long swallow, letting it burn down his throat.  If he’s blushing he can pretend it’s the whiskey.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Tay says.  “And… this isn’t something for me, right?  You don’t have to explore the wonders of your asshole because you were occasionally a jerk to me in high school.”

“It’s not for you,” Kinn says.  “Don’t make it weird.”  He takes another sip of whiskey and collapses into the cushions.  “No, I’m just tired of how I’ve always done things.  I want to try something new.”

“Mm,” Tay says and doesn’t comment, leaving space for Kinn to say more or not.

Kinn doesn’t want to talk about it more, actually.  “What’s so good about this one?” he asks.  “Chet.”

“Chai,” Tay corrects.  “No gag reflex and he made the baked alaska.”

“Oh really?” Kinn says, mildly intrigued by the idea of one of Tay’s boyfriends cooking for him.  “I liked that, it was good.”

“I’ll pass on your compliments,” Tay says, and squeezes Kinn’s foot.  “I do think it’s funnier if he thinks we’re up here talking about organized crime, so I’m sticking with that.  Will you see Time this week?  I found some of his grandmother’s jewelry in the move and I’d like to give it back to him without unblocking him.”

“I can handle that for you,” Kinn says, and the conversation changes to other things.

Chapter Text

Kinn is working out with P’Chan.  It’s become more of his habit to just… ramble to Chan while he exercises?  He used to do it as a kid, and it’s kind of comforting to do it again as an adult.  Maybe it distracts from his workout, but he has another ‘real’ personal trainer he works out with on weekdays, so he doesn’t feel like it matters.  This is more about winding down.

They’re boxing now, and Kinn’s too out of breath to keep chattering to Chan about his chosen subject for the evening (Porsche) but he’s still thinking about him.  He’s messed up combos a couple of times, and Chan pretended to be stern about it.  Kinn could tell he was laughing.

Kinn is half thinking about taking Porsche out for dinner or buying him another watch.  But enough of his attention is on the combo.  Hook, upper-cut, cross, slip, slip…

At least he thinks that’s what it was?  Hook, upper-cut…

The pad connects solidly with his face and Kinn lands on his ass.  Apparently it was hook, uppercut, slip, cross, slip, and not whatever he was doing.

Chan appears above him, and groaningly kneels down on the mats next to Kinn.  “You okay?” he asks, and pulls out his phone to shine the flashlight in Kinn’s eyes.  “I got you good, you concussed?”

“I’m fine,” Kinn says.  His jaw and his ass might be a little sore but all that’s really injured is his dignity.  He waits for Chan to lecture him about keeping his mind on what he’s doing, but Chan just drops down on the mats next to him.

“There might be a bruise,” he says.  “Sorry, kid.”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Kinn says, feeling like he’s fifteen and about to get a lecture on life or death situations.   He had more than a few of those as a teenager.

“I could tell,” Chan says.  “You have this look, it’s the facial equivalent of doodling Mr. Porsche Pachara in your notebook.”

“I’ll do better next time,” Kinn says.

Chan shrugs.  “You’re not a teenager anymore,” he says.  “I know you’d never lose focus in a fight, I’m not going to get after you for thinking about your boyfriend at 9pm on a Friday.  This is to relax, right?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says and gets another wave of guilt that he’s making his phi stay up late because he can’t figure out how to unwind by himself.

Chan reaches over and shakes his shoulder.  “I’m an old man, Kinn, it’s not like you’re keeping me from a hot date.”  And then he gets that slightly constipated look he gets when he has to express a genuine emotion.  “And I like hanging out with you kids.  You’re good boys.”

Kinn nods.  It makes him feel a little better that P’Chan likes him.  It also makes him feel like he’s ten again, and Khun draws everyone to him like the gravitational pull of a star, and Kinn is off in the background, with P’Chan.  At least Chan and Erika see him.

“I’m good if you want to go,” he offers, because he’s not ten, he’s thirty-five, and…

Chan scruffs him.  “Hush,” he says, gruffly.  “Stop acting like I don’t like you.  You’re fine.  Let me see your face again.”

Kinn hasn’t really been injured (and conscious) around Chan since he was a teenager.  His face is fine, but Chan still grabs an ice pack from the cooler and holds it to his cheek.  This doesn’t happen when Kinn is in boss mode - he obviously can’t be in a gunfight with his head of security holding an ice pack to his boo-boo.

“Is this what it’s like to be Kim?” he asks.

Chan laughs.  “I pulled him out of an ice bath buck-ass naked one time,” he says, and Kinn relaxes on the mats for a few minutes for stupid Kim stories.  “... and I held him the day he was born.”

“Mm?” Kinn asks, to keep him talking.  Chan is usually so quiet, and there’s all kinds of interesting little stories he’s got tucked away that he never thinks of telling them.  “Why?”

“Your mae was sleeping and your pa didn’t come to the hospital,” Chan says, and Kinn, a noted childless homosexual, digs deep in the recesses of his mind for what he knows about babies.

“Do you think he bonded to you?” he asks, because that actually would explain a lot about his childhood.  He liked Chan too, but from the time he was born, Kim would stop crying when Chan picked him up.  As he got older, he would go to Chan for help when he wouldn’t ask Mama.   There was always something special between the two of them.

“Maybe,” Chan says, and pulls the ice pack away.  “Kim’s… he does feel more like my boy.”  Kinn’s gonna have to tell Kim that later, it’ll make his year.  “I never thought of that.”

Kinn feels like a consummate middle child again.  “Do you know if Papa came to the hospital for me and Khun?” he asks, interrupting what should be a very tender moment of acceptance of P’Chan as his step-father or half-father or favourite uncle or whatever the fuck he is.

“I know he was there for you,” Chan says.  “The security was a three-ring circus, that’s why he didn’t come for Kim.  He told me once you were a quiet baby.  You were always his favourite, Kinn.”

“I was always scared I wouldn’t be,” Kinn says.  “I mean…”

“Yeah, I know,” Chan says.  “I think you had a lot more room there than he wanted you to think you did.  He loved you the best.”

Kinn’s a little ashamed that still means something to him.  “Am I gonna live?” he asks.  His face still feels a little tender.

“Yeah, I think so,” Chan says.  “Get some rest, okay?”

Porsche also spends a long time inspecting his face the next morning, even though all that’s there is a bruise.  There’s nothing to do about it but try not to press it.

“It was a silly accident,” Kinn says.  “I lost focus for a second.”

“Mm,” Porsche grumbles.  “Are your teeth loose?”

“No,” Kinn says, and tangles his hand in Porsche’s thick hair just for the feeling of having it in his fingers.  “I’m fine.”

Porsche leans in for a kiss.  “How’s that?”

“Doesn’t hurt,” Kinn says.  It does, a little, a throbbing ache when he presses his cheek back into the pillow.  But not enough to complain about.  Kinn’s strong.

Porsche seems to be able to tell he’s fibbing, because he grumbles a little more, and then swings his legs over Kinn’s hip and sits on him,  pinning him to the bed.  “I don’t like it when you’re hurt,” he says, looming over Kinn on the bed.  “Don’t get hurt.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kinn says, and feels like he’s melting with Porsche's heavy weight on top of him.  For a long time, he’d get up on Saturday and work out or check some emails, but since Paris, he’s been trying to at least stay in the apartment.  This morning, he brought coffee back to bed and spent a couple hours reading, until Porsche woke up.  Right now, it feels very worth it.

Porsche takes Kinn’s chin in his hands again, and turns his head.  “Do you want it kissed better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and crushes Porsche into his chest when he leans in close.  They don’t have sex, but Porsche lies on top of him and they kiss for a long time, until Kinn falls back asleep.

He thinks a lot about what P’Chan said, about him having more room to fuck up with Papa than he thought he did.  It’s been hard even thinking about Papa for the last long time.

At first, Kinn’s whole life revolved around making Papa happy, making Papa like him, not losing Papa’s attention again.  But then when he’d found out that Papa had been hurting Kim, it was like finding out his entire life was a lie.  His father was something he’d shoved into a dark corner of his mind and tried never to think about.

He feels ashamed that sometimes he still misses his father.  It’s not okay for him to love someone who tried to hurt his brothers.  It’s not okay for him to love someone who did hurt his mother.

Kinn’s aware that he got a lot of attention as a child.  His mother didn’t work, and unlike some of the other women in Kinn’s orbit, she didn’t make a second job out of charity work or spa visits or exercise.  The family was her calling, and they had a staff of loving nannies, fussing aunties and protective bodyguards to help her.

But Kim, a baby, got more of Mama’s attention when he was small, and until Kinn was 11, Khun got more of Papa’s.  Kinn knew if he needed his mother, she’d find time for him, but his father was so distant.  Kinn longed for him, for the one-on-one time Tankhun got with him, for the importance in his eyes.  Even in his mid-thirties, he’s been walking around secretly thrilled that P’Chan thinks he was the favourite.

Objectively, Kinn has a lot less going on than either Kim, Porsche, or Tankhun, trauma-wise.  He’s never been kidnapped and tortured, and he’s never seen a parent bleed out in front of him.  But he still went to school one day, and when he came home, he didn’t have a mother.  It didn’t seem like a far stretch that if he did something wrong, he wouldn’t have a father either.

He looks down at his keyboard and sighs.  There are some things he needs to get done, but not with peak urgency.  He’s mostly been staring out the window for the last hour.  His head isn’t in the game.

He grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and shrugs into it.  “I’m going home early,” he calls to Ana.  “Have a good night.”

“You too, K’Kinn,” she says, as he leaves.  “Get some rest.”

Monday is Porsche’s day off, which might have been why Kinn feels so spacey.  It can be hard to produce when he knows Porsche is waiting for him at home.  His mouth waters as he gets off the elevator.  Porsche usually cooks for him on his ‘weekend’ nights, and Kinn…

There’s no food smells when Kinn comes into the apartment.  Porsche is curled up on the sectional in one of Kinn’s sweaters, fast asleep.  He’s had a busy week at the bar and a few nights of bad dreams, so it isn’t shocking he needs a nap.

Kinn gently touches his forehead and cheeks, trying to verify that he’s asleep and not getting sick.  Porsche sighs and rolls onto his back, his hands coming down from under his chin.  He looks so much younger.

Kinn opens the drawer under the couch and pulls out the blanket Porsche likes to nap with.  Porsche snuffles in his sleep as Kinn drapes it over him, and then goes even more relaxed.

It makes Kinn smile to see him like this.  The stress of his day feels very far away, and he’s tempted to curl up on the couch with Porsche and sleep the evening away, but he knows it’ll fuck up his sleep cycle and he’s pretty sure they won’t both fit.

And he’s hungry.  He was looking forward to Porsche’s cooking.  He doesn’t want to call down to the kitchen.

He watches Porsche sleep for a minute, just to make sure he isn’t on the verge of waking up and making Kinn a delicious dinner.  And then he wanders into the kitchen, to make sure there isn’t a previously-made delicious dinner hiding away in the fridge.  But there’s no food, only ingredients.

He stands for a minute, trying to decide what to do.  He feels like something has shifted over the last few days.  It’s like P’Chan gave him permission to believe that his father did love him, even if he also did a lot of things that were fucked up.

And if Kinn’s dad really did love him, even when Kinn fucked up, then maybe his boyfriend will too (he does, even though Kinn has already fucked up, and so big.)  And Porsche puts himself out and asks Kinn for shit all the time.  He does shit for Kinn all the time.

Maybe… maybe Kinn could cook?

The idea is immediately baffling.  Besides buttering toast and hotpot, he’s basically never touched a kitchen implement except that one stupid night at Porsche’s old house with Time when he burnt instant ramen.  He doesn’t know what foods are hard to make, and what might be easy, and he doesn’t know how to read a recipe, or measure, or what the kitchen words mean.

He almost doesn’t try, but he loves when Porsche cooks for him.  Maybe Porsche would like if Kinn made food for him.

He grits his teeth.  And then he pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls his cousin.

“Hey, what’s up?” Vegas says, sounding wary.  Kinn and him have a much better relationship now, but mostly when Kinn calls him personally after-hours, it’s bad news.

Kinn pinches his nose.  He can feel that he’s blushing.  “I want to make dinner for Porsche, but I don’t know what to make.”

“Oh,” Vegas says, disbelieving, and then “Oh!”  He sounds pleased, like this is a mistake Kinn is finally correcting.  “I can help you, turn your camera on, show me your fridge.”

Porsche wakes up just as Vegas is walking Kinn through finishing the larb and the salad.  “I smell food,” he says, bounding into the kitchen.  “Is there… you cooked?”  He looks up at Kinn and gets the softest, sweetest little smile, and then looks down at the phone.  “And you helped?”

“I hear Pete,” Vegas says, and hangs up before Porsche can say anything else.

“That was nice of him,” Porsche says, still grinning.  “He hates it when people know that he’s nice.”  He looks down at the larb, and his face goes all soft again.  “I can’t believe you cooked.”

“In a good way?” Kinn asks anxiously, because he’s just been shit at something new for almost an hour.  He needs Porsche's reassurance that this isn't wrong somehow.

“I love it,” Porsche says, and keeps grinning his soft little grin.  “It smells great, I’m excited to eat it.  Here, you cooked, I’ll set the table.”

The rice is a little crunchy, and Vegas called the chopping rustic, but Kinn did it.  He cooked for his boyfriend.  And Porsche is smiling to himself as he eats the larb.

Kinn keeps thinking about… all of it.  It’s just about Mama’s birthday, and that’s a tough day for all of them, especially as Tankhun gets closer to the age she was when she died.  If the universe is willing, all three of them are going to live much longer than she did.  Forty-three is starting to seem so young.

Kinn has Sunday lunch with Khun while Porsche sleeps in, and Kim is there on the sofa.  He’s got his cat with him, which probably doesn’t say great things about his mental state.  But if it stops him from getting beaten with lead pipes, Kinn is fine with having a brother who drags a large tomcat around with him for a couple weeks a year, and the cat doesn’t seem to mind.

Kinn never thought that the cat liked him much, but when he sits down next to Kim, the cat stretches and sprawls out between them so they can both pet him.  Kinn likes animals, actually.  He always wanted a dog, but it never seemed fair to the dog to get one.  Kinn and his brothers eventually grew up and understood the security risks to their life.  A dog never would, and a pet is a vulnerability Kinn doesn't feel he can afford.

But it’s nice to pet his brother’s cat.  Kim looks tired.  Khun looks tired.  And Kinn feels tired.

“Eye bags,” Tankhun says, sitting down on Kim's other side.  “Have you been dreaming about it?”

“Yeah,” Kim says, tired.  The two of them have an understanding about their PTSD dreams, a language together that Kinn doesn't speak.  He very much doesn't want to learn it, but sometimes he felt like he was on one team, the safe team with Papa, and Kim and Khun had their own side.

“Do you need to talk about it?” Khun asks.  Kinn would have said do you want to talk about it but maybe need is a better word.

“I'm in the car,” Kim says.  “But I'm big.  But… but she still tells me to hide, and…”  He swallows.  “And… yeah.”

They’re all quiet for a minute.  Khun doesn’t say anything, but he pulls Kim in with one arm and kisses his forehead.  Kim lets his head rest on Khun’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Kinn says, because he’s the head of the family and he should say something.  “I should have…”

“Phi?” Kim says.

“I should have done something,” Kinn says, because he thinks it every day, how has he never said anything to his brothers?  “I should have…”

“Honey, you were fourteen,” Tankhun says.  “You were at school when it happened, weren’t you?”

Kinn didn’t expect this to get attention from his brothers.  Kim is the one who has the right to be fucked up about it.  He was there.  Kinn was safe and useless in history class with Time and Tay.

“Yeah, but I… I should have made us safer,” he says, haltingly.  “I was the heir, I was…”

“You were a child,” Tankhun says.  “You were nine months older than me when I was…” He clears his throat.  He never says the word kidnapped.   “How was it possibly your fault?”

Kinn feels like his throat is closing up.  He knows why it was his fault, but he’s never said it to anyone, and he doesn’t feel like he can now.  If he says it out loud, it’ll seem crazy.  He looks down at his lap, and his hands fisted there.

There’s a rustle, and then Kim plops the cat into Kinn’s lap.  “Here,” he says, as Kinn’s hands unclench to touch fur.  “Tell the cat.”

Kinn takes a deep breath.  “Because I was gay,” he says to the cat's torn ear.  “I was thinking about telling Mama, and then she…”

A tear falls onto the cat’s fur.  Kinn is the crier of the family, but he doesn’t know why he’s crying now.  There’s this huge hole opening and howling in his chest, and he didn’t mean for it to be there.  He just wanted to apologize to his brothers.  He doesn’t have the same claim to sadness that they do.

“When Chay and I got married, I was really sad that Mama never met him,” Kim says, and puts his hand on Kinn’s shoulder.  This doesn’t feel right.  He should be comforting Kim.  “You must feel sad you never got to come out to her.”

Kinn nods.  “When I told Pa, I was worried he wouldn’t love me anymore,” he rasps, still not sure why he’s saying this to his brothers.  “When Ma died, he didn’t even hug me, I was worried…”

More tears are falling on the cat, who stretches and gets out of Kinn’s lap to clean himself.  Kinn hugs his arms tight around his middle, and Kim squeezes his shoulder hard.

Khun gets up and kneels down in front of Kinn.  “Kinn, you did not kill our mother by being gay,” he says, leaning forward with his arms on Kinn’s knees.  “I don’t even remember Pa being there.”  He looks over at Kim who shakes his head in Kinn’s periphery.

“You were asleep,” Kinn says, and recoils from the flash of guilt on Khun’s face.  “I don’t blame you, I know how much you needed her, I know how hard it was for you, I…”

“Kinn, she was your mother too,” Khun says.  “I don’t… I remember you holding me, and…”

“I remember you helping me get dressed, and I remember you carrying me,” Kim says.  “Yeah, I don’t…”

Kinn holds in a sob.  This happened twenty years ago, he doesn’t know why he’s so upset.  “I had to be strong until Pa came,” he says, trying not to cry.  “And then he didn’t…”

“It’s okay to cry about Mama,” Kim says, and squeezes Kinn’s shoulder again.  “Or Pa.  He was shittiest to you, in a lot of ways.”

Khun thumbs some of the tears off Kinn’s cheek.  “It’s okay to cry because you miss him, too.  It was different for you, wasn’t it?  He never let you down the way he did me and Kim.”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and folds over his knees and leaks tears, like he does sometimes in the shower with Porsche.  Kim and Khun keep talking to him, like they understand, like he somehow has a right to feel this way.  Kinn still doesn't believe that, but he doesn't stop them, either.

He’s really down over the next few days, leading up to her birthday.  The day before, he wakes up feeling like he’s gonna cry again and decides to work from the study.  He’s not going to be productive either way, but he’ll feel better about life if he doesn’t weep in his office bathroom.

Porsche comes to find him after he wakes up mid-morning.  “How are you doing?” he asks, and Kinn shrugs.  He made himself answer everything urgent, and he’s trying to summon up the energy to get to work on some longer-term projects.

Porsche nods.  “Do you want to come back to bed for a little while?” he asks.

Kinn nods.  “Yeah,” he says.  He struggles with what to say next.  Porsche is the one the couple’s therapist kept pushing to be vulnerable, because she read Kinn all wrong.  “Can… can you hold me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Porsche says, and holds his hand out to Kinn.  

They go to the bedroom and he helps Kinn take off the suit he put on to prove a point to himself, and the starched white shirt.  They get in bed, and Kinn closes his eyes.  He’s not tired, but he just can’t… he just can’t today.  His mother is dead and tomorrow is her 64th birthday, and he never came out to her and she never met Porsche.

Porsche hums, and rubs his fist gently against Kinn’s sternum.  “You did this for me so much after my mom died,” he murmured.  “It was the only thing that helped.”

Kinn can’t say yes, same, I know exactly, but he does pick Porsche’s hand up off the bed and give it a kiss.  He thinks Porsche understands anyway.

Chapter Text

Mama’s birthday passes, as it always does, and Kinn gets back to work.  The only difference is that he finds that he now has a part-time shadow.  “Is this not a little boring?” he asks his little brother, who has come to watch him answer email for the third afternoon in a row.

He wants to say I’m okay, but he said that yesterday and the day before and Kim doesn’t look like he believes it.  He’s always been very protective of the people and things he loves, and that’s backed up with teeth now.  It can just be hard to remember it when Kim is dressed in a fashionably oversized suit and tucked into the corner of the sofa.

“It’s a security audit,” Kim says, and goes back to watching his cat cam.

“Do you want to come to my meeting with me?” Kinn asks, and Kim gives him a short nod.

He doesn’t say much, but he sits next to Kinn at the table and listens.   It’s a change.  Kim’s interest in the security arrangements has proven helpful, but he’s never bothered much over the business.

They leave the meeting, the kind of semi-legal gathering Kinn takes care not to involve Chay or Ana in, and Kim nods thoughtfully.  “I’ll come to more of these,” he says, as they get into the car.

“You don’t have to,” Kinn says, still a little confused about Kim’s sudden interest in where their money comes from.

“I want to,” Kim says.

A few weeks later, Kinn comes down with a nasty cold, and groans.  He’s got meetings today he can’t miss, and plans with Porsche, and…

He calls Ana and asks her to delegate what she can and let him know about the rest so he can plan some sleep around his meetings.  He feels awful, but if he has to…

‘Khun Tankhun and Khun Kim are splitting your day,” she reports back, fifteen minutes later.  “N’Chay is handling morning standup.  Go back to bed, please.”

Kinn's first thought after he hangs up is that he doesn't want Porsche to get sick by going back to the bedroom to sleep.  But if he was snotting all over their pillows all night, it's probably too late.  He's still in his pajamas, although the silk is feeling too slippery and cool against his skin, and it would be easy to slip right back into bed.  But he doesn't feel like he deserves it.

It feels wrong, somehow, to have asked for help and received it.  It feels threatening, even though everyone assisting is someone Kinn loves and trusts unconditionally.  It feels weak.

He sits at the desk in the study and rakes his hands through his hair, waiting for someone to come tell him off.  Papa let him rest when he was sick, of course, but he always behaved as if Kinn was doing something indecorous by falling ill.  It was as if sickness was a faux pas Kinn should have avoided.

Papa doesn't come to look in on him disapprovingly, because Papa is dead.  But Kinn must have woken Porsche while speaking to Ana, because the sound of the toilet flushing breaks his thoughts.  Porsche shuffles into the study a few minutes later.

“You feeling okay?” he asks Kinn.  “You look even paler than usual.”

“Bit of a cold,” Kinn lies.  “I'm gonna work from home.”

The words immediately feel clumsy.  It's not a bit of a cold.  He feels horrible, his head pounding and his throat parched.  He hasn't started to cough yet but he can feel it coming.  And everything south of his ribs feels tender and wrong.  He doesn't want to sit up and pretend to work.  He wants to go back to bed.

“Mm,” Porsche says.  “You'd better shower first.”

Kinn feels like a bag of sand, but a shower is appealing.  He feels like his chest is a solid drum of phlegm and coughing something up into the drain would be a relief.  He nods.

Porsche is perfectly capable of hovering and mothering, but he seems to sense Kinn's dark thoughts and lets him be for a few minutes.  Kinn coughs until his diaphragm hurts and then stands face-first under the water, trying to clear his painful sinuses.  His whole body feels wrong and weak.

Porsche comes in as Kinn is towelling off.  “Let me,” he says.  Kinn loves having his hair dried.  He still feels small and ashamed of his weak body, but he wants the feeling of hands in his hair too much to say no.

Porsche takes him to the bedroom.  There are clean sheets on the bed and a cup of ginger tea on the breakfast table.  Porsche dries Kinn's hair, and then sits down across from him on the bed, and traces circles over Kinn's orbital bone, making approving noises as Kinn's nose runs and runs.  The pain in Kinn's face and brain begins to feel less acute.

“Yok taught me this,” Porsche says, into the comfortable silence.  “Nice, right?  It's helping?”

Kinn nods, dislodging a long string of snot onto his pajamas.  He feels disgusting, but the relief is too powerful to ask Porsche to stop.

Porsche grabs a tissue and wipes Kinn's nose for him.  “Poor Kinn,” he says.  “How did you sleep like this?  My recliner is still in storage if you want to nap sitting up.”

Kinn doesn’t want to sleep alone right now.  He still feels vaguely threatened by all the help, and the loneliness of the past few years feels like something tangible today, a weight he could pick up and hand over to Porsche to carry.  Even the mention of not being able to share their bed feels awful.

He’s always been an easy crier.  His eyes start to water.  He blinks rapidly, hoping Porsche will think the tears are part of his miraculous facial massage, and not… whatever they are.

But of course Porsche isn't fooled.  He's not stupid.  He pulls the sleeve of his Taekwondo Thailand t-shirt over his hand, and gently wipes Kinn’s face, getting a smear of snot on his cuff with the tears, and probably some sweat, too.  Kinn feels like some kind of leaking slug monster but he leans into it.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Porsche asks, somehow able to link everything Kinn is feeling together in one coherent statement.

If it wasn’t only a few days after his mother’s birthday, and if Kinn wasn’t feeling so sick and raw and horrible, maybe he would be able to say no.  But all he can do is nod.

“I can do that,” Porsche says, his voice very gentle, like he can tell Kinn is going through something for absolutely no reason.  “You always take really good care of me when I’m sick.  I’m here for you.”

Kinn nods, and leans in self-consciously, hoping for a hug.  Porsche gives him one, and kisses his forehead, and Kinn’s eyes prickle again.  He curls down, trying to make himself into someone small, or at least human-sized, who gets to accept help and comfort.  He still doesn’t feel right, just like it didn’t feel right to cry in front of his brothers, just like it didn’t feel right to finger himself in a hotel bathroom.  It’s ridiculous to shove his face against Porsche’s shoulder and leak tears for a while because he hates being sick.

But that’s what he does.  “I’m here,” Porsche says.  “I’ve got you, I’m here, Kinn.”

And for the moment, that’s enough.

Kinn sleeps, and when he wakes it’s late afternoon.  He might feel better, but he’s hungry and thirsty and needs to piss, so much so that he feels a different kind of sick.  He staggers out of bed to the toilet, and then finds Porsche on the couch where he’s obviously been gaming for a while.

“Hey,” Porsche says, pausing the game, and stands up to give Kinn another kiss on the forehead.  “You must be thirsty.”

Kinn nods, and follows Porsche into the kitchen.  It’s still kind of novel to have food around the apartment, and he finds himself grazing as Porsche makes him another cup of tea and gets him some water.  It’s really nice not to have to call down to the kitchen and think about what he wants, and wait.  He just eats whatever Porsche finds in the cupboard and shoves at him.  He munches on half a sleeve of crackers, an apple, some beef floss.

Halfway through the floss, his stomach abruptly feels so full that he thinks he’ll vomit, and he realizes how kitten-weak he is.  Porsche laughs at him and pours his tea.  “Come sit down with me for a bit, and then we’ll think about dinner.  I wanna beat this level.”

Even though he’s just slept a whole day, Kinn is so tired that he can’t sit upright on the couch.  He tries to find a comfortable position to stay sitting, since Porsche seems to think going straight back to bed isn’t good for him, but…

Porsche grabs one of the throw cushions and puts it in his lap.  “Here,” he says, and Kinn gratefully tips over and pillows his head there.  He can see why Porsche wants him awake for a while.  He’s too tired to be upright, but he also doesn’t feel like he could sleep.  Porsche is better at all this taking care than Kinn could ever hope to be.

Kinn watches the game for a minute, but he’s still pretty sick and his brain can’t make sense of the colors and images on the screen.  But it’s nice to just lie here and not be useful or busy or important.  He closes his eyes and listens to the upbeat music and drifts.

Khun has looked after him like this occasionally when Kinn gives himself a migraine, but he’s as germaphobic as they come, and he avoids Kinn when he’s contagious.  And Kinn is usually pretty healthy.  He doesn’t think he’s been this sick since he and Porsche got together, save for the time he gave himself a stress ulcer and giardia and they almost broke up.

He and Tawan weren’t together long enough for Kinn to have a bad cold, or a flu, or whatever this is.  The last person who sat with Kinn’s head in their lap, occasionally combing their fingers through his sweaty hair, was his mother.  As soon as he thinks the thought, the memory swallows him.

Suddenly, he’s thirteen again, lying on the sofa in his mother’s apartment with his ear touching her cool silk dress over her thigh.  It was only a few weeks before she died.  Kinn picked up some bug at school that he passed on to Kim, and that was the reason Kim was in the car with her when she...

Kinn was probably at the age that he shouldn’t have wanted to cuddle with his mom, but he was never the most mature.  He was still figuring out what it meant to be Papa’s heir, and he was so stressed and tired all the time.  But with his mom, there was nothing he had to think about.  There was nothing to worry about.  She took care of him.

It’s his eternal regret that he hadn’t come out to her on that sleepy afternoon, but he’d still been trying to figure out what he was and what it meant.  In the moment, it was enough to be with her and know she loved him.

With his eyes shut, he can feel her hands in his hair, and he can be thirteen years old, lying on his mother's sofa forever.  And then the video game trills with victory, and he’s an adult, and the person rubbing his head is Porsche again.

And Kinn realizes that was the last time he’d felt like he’d been able to put it all down.  He’s been carrying everything with him for the last twenty fucking years.  And he’s so tired.

He feels his eyes flood with tears again, but he’s the crier of his family.  He’s good at doing it quietly.  He lets a slow breath in and out as his eyes flood again.

That’s enough for Porsche to realize something is wrong.  The dumb music from the game cuts off.  Porsche leans into view.  

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and wipes the tears off Kinn’s face again.  “Do you feel sick again?”

“I’m tired,” Kinn says, and he is so, so tired.  But it feels so stupid to be crying about it when he’s been sleeping all day.

He expects Porsche to try and say something to make him feel better, but instead he simply curls around Kinn, like he’s sheltering him from bullets and not from his fucking feelings.  Kinn rolls to face him and curls in closer, feeling like he’s a kid again and P’Chan is coaching him through get small.

He hasn’t felt so much like a person in a very long time.  Anakinn Theerapanyakun isn’t a person.  He’s an idea, or maybe a threat.

But that leaves so little room for Kinn.  It must be the sickness making him feel like this, but he can’t stop sobbing, curled up against Porsche’s belly.  He snots so hard the pillow he's lying on disappears the next day and never comes back.

It’s been such a long time since Kinn could cry like this and trust he would be comforted.  He feels like he’s Atlas, carrying the whole family, the whole country on his shoulders, and he’s just finally put it down.

“I know how much you miss your mom,” Porsche murmurs into Kinn’s ear.  “I know, I know.”

The next morning, Kinn is still sick, but not out of his mind with it.  “How are you feeling?” Porsche asks, flopping over Kinn to turn the alarm off.  “A bit better?  Could you handle coffee this morning?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and Porsche gets up to bring the breakfast tray in, and comes back with the cafetiere and the butterscotch bread.  “Sorry about yesterday.”

“You okay?” Porsche says.  “Rough day for you yesterday.”

Kinn nods.  He feel like Porsche gets it, but maybe he should say the words.  “I really miss my mom when I get sick,” he says, and tears up just thinking about how much he was longing for her yesterday.

“Yeah, I could tell,” Porsche says, and takes the coffee mug out of Kinn’s hand.  “Is that… everything?  Not that it’s not enough, I just…”

Kinn shakes his head.  “I’m tired,” he says again.  He doesn’t know how else to explain it.  Even that much feels like whining.

“Yeah, I can see,” Porsche says, and puts his arms around Kinn.  “No one takes much care of you, do they?”

Kinn immediately chokes on protests, because the no one is everyone he cares about.  It’s Porsche grinding himself to dust as the head of the minor family.  It’s Kim getting out of the family and coming back for Kinn.   It’s Tankhun pushing himself to his boundaries and beyond when Kinn needs him.

It should feel like enough, but right now it doesn’t.  Porsche just waits for Kinn to answer, running his hand up and down Kinn’s arm.

“Yeah,” Kinn says.  “I think I need more help.”

“Mm,” Porsche says, and only sounds a little bit like he wants to say I told you so.   Kinn can’t help but notice that it’s a lot different than when Porsche was another lieutenant.  They didn’t have these conversations in bed, for one.  And when Kinn felt unsure, he didn’t put his head down on Porsche’s shoulder and whine to him.  He had to swallow it all.

Porsche is quiet for a minute, giving Kinn the space to say more.  But Kinn doesn’t have any more to say.  He leans over and takes his coffee back and slurps at it.

“I think your brothers have wanted to do more for you for a while,” Porsche says.  “And I think you could pace yourself a little more.  You’re the boss, Kinn.”

Kinn shrugs, and leans a little more heavily into Porsche’s shoulder.  “I feel like everything’s always about to fuck up,” he says, which he doesn’t think he’s ever said before.  “It’s hard to…”

Everything’s hard, really.  He feels very weak and very scared.  Porsche has talked before, just a little, about feeling like everything is going to slip out of his fingers if he ever lets go even slightly.  And that’s how Kinn feels too.

“Yeah, I know,” Porsche says, and gives Kinn another kiss on his greasy head.  “Why don’t you drink your coffee and we’ll worry about the rest of it after breakfast.”

Nothing really changes over the next little while, but Kinn keeps thinking about what Porsche said.  He’s the boss now, and as much as Kinn misses him sometimes, Papa isn’t coming back.  Kinn is in charge.

In some ways that makes things harder than he thought it would.  He’s been asking himself for a long time what Papa would think, whether he’d approve or not.  But Papa hasn’t been around for a long time, and he’s never going to be around again.

It makes some things easier.  Kinn stops feeling so guilty about approving other people’s vacations, about letting Chan reshuffle his detail so Sept and one of Porsche’s guards can continue a situationship Chan is interested in letting play out.  He doesn’t have to answer to Papa for letting himself take care of other people.

“You good?” Chan says, following Kinn back into his office after a long meeting.  “You seemed distracted.”

Kinn flops down in his office chair.  “I was trying to think of what Papa wouldn’t want me to do,” he says, which sounds stupid when he says it out loud.  It hadn’t really done anything in the meeting.  They're getting further and further away from the world Papa left when he had his heart attack.

“Mm,” Chan says.  “Was it helping?”

“No,” Kinn says.  “Of course not.”

Chan pulls out the chair on the other side of the desk and sits down without waiting to be asked.  He gives Kinn a long, probing look.  “It’s worse when they give you some good along with the bad,” he says.  “My pa was shit all the way down.  But my mother…”  He turns and stares out the window for a few seconds, uncharacteristically far away.  “It was complicated.”

Kinn nods.  “What do I do?” he asks, because he’s been wondering that almost since Papa went into their attic.  He’s tried hating him, he’s tried pretending he didn’t exist, and none of it helped.

“You have to figure out when it’s him talking in your head,” Chan says.  “It’s not that he’s always wrong, but… you’ve gotta know he’s there.  I think you’re getting there.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Kinn says.  He thinks maybe he can hear it now.  He thinks maybe it’s the people he imagines in his bedroom when he fucks.  And he thinks he’s starting to tease apart how it’s helped him and how it’s hurt him.

“So what do you think you should do?” Chan asks.  “Or do you need more information to make a decision?  I didn’t understand half of what the land valuation guy was telling us.”

Kinn feels some of the weight of inadequacy he’s been carrying around today lift.  “I need more information,” he says.  “Could you ask Chay to come in here?  Maybe he understood some of that.”

He and Porsche fool around a couple of nights later.  Letting Porsche take charge feels like a new muscle Kinn is trying to develop.  “Can we close the curtains?” he asks, because he wants to settle into this but he’s having trouble.

“Mm?” Porsche says, garbled because his mouth is full.  He looks over at the backdrop of Deutsche Bank and the city lights like he’s remembering they’re not just wallpaper, and then pulls off Kinn’s cock.  “Yeah, of course.”

Kinn expects him to dive right back in after he grabs the remote for the blinds, but Porsche settles in on top of Kinn and they kiss for a while first.  Porsche is dense with muscle, but he’s also lean and narrow.  He’s the perfect weight to anchor Kinn down to the bed and remind him that they’re alone in the bedroom tonight.

When Porsche finally pulls back, Kinn feels like he’s been lovingly seamed back into his body.  It must show on his face, because Porsche grins at him and gives him a cheeky little wink before he slithers back down under the covers.

“We can keep the blinds shut, if you want,” Porsche says, after.  They’ve tucked themselves into the bed, even though it’s Thailand and humid-hot even with the central air.  Kinn still feels a little too exposed.

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and tucks himself in a little more firmly on Porsche’s chest.  Porsche changes his grip so that he can rub Kinn’s back, like Kinn does for him sometimes when he’s having trouble sleeping.  And then they just lie there for a while.  Kinn’s brain is finally quiet.

“I like looking after you like this,” Porsche says, sounding a little shy.  “It’s nice.  Chay’s too big to cuddle these days.”

Kinn never thought that Porsche might want to take care of him.  It blows his mind for a few seconds.  “I like it,” he says, stupidly.  “You’re really good at it.”

“Mm,” Porsche says, and Kinn can hear that he’s smiling.  He’s quiet for a few seconds.  “Before, when it was bad, I think this is something I really missed.”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and turns his head to give Porsche's sternum a sniff kiss.  “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Without Kinn asking, Porsche gets into the habit of closing the blinds before they start messing around.  Kinn is surprised at what a difference it makes.

Suddenly, he's not watching himself have sex.  He's just there in his body, watching Porsche to see how he feels about it.  There's no imaginary judges panel scoring him as he fucks.

When he fucked escorts, of course he liked how it looked.  He could watch himself in the reflection, huge over some tiny whimpering waif.  He liked how big and strong it made him seem.  How in control.

He hadn’t realized how much he was monitoring himself, listening for the little voice in his head that was his father, until he can’t do it anymore.  He misses the view, but it’s such a relief not to constantly be checking angles, thinking about what someone else would say if they were watching.  It was so draining to be constantly putting on a show.

Tonight, Porsche closes the blinds and flops down on the bed.  “I think maybe I want to fuck?” he says.  “Maybe?”

“Whatever you want,” Kinn says, sincerely.  Porsche flings his arms open on the bed and Kinn crawls over him, unable to examine the relative size of his body compared to Porsche's in the reflection from the window as he does so.  The imaginary audience might not be completely gone, but they are hidden behind the curtains.

It feels less performative to take charge like this.  For a long time Kinn wondered how his boyfriend could get most of the way to a fugue state while they fucked, and then the thing with the curtains happened and it clicked in Kinn's head.  It makes sense Kinn didn't notice anything wrong if he was looking hard for confirmation that their sex was adhering to the genre standards, so to speak, and Porsche was working hard to make sure it looked that way.  There’s no room for PTSD on the set of a porno.

The camera angles in Kinn’s head are dissolving now, leaving just him and Porsche.  Porsche had a busy week and he looks a little tired.  So Kinn rubs their noses together, and then trails kisses up Porsche's cheeks, and down over his tired eyes.  Porsche smiles and tugs Kinn down for a proper kiss.

They go slow.  Kinn tries his very best to respect the two maybes.  He's had a lot more practice with this tentative creep forward than he ever thought he would.

Porsche relaxes as Kinn kisses down his body, and murmurs his assent when Kinn grabs the lube and looks up with a question in his eyes.  Kinn fingers him open slowly and sucks his cock until Porsche is sweating and writhing on the sheets.

“I want to,” he says.  “I want to, yeah, do it.”

Kinn's only half-hard, but it's easy enough to get himself back to full readiness.  His hand is nearly dripping with lube, so he leans up to give Porsche another kiss as he strokes himself.  Porsche's mouth is slack and relaxed against Kinn's, like it's an effort for him to form his lips to kiss.

Pillow princess, Kinn thinks affectionately, but doesn't say out loud.  He feels proud that Porsche has been letting himself go into what Kinn's doing instead of whatever he used to do.  He doesn’t want to embarrass him out of this relaxed headspace.  “So fucking handsome,” he murmurs into Porsche's mouth instead, and watches his cheeks go even darker red.  “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, and doesn't help Kinn lift one of his legs over his shoulder.  Kinn smiles and kisses his ankle before he lines up his cock.

It feels as good as it always does to sink inside Porsche.  If Kinn flipped him on his stomach and fucked him hard, he could finish in a couple of minutes.  But that would make him an asshole.

He grinds in deep, looking for an angle he knows Porsche likes.  Porsche cries out, not loud, but enough that Kinn knows he has it.  “You gonna jerk yourself off?” he asks, and keeps up a slow, deep rhythm.

Porsche sighs and brings his hand up to wrap around his cock.  His eyes slide shut and his lips part as Kinn fucks into him.  He’s not so much jerking himself as he is letting Kinn fuck him into his own hand.  It’s so different for Porsche to go slack and relaxed, compared to how it was in their bad days, that Kinn wants to stay like this forever.

But he wants to give Porsche what he wants, too, so he keeps working his hips in a rhythm he knows Porsche likes.  Porsche makes these sweet little mm, mm, mm sounds when he gets close to coming.  Kinn fucks them out of him in staccato little bursts, ignoring his animal instinct to take what he's itching for.

“Good?” he asks, and Porsche gasps and gives a high uh-huh.   Kinn flattens down on his elbows and gives Porsche another deep open-mouthed kiss, feeling Porsche's chest heave against his.  “Fuck, you're so good, you…”

“Oh,” Porsche says, small and tight, and shudders and clenches through a long orgasm.  Kinn could almost come, but Porsche told him once that it made him feel sore and jangly to get fucked after he'd just orgasmed, and Kinn tries to respect that now.

Porsche's face starts to scrunch, and so Kinn helps him unfold and pulls out.  “Ah,” he says, and reaches for Kinn.

Kinn tries not to let his hard cock poke Porsche too obviously in the afterglow.  It would feel good to keep fucking Porsche's ass until he came, but it also feels good that his boyfriend trusts him enough to let Kinn hold him through the aftershocks.  If Kinn doesn't get an orgasm, he'll live.

“Lemme,” Porsche says, when he's caught his breath.  His hand is wet with lube still from jerking himself off, and Kinn's is too from fingering Porsche, and somehow Kinn manages to end up jerking himself off while Porsche fingers his ass, which he didn't think was so much part of their repertoire.  But he doesn't mind.

The angle is kind of weird, and Kinn has to roll his hips down to meet Porsche’s hand for them to get anywhere. Porsche isn't being all that careful, maybe because he can’t really see what he’s doing.  He goes harder than he usually does.  Kinn's not sure he likes it, he…

He’s used to being very in control of his own pleasure.  Now he’s almost helpless, one hand on the headboard, his hips moving down in a rhythm Porsche is setting. This feels as good as it always does, but it’s like being pushed towards orgasm when usually Kinn walks there.  He’s…

Porsche shoves in particularly unforgivingly and Kinn comes all over his own belly, making an even bigger mess than was already smeared over the both of them.  His ass… smarts?  Twinges, maybe?  He's gonna feel that the next day, for fucking sure.

“Good?” Porsche asks.  He's grinning, but he also sounds a little unsure, like he wasn’t expecting Kinn to unceremoniously nut from that.  Kinn wasn’t either.

“Yeah, of course,” Kinn says, reassuringly because it wasn't bad, just different.  And he came so hard he hit his own neck.  “C'mere, you gonna fall asleep on me?  I'll wake you in half hour for a shower, okay?”

“Mhmm,” Porsche says, and cuddles closer to Kinn, wrapping his arms tight around Kinn's neck so he can't slide up the bed.  Kinn's heart swells with affection almost painfully.  “Love'y.”

“Love you too,” Kinn says, and lies there for nearly an hour in a stupor, pleasantly surprised by how much he enjoys the phantom feeling of being enthusiastically finger-blasted.

He feels sore for the next couple of days, not all the time, just when he moves in certain ways.  It’s new.  He’s been sore from fucking before, from snapping his hips too hard or straining his back or giving himself rug burn on his knees.  But not like this.

He likes it.  It feels… secret, somehow.  He doesn’t think there’s anyone in the tower who doubts he fucks, but only Porsche knows that Kinn rode his fingers until he made himself sore.

He feels a little like he thinks Porsche did, when they were figuring out how to fuck again.  He gets a bit clingy on the couch the next night as his brain works through the sensations and the vulnerability and… Kinn doesn’t have words for anything else.

Porsche doesn’t comment, which is nice.  He seems to take it for granted that Kinn needs this like he does sometimes, and that’s… yeah, it’s nice.

Kinn shifts, and puts his head down on Porsche’s stomach.  “Comfy?” Porsche asks, and threads his hand through Kinn’s hair.

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and actually feels like he means it, physically and emotionally.

He’s walking down the hall to an important meeting and catches his face in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors.  He looks open, calm, happy.  It takes ten years off his face, and even his body language seems softer and younger.  That’s…

Fuck, he can’t walk into a tense meeting with their most contentious vendor looking like a starry-eyed undergraduate.  The negotiating team will eat Kinn alive, as he was devoured in a few meetings when he was a starry-eyed twenty-two year-old.  They’ll…

He studies himself, his loose-limbed gait and the lack of tension in his shoulders.  Fuck, maybe they’ll look at him, and somehow they’ll know.

Kinn freezes mid-stride.  Luckily, he’s only got P’Chan and Sept with him just at this moment.  Chay’s waiting in the meeting room and Ana is ushering their guests in.  Kinn can take a moment and…

The rush of fear he felt at being perceived as weak sours into anger in his stomach.  Kinn has high standards for himself, and he’s furious that he let himself lose sight of them, even for a moment.  He can’t afford slips.

When he looks back at himself in the window, all the softness is gone.  P’Chan is there behind him, one eyebrow raised, like he can tell whatever Kinn is thinking isn’t good, but…

“We’re late,” Kinn barks, even though he’s the one standing around like an idiot in the back hallway.

“Of course, Khun Kinn,” Chan says, and steps in front of him to open the door to the boardroom so he can make an entrance.  Kinn takes a deep breath and storms into the meeting.

For the next week or so, he throws himself into work, finalizing the details of the deal they hammered out in his big meeting.  He knows he’s being an absolute asshole, in a way he hasn’t been for a while.

Porsche gives him space during the day and quiet comfort in the middle of the night.  Chan texts him with an offer to box, and doesn’t comment when Kinn is silent in their session and almost makes himself throw up with exertion.  Kim and Khun avoid him, as they usually do when he’s being a rat bastard.

The only people left around are people Kinn pays to put up with him like this… and his baby brother-in-law.  Chay is exempt from Kinn’s snapping and barking, and Kinn assumes that’s good enough.

He comes out of his office, a little disoriented after a work binge.  He’s not sure what time it is, but the sun is starting to go down in a short brilliant burst of color against the glass buildings around the tower.  Kinn’s not so much of an asshole that he’s kept the staff here this late, except his bodyguards, and…

There’s one light burning on the executive floor.  Chay’s office.

Surely he’s just left his light on and isn’t still here, Kinn thinks.  He’s usually at work a little later than Kinn is, but…

He pokes his head through the door, and there Chay is, stretched out on the sofa with his arm over his face.  “Hey, kiddo,” Kinn says, not sure if Chay is asleep or not.  He looks exhausted.  “You feeling okay?”

Chay almost jumps off the couch.  “I’m just resting my eyes!” he says, looking up at Kinn warily, like he doesn’t know that he’s exempt from Kinn’s black mood.  “I just need another hour or so for my draft, and then…”

Kinn starts to tell him to go home, that he can finish up in the morning, but then he thinks backwards on the timelines he’s set so he can be weird and controlling over this hotel reservation vendor deal.  If he wants to do what he wants to do tomorrow, Chay’s going to be here til midnight.

“Shit,” Kinn says, and sits down on the end of the couch.  “I’m being kind of an asshole.”

Chay sits up and yawns.  “It’s an important deal,” he says, with just a hint that maybe he doesn’t disagree.

“Yeah,” Kinn says.  “And there’s no rush to get it done.  I’m being an asshole.  I’ll send an email with updated timelines.  You should go home to your husband before he comes in here and stabs me.”

“P’Kim would never stab you,” Chay says, and yawns again.  “You don’t need this tomorrow?”

“We’ll redefine the timeline at the morning standup,” Kinn says.  “I’m sorry.”

Chay nods.  “Did I do something wrong?” he asks, looking up at Kinn as he pulls the sleeves of his Saville Row oxford down over his hands, like he used to with his Snoopy sweater.  “You were just really mad all of a sudden, and…”

The sour anger that Kinn’s had in his gut melts away into guilt.  “It was a me thing,” he says.  “I shouldn’t have handled it like I did, that was… shitty.”

Chay nods.  “Are you okay?” he asks.

Kinn does not deserve this sweet, patient nong.  “I’m okay,” he says, and then decides maybe Chay does deserve a bit of an explanation, since he’s Kinn’s literal family.  “I got into my head about being tough enough, I guess.”

“You got real mafia in that meeting,” Chay says, and pokes Kinn with his elbows, like he does with Porsche when he thinks Porsche is being stupid.  “Everyone is a little freaked out, including the software people.  You’re like a good boss, usually, phi.  Do you think we do a bad job?  Is that why you're…”

“No,” Kinn says, without needing to think about it even for a second.  “I have a great team, and I have a great Chay.  I um.  This is just a me thing, and I’m going to stop now.  Do you want to come home and hang out for a while?  Porsche would love to see you.”

“Sure,” Chay says, like he's forgiven Kinn for a week of unrestrained awfulness just that easily.  “P’Kim and the cat are spending the night here, maybe we could…”

The next night, Porsche is working.  Kinn spars with P’Chan and lets himself be himself, even though that’s been scary for the last week or so.  He lets himself feel P’Chan’s hands on his back while he stretches and accept that that’s good and maybe even needed.

And then he goes home and draws himself a bath.  He draws the blinds in the bathroom and dims the lights.  He closes his eyes and takes his cock in hand, and tries to jerk off thinking of what he wants.

It still feels too big.  It scares him.  His cock goes soft in his hand, and just like in Kyoto, suddenly the water in the tub doesn’t feel quite right on his skin.

Kinn groans in frustration and opens his eyes.  There’s a little window next to the tub that doesn’t have a curtain, and he looks out, trying to face his imaginary audience.  But there’s no one there, just the far-off city lights, winking like stars.

And there’s his own face, drawn and tired.  He looks like Chay did in the office as the sun was going down.  He looks almost like a different person from the happy Kinn who scared himself by being too in love with his boyfriend.

It still feels too much and too big for Kinn to admit to himself that he might need that happiness that Porsche gives him.  He doesn’t think he’s ready to say that it’s like air to him or that for so many years without it, he barely felt like he was living.

But thinking of Chay is small enough to be doable.  If you work until you look like shit, Chay’s working three times harder, Kinn tells himself, because he knows that’s true.  So don’t look like shit.

It’s a compassion he was never able to muster for Porsche, who he had been so coached to think of as an extension of himself.  But Chay’s Chay.  He’s so much younger that sometimes Kinn almost feels parental towards him, maybe like P’Chan might feel about Kinn.  He doesn’t want to fuck things up for Chay and Kim.  He doesn't want to fuck things up between himself and Chay, either.

He doesn’t try to jerk off again, but he does slide further down into the hot water.  It’s not weird, really.  It’s nice.  It feels good.  

And if Kinn is here in the tub, he’s not answering work emails at 10pm on a Friday.  He can make himself relax a little, and not ruin Kim and Chay’s night.  It's a small goal but it's doable.

Very early in the morning on Sunday, Kinn wakes to the sounds of a thunderstorm.  He reaches over on instinct for Porsche, but the other side of the bed is cool.  Is he not home yet, or…?

Kinn thinks he should be, even if he can’t make out the numbers on the clock.  There’s something about the way the room smells, like shampoo and the sweetness of spilled alcohol and sweat.  Porsche has been here.

Kinn shoves himself out of bed, wondering why the room is so uncharacteristically dark.  He can barely see the edges of the furniture to stumble into the bathroom.

It’s no better in there, but Kinn makes out Porsche’s silhouette against small window over the tub.  He’s sitting on the lip of the bath, staring out over the city.  Kinn has to blink a few more times to realize that it’s darker than usual because the power is out, and he’s missing the light not just from their nightlights but from the nearby buildings.

“Porsche,” he says, and Porsche’s shadow unfolds from the edge of the tub.  Kinn still can’t make out his features, but there’s the tan blur of his skin and a mouthful of wet hair as he finds Kinn in the dark.  “The power’s out.”

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  “I was just falling asleep when the storm started, I came in here because…”

Because he wanted to stare out the window at the lights still remaining, blocks and blocks away.  “There’s a flashlight,” Kinn says.  “Come back to bed, I’ll find it for us.”

He takes Porsche’s hand and leads him back to bed, and then finds the emergency kit in the bottom drawer of the dresser by touch.  There’s the flashlight, and there’s some candles, and Kinn hunts through Porsche’s jeans to find his lighter so they can have those as well.

“Better?” he asks, settling back into bed with his boyfriend.  It's dark and the curtains are closed and it feels safe to be tender.  He finds Porsche's head in the half-light from the candles and gently strokes his hair.  No one is watching them here.

“Mmhmm,” Porsche says, and rolls over to cling to Kinn’s chest much too hard.

Kinn clings back.  “I’m here,” he says, which feels so inadequate, but is all Porsche really wants during these middle-of-the-night terrors.  “I’ve got you.  I’ll stay up until the lights come back on.”

Porsche nods.  Kinn could check his phone and try to see when whatever damage has been done to the electrical grid will be repaired, but the knowledge won’t do anything to speed it up.  Instead, he holds onto Porsche as tightly as he can, and Porsche holds on tightly back.

In the middle of the night, with Porsche here, Kinn knows what he wants.  It’s this, having Porsche wrapped around him.  He wants to be held onto and not let go of, and somehow that’s a sex thing, too.

There’s another big crackle of thunder, and Porsche makes a small noise of fear in his throat.  Kinn doesn’t like that Porsche is scared, but he’s realizing that it means something that he’ll show it.  It’s almost an honor to be let into Porsche’s deepest fears and biggest vulnerability.

Maybe, just maybe, he could reciprocate.  Once the storm is over, of course, and Porsche has calmed down.  Or maybe in the morning.

“Hey, I’m here,” he says again, and digs deep to find the words he wishes he could hear when he feels like this.  “I’m not leaving, Porsche.  I’ll protect you.”

“Mm,” Porsche says, and curls up even more around Kinn.  Kinn's not sure if Porsche is really… there to give a response, but then he does.  “I know, I know, I'm -”  The thunder booms again and he jumps.  “Fuck, I'm so glad you're here, this sucks.”

“I know,” Kinn says, even though he feels all warm in the pit of his stomach.  “Talk to me, okay?  How was work?”

Porsche whispers to Kinn until the sun comes up, but they save the real talk for the morning.

Chapter Text

“I think maybe I want to get fucked,” Kinn says the next morning.  The emergency generator powered up just after the sun, and they slept for a while with all the lights on.

Porsche is still waking up.  His eyes are open but he’s still snuggled into the pillows, all dead weight against Kinn’s arm.  For a second, his body stays heavy, and then he blinks fully awake and props himself up on his elbow.

“Yeah?” he says, in a way that suggests he’s not quite sure what to make of what Kinn just said.

“Yeah,” Kinn says, not sure what other information Porsche needs.  It’s straightforward for Porsche, isn’t it?  It’s Kinn who’s doing the hard, scary thing?  “Not today, not right now.  But…”

It feels huge to say it out loud.  Porsche lets it sit in the air for a while, not replying except with a soft kiss.  It feels right that he's quiet.  It feels like the words need some space.

“What makes you want to?” Porsche asks, when Kinn's had enough of a moment.  “I thought you just… didn't.”

Kinn shrugs.  He hasn’t really thought that much about why he wants to, besides that before it wasn’t something he was able to consider.  “I couldn’t before,” he says, because that’s how it seems to him.  “Now I can.”

Porsche frowns.  “Was it because of me you felt like you couldn’t?” he asks.  “I’m not… don’t get me wrong, I thought maybe we were heading this way, but…”

“But?” Kinn asks, his heart suddenly in his throat.

“I dunno,” Porsche says.  “I mean, you don’t really owe me an explanation, I’ll do it, I just…”  He sits up, anxiously plucking at the blanket.

“Porsche?” Kinn asks.  This isn’t being as well received as he thought it would be.  He expected more sexually-charged teasing and maybe some light fingering, not…

“How come you didn’t want to before?” Porsche asks, looking down at the bed.

That’s easy.  “I couldn’t look weak,” Kinn says.  “But now…”

Porsche flinches like Kinn backhanded him, and Kinn replays the last sentence in his head.  I couldn’t look weak.

Sometimes when he rambles to Chan, Chan will get this look that suggests Kinn was a little too honest.  He thinks… yeah.  This is one of those times.

“Is that what you think about me?” Porsche asks, still staring down at the bed like there's something chaining his eyeballs to their plain white duvet.  His voice is very level, like he’s wiped it clean of any feeling.  It’s the voice he uses when he’s so upset but can’t risk a fight.  Kinn doesn't like that he can recognize this.  “That I’m not…”

“No, of course not,” Kinn says, but he can see the gears turning in Porsche’s head.  He thinks back to Tay talking about Kinn saying he felt ashamed of himself for getting fingered, and winces.  Porsche isn’t weak, but this is…

On top of the duvet, Porsche’s hands are starting to shake.  He notices at the same time Kinn does, and pulls them in around his knees, folding up small and protected.  He’s not weak, but Kinn just blithely trampled onto what is a bit of a thing for him.

(It’s not a thing, someone more sensible’s voice says in Kinn’s head.  Porsche is triggered because you raped him and now he has PTSD.)

“I’m just talking about how it would look,” Kinn tries.  Porsche doesn’t answer, just shoves his face in his knees and gives a tiny nod.  “I’m not…”

He tries reaching out and putting his hand on Porsche’s, because physical contact might…

Porsche doesn’t pull his hand away, but he gives the smallest shake of his head.  Kinn doesn’t know what to do, so he pulls his hand back.  And then he just sits, horrified with himself, two feet away in the bed.  

“People used to say that to me,” Porsche says, and his voice sounds way too breathy.  “And then I would think about, um.  When you.  Um.”

Kinn reaches out again and puts his hand on Porsche’s back.  He can’t stand hearing Porsche upset like this, he needs to…

“Don’t touch me,” Porsche says, in the most strangled voice Kinn has ever heard from him.  

Kinn really fucked this up.  He gets out of bed, and Porsche tips on his side and pulls the blankets over his head.  Kinn’s not sure…

His phone dings.  Khun Pete and Khun Vegas are here while the minor family inspects some flooded rooms, reads a text from Arm.  They might stay overnight.  Where do you want them?

“Do you want me to get Vegas?” Kinn asks.  Porsche grunts out a vaguely affirmative noise.  “Okay, uh.  I’ll… just a minute.”

Kinn can't bring himself to be anywhere near his suite while Vegas and Porsche (and Pete) are hanging out, but he also doesn't want to run into any of the family who might be around the tower and have to explain why he looks gut-shot.  He ends up hiding in the garage, sprawled out in the passenger seat of a sports car he forgot they owned.

It doesn't mean much right now to have so many cars he can't count them, or a private plane on standby or anything else he's bought and paid for.  He can't pay to undo the last hour or so.  And so his money isn't really worth much.

The driver's side door to whatever car this is snicks open and Kinn jumps.  

It's Vegas.  “You wanna go for a drive?” Vegas asks, sympathetically.  He gets in the car with Kinn without waiting for a yes and starts hunting around for the key fob.

“Fuck,” Kinn says.  He shouldn't, for a hundred reasons.  But he wants to.  “Sure.”

Vegas pushes to start the engine, and they roll out of the garage.  Kinn pretends not to notice the bodyguards following at a safe distance.  He pretends they're really alone.

Kinn still fights with him sometimes, but deep down, he trusts Vegas.  They were close as kids.  And they're getting close again as adults.

Since they were little, Vegas has been brought up to fall in his sword for Kinn.  Even when Kinn thought his cousin might smother him with a pillow or shoot him in the head, he'd known that if it was needed, Vegas would perjure himself until he ran out of breath to keep Kinn clean and out of prison.  He was born to be Kinn’s fall guy.

Especially once Papa was gone, that had been a nuclear option for Vegas to take if he’d wanted it.  He could have made a plea deal and cooperated with the police, the government, fucking Interpol.  He could have taken Pete and Macau and run for the Bahmas and sent in evidence of every crime Kinn has ever committed.  Kinn would be in jail on the moon right now.

But Vegas hadn't.  He hasn't ever appeared to think about betraying the family, not to outsiders.  Since his father died, he's only ever helped, especially Porsche.  It makes it easier to forgive him for all the things he did back then.  He fucked up, but he’s still Kinn’s cousin.

They just fucking drive until they're out of the city, on the open road.  The bodyguards are more obvious here but they're also further away.

“Don't get mad at Porsche,” Vegas says, glancing over at Kinn.  “He barely said anything.  But I know you and I guessed what you were talking about.”

“Fucking hell,” Kinn says, his ears going red.  He prepares himself for endless ribbing.  Vegas is onside now, but he’s never going to be nice, not to Kinn anyway.

“Porsche took a lot of shit while he was the minor family head for being the bottom,” Vegas says, quietly.  It’s not nice, but it’s also not mean.  It’s like there’s a lesson here Vegas wants Kinn to understand, like he did that day when he told Kinn Porsche was talking about leaving the country.  “I don't think he told you about most of it.  It got… weird.”

“Oh,” Kinn says.  Porsche had never breathed a word to him.  But he saw edges of it in the ways people talked when Kinn was around and how Porsche’s jaw would set.

“Yeah,” Vegas agrees.  “It was just… it upset him.  I cut off a guy's pinky once for groping him, and that was in my presence.  It was worse than I expected.”

“I didn't know,” Kinn says, like that means anything.

“Your pa set him up to fail,” Vegas says, bluntly.  “You know he’s not like us, and his boyfriend is Bangkok’s most famous top, and there was all that fuckery with the accountants and the business managers and the other motherfuckers.”

“I remember,” Kinn says.  “I know…”

“You don’t,” Vegas says, but again, it’s not unkind.  “He’d get so fucked up whenever you got angry with him.  You’d snap at him and he’d have a full-blown dissociative episode in the car.  He was so afraid of losing you.”

Kinn’s not sure what to say to that.  He turns to look out the window and blinks the sting out of his eyes.  He’d always felt that Porsche had one foot out the door, that he was poised to run to Vegas if Kinn ever fucked it up.

It hurts so much to know that he was fucking it up, and Porsche was staying anyway.  But at the same time it’s such a relief.  He already screwed up in every way possible and Porsche is still here.

“I get it, I really do,” Vegas says, after another few kilometres, glancing over at Kinn while he drives, like Kinn’s pissed off at him now.  Kinn’s not, he just needs time to think.  “I’m just trying to tell you because I know Porsche won’t.  That’s why he’s so touchy.”

“Do you…?” Kinn asks.

Vegas glances over at Kinn and raises his eyebrows over a pair of Kim’s sunglasses he’s acquired from somewhere in the car.  “Do I?”

“Switch?” Kinn asks.

Vegas doesn’t answer for a long time.  “If I did,” he says, because he used to fuck all Kinn’s sloppy seconds, and is half the reason Kinn has this complex.  “It would be safe to, because I’d be with Pete.  You know that it’s different now.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kinn says, and Vegas nods, like that’s the point he’s been trying to make for the past 70km.  He signals, and the bodyguards follow him as he u-turns towards home.

Porsche is quiet but not furious when they finally come back.  He’s down in the garden with Pete, having lunch.  Vegas and Kinn join them, and they all hang out for a couple of hours, until the afternoon gets too hot and Pete tells Vegas he wants to sleep for a while.

Porsche stays on the porch swing by himself when Pete and Vegas finally get up to leave.  Kinn is the one who rises, hugs Pete goodbye and shakes hands with Vegas.  “Thanks,” Porsche says, and waves, even though they haven’t talked about that.

“Take care,” says Pete, who has been furiously radiating calm and tranquillity all afternoon.  Vegas just nods.

Kinn stays standing after they leave, unsure if the don’t touch me is still in force.  “Can I sit down?” he asks Porsche, finally, because it’s probably better to know either way.

“Sure,” Porsche says, and draws his feet back to give Kinn some room.  They sit side-by-side for a few minutes, still not touching, until Porsche finally leans in and brushes his shoulder against Kinn’s.  “I’m sorry I overreacted.”

“You didn’t,” Kinn says.  “It was shitty of me to say that.  Are we okay?”

“I think so,” Porsche says.  “Can we talk upstairs?”

When they do get upstairs, Kinn thinks of what Vegas says and pulls Porsche in for a long hug before they’ve even left the foyer.  Porsche leans in gratefully and holds onto Kinn as hard as Kinn holds him.  “Okay?” Kinn asks his hair.

Porsche nods.  “I know I was weak,” he says, without looking up at Kinn.

“You’re not,” Kinn disagrees.  “You’re a very strong person.”

Porsche shrugs, and then shakes his head.  “I wasn’t,” he says, softly.  “Everyone was always showing me that.  I’m still not - I’m just a bartender.”

“You’re not just anything.”  It pains Kinn to hear that Porsche thinks of himself this way, but it’s not that surprising.

Porsche laughs at him, but it doesn't sound happy.  “I’m sorry I ruined your moment, I was tired and I wasn’t expecting you to say that, and I wasn’t very supportive, and -”

“Porsche,” Kinn interrupts.  “I’m - what I said really hurt you, didn’t it?”

Porsche only shrugs again, which is more than enough confirmation.  Kinn waits.  “I knew you thought that in your head,” Porsche says.  “But… I really didn’t like hearing it out loud.  Because… because at least a little, you were thinking that when you, ah.”  He pauses and sucks in a lungful of air, like he would to be underwater for a long time.  “When you raped me.”

Kinn feels again like he’s been gut-punched.  It takes him a minute to catch his breath.  “Yeah,” he says, because he can hardly deny it.  There’s a reason he didn’t wait until Porsche was of sound mind and body again.  And it certainly wasn’t Kinn’s ass on offer that night.  “Yeah, it was.”

“I’m sorry,” Porsche says mournfully.  “I’m making you feel bad, I’m sorry.”

“Porsche,” Kinn says, and squeezes him tight.  There is one good thing from all this.  “I’m so fucking glad you said you were uncomfortable instead of just doing it.  It was just an idea.  We never have to if you don’t like it.”

“I don’t hate it,” Porsche says, and finally pulls away from Kinn and toes his shoes off.  “I just… I want you to think first.  I don’t want to do something you think is horrible.”

“You’re a good person,” Kinn says, and follows Porsche into their apartment proper.

Kinn’s not really sure if that counts as a fight or not, but he feels shitty.  He spends the next few days trying to be extra tender to Porsche, like that will fix something.

And he spends some time with Pete and Vegas, who have moved in for a few weeks while some repairs are made to the minor family compound after the flooding.  It’s kind of weird but kind of familiar to have them around; after all, Pete lived here for more than a decade, and everyone is happy to have him back.  The strange part should be Vegas, but that feels natural too.

“Can I use your kitchen?” Vegas asks, on the third day of his residence at the compound.

“Of course,” Kinn says, not realizing that Vegas means the kitchen in Kinn’s apartment, and not the main kitchen or the catering kitchen or the snack pantry (which is also a working kitchen.)

Porsche is at work when Kinn comes back from the office, as he usually is on Thursday nights.  There’s a bodyguard waiting for him outside his door, one of the kids whose name escapes Kinn.  Kinn just raises his eyebrow to elicit a report.

“Khun Vegas said he had permission to use your kitchen,” the kid says, and then goes on at the expression Kinn must be making.  “P’Chan, um…”

“I did give him permission,” Kinn says, trying not to laugh.  “Tell P’Chan I dismissed you.  My cousin isn’t going to come at me with a frying pan.”

“Yes, K’Kinn,” the bodyguard says, looking royally relieved to be out of the middle of a three-way fight between the head of the main family, the head of the minor family and the head of security.  Kinn idly makes a note to ask P’Chan what this kid did to get on his shitlist.  “Have a good evening, sir.”

Kinn pushes the door open to a good smell.  “Honey, I’m home,” he calls, to hear Vegas swear at him.

“Fuck off,” Vegas says, and pops out of the kitchen.  “These are shitty fucking knives, Annakin, do you never get them sharpened?  Can’t your armsmaster do kitchenware?”

“I didn’t realize they got dull if they weren’t used on people,” Kinn says, and pulls up the barstool that’s recently materialized in the corner of the kitchen for him to loiter on.

“You’re an idiot,” Vegas tells him, and shoves a cutting board at him.  “Cut the ends off the beans.”

Kinn’s not sure why they’re cooking, but he doesn’t hate the idea of doing something with his hands.  It’s painstakingly slow to cut the ends off each individual bean, but it’s kind of satisfying to have them all stack up at the edge of the cutting board.

“Good,” Vegas says approvingly, and steals a bean off Kinn.  “Come watch me do this so you can make it for Porsche.”

“We have a chef,” Kinn snarks, but he stands up and comes to watch.  “And Porsche is fine.”

He’s still not sure what the food means, between Pete, Vegas and Porsche, but he knows it tends to show up when Porsche is having a hard time.  The tiffins seem more comforting to Porsche than all the beluga caviar and vintage champagne Kinn can drum up from the finest restaurants.  Even if he’s not sure what it means, he doesn’t hate the idea of being part of it.

“Of course he is, I had breakfast with him in that prison canteen you call the bodyguard mess.  But this is one of his favourites,” Vegas says, ignoring Kinn’s snark.  “Watch, it’s not that hard.”

It seems easy as Vegas does it, adding little piles of garlic and galangal and curry paste to the pan.  Kinn doesn’t think he’d be so deft.  But it smells good.

“Go set the table and I’ll call Pete,” Vegas says, when some magical transformation only he can see has occurred.  He says it like it’s normal for Kinn to have people over to eat in his apartment.

“Sure,” Kinn says, and comes back just in time to watch Vegas loving packing the leftovers into a tiffin for Porsche.  “You didn’t cook when we were kids,” he finally observes, tired of holding his tongue.

“Papa wouldn’t have liked it,” Vegas says, like he’s slowly teaching Kinn a lesson again.  “But Pete does.  So I do.  Get wine glasses.  Don’t look at me like that, you can have a taste without turning back into the world’s biggest asshat.”

Kinn expected that houseguests would make Porsche less willing to talk about what happened, but he’s wrong.  Porsche seems to relax more the longer Pete and Vegas are nearby.  

He and Pete goof off together when neither of them is working.  “Khun Porsche is swimming with Khun Pete,” the bodyguards tell Kinn when he comes home at night, and he goes to the big pool to find them trying to drown each other while Arm and Pol cheer them on.  “Khun Porsche and Khun Pete are at the shooting range,” the next day, and then: “Khun Porsche, Khun Pete and Khun Nu are trying to convince the carp to race.”

And Porsche seems to just spend time with Vegas to be near him, like he might with Kinn or Chay.  Sometimes they’re talking when Kinn finds them, but sometimes Porsche is simply lying on the sofa playing on his phone while Vegas takes mafia calls.  It’s reassuring, in a way, to see that all Porsche wants to do is hang out.

“Did you think more about the thing?” Porsche asks, one night in bed.

“A little,” Kinn says.  “Do you want to get into it right now?”

“There’s never a good time,” Porsche says, and shrugs, his shoulders rising and falling under his baggy t-shirt.  “We don’t have to.”

“No, we can,” Kinn says, and tries to figure out where to start.  Porsche slips into the bed and gets comfortable in a way that suggests he’s ready to sleep, and not that Kinn has violently triggered his PTSD again.  Kinn grabs his hand and kisses it because he’s still so sorry.

He thinks, because he still has no idea how to explain.  “When I was young, the only person in the world who scared me was my grandfather,” he starts.

It’s important, somehow, to tell Porsche about Grandfather, so Kinn tries to find the words.  He talks about how terrifying his grandfather was, but also how he could be warm and loving.  He tells Porsche about Kom Theerapanyakun’s great affection for his mother, and how he’d hold Kinn in his lap while they watched Tankhun’s theatricals, and how he’d clap and cheer for those, and for Kinn’s rudimentary attempts at the guitar.  So like your mother, he’d say to them, smiling.

“I think he knew that Khun wasn’t straight,” Kinn says to Porsche.  He's not exactly sure what Khun is, besides definitely not hetersexual, but he know it's not the standard wiring.  “It was… I mean, it’s Khun.  But he didn’t really care.”

Grandfather was born in a brothel.  He’d run drugs and arms until his sons could marry socialites, but there was an artistic side to him, too.  He’d loved for Mama to show him abstract canvases coming up to auction, and she’d once arranged for them all to have a private showing of an impressionist and early modern exhibition.  “They broke all the fucking rules,” Grandfather said, laughing, and shocked the docent.

Maybe, if Grandfather lived, he’d have wanted Khun to marry and have children, but Kinn didn’t think he cared who anyone fucked.  And even though Kinn didn’t really understand that he was gay yet, he’d known that he was like Khun, just in kind of an opposite way.  

Khun liked girl’s things and prettiness.  Kinn liked men’s things.  He liked the company of other men.  But he liked it in a different way than some of his friends at school, not in the same way they pretended girls had cooties as a cover for something else.  Girls were fine, and the sporty ones were fun, they just… weren’t for Kinn.

And for a little while after Grandfather died, that was the status quo.  Grandfather was gone, but now Papa ran Bangkok and therefore the world.  Tankhun was a feather-boa-wearing mafia heir, and Kinn was a polo-shirted future accountant who was taking far too much interest in Time Ratanapakorn.

And then It happened.  The kidnapping.  And everything changed.

“When we got Khun back,” Kinn starts, hoping Porsche can follow him.  He’s watching Kinn very keenly, and he nods when Kinn pauses, so maybe he can.  “After Khun came back, it was different.”

Kinn closes his eyes and swallows hard.  For a little while after Khun was kidnapped, Kinn had continued to believe that Papa could snap his fingers and have his brother returned immediately.  Maybe Mama had too, but hours had turned into days, and Kinn’s mother had cried herself hoarse.

And then Tankhun finally came back, but he wasn’t the same anymore.  Too much had happened to him.

“No one ever told me,” Kinn says, the secret feeling like ash in his mouth.  But he’s carried this around for so long, and who can he tell but Porsche?  “But I think they, uh….”

He can’t say raped my brother.   He sees why Porsche always just calls it that.   The words are too enormous and filthy to come out of his mouth.

He goes on.  “There was just something about the way Mama was…”

He’s never going to find words for those days after Khun came home.  There was just something about the way everyone talked about Khun after, like he was ruined, but also like he’d lost something.  Maybe it was his childhood innocence, but he’d never had very much.  Kinn’s not sure how he knows that it was a different kind of grief than it would have been for Khun's lost sense of safety, but he does.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too much,” Porsche says quietly.  The blinds are up, and Kinn can see how gutted his reflection looks in the window.  “I just wanted to know you thought about it.”

“I want to,” Kinn says, and his voice cracks embarrassingly, like he’s eleven again.  He can’t stand the city lights looking at him, so he leans across Porsche to grab the remotes for the blinds.  Porsche lets him stay shoulder-to-shoulder when he sits back up.

Kinn takes a deep breath, and dares to look up at Porsche.  All he sees in Porsche’s face is gentleness and understanding.  For once, the anger there isn’t for Kinn.  “And then it was never safe again.”

He’s never said that out loud to anyone before, but it feels so true on his tongue.  A wave of grief comes up with it, for his brothers, for his mother and what happened only a few years later, and for himself and the loss of his childhood.  But it also feels like a relief to finally acknowledge to someone how much those few days shaped the rest of Kinn’s life.

“I understand,” Porsche says.  “I… it’s not the same, but my mom and my papa…  So I understand.”

“I’m sorry that you do,” Kinn tells him, and has to just sit and breathe before he can go on.

Chapter Text

Kinn is eleven.  He’s with his English tutor when P’Chan bursts into the room, Kim on his hip and his phone in his hand.  “K’Kinn is secure, ma’am,” he says, presumably speaking to Kinn’s mother, and extends his elbow to Kinn in a come with me gesture.

Kinn stands up, and looks at his tutor, wondering if he has homework tonight, if he needs to bring his exercise book.  “Leave it, Kinn,” P’Chan says firmly, and hangs up his phone.  He didn’t always call Kinn khun when he was really little, but since Kinn started school Chan hasn’t nonged him or left off an honorific.  Somehow this informality convinces Kinn the situation is serious and he drops his pencil on the floor in his haste to come to Chan.  If shit’s going down, he’s safe with his phi.

They take the stairs down to Papa’s office.  Kinn knows Chan prefers the stairs, because he likes getting exercise, but this doesn’t feel like phi getting his steps in and bringing Kinn along for the ride.  Chan’s out of his uniform, for one, in a tac vest and cargo pants, and he’s hurrying Kinn along at a jog, his grip on Kinn’s shoulder just shy of painful.

They meet Mama right as they come out of the stairwell.  Chan pushes Kinn towards her and hands her Kim.  “I’ll find him, ma’am,” he says, and is gone.  Later, Kinn realizes that Chan said nothing about finding Tankhun safe or alive, but it escapes him in the moment. For another few hours, Kinn will believe P’Chan can fix anything.

“Who?” Kinn asks, looking for Papa and P’Khun to come out of the elevator.  His brother’s school goes a little later than Kinn’s, because of the extracurriculars, but he should be getting home right about now.  Whatever problem there is, Hia can calm Mama down, and he’ll understand the situation a million times better than Kinn does.  When Tankhun gets here - 

His mother takes a deep breath.  Kinn has seen her stressed before - they’ve spent a couple of afternoons in a panic room - but never so obviously distraught.  His first thought is that something happened to Papa, and Tankhun will have to run the mafia.  Even though Khun is big and impossibly mature, he’s only 13.

Erika, who is his mother’s head of security now that P’Chan is with Pa, hands Mama a tissue.  Mama hides her face in it for a second, and Kim makes a small distressed noise.  “Don’t cry, Mae,” he says, in a small high voice, and pats her hand.  “Don’t cry.”

Mama pulls her face away from her hands and tries to smile.  “Don’t worry, my sweethearts, but someone has taken Tankhun for ransom.  Your father is sorting it all out…”

Her voice breaks and she hides her face in her hands again.  Kim looks up at Kinn like he’s not parsing the information, still ineffectually patting Mama’s hand.  Kinn stands, frozen, just for a second.  He’s never seen his mother cry like this.

And then he knows what to do.  “Mae, don’t cry,” he says, and puts his hand on her shoulder.  She gathers him in and holds on so tight Kinn almost can’t breathe.  Kinn doesn’t want her to let go, despite the discomfort.  He can’t quite say why.  “Papa will handle it.”

For the first hour, Kinn believes the story that Papa is handling everything.  And then one of Mama’s highly-trusted female bodyguards comes to take Kim back upstairs to the nursery for his snack, and Kinn and Mama start to hear some of the details from Erika.  Kinn’s not sure he’s old enough to hear this, but Mama is holding both his hands so tight, like Kinn is about to float away from her.  He doesn’t know how to pull away.

“His whole detail is dead, ma’am,” Erika says, grimly.  “P’Chan says it looks like a surprise attack.  He can’t definitively say if Khun Nu was injured, but his suspicion is no.  There’s no sign of him.”

Kinn suddenly can’t catch his breath.  He’s known that sometimes the bodyguards get hurt, but not the ones that look after him and Mama and his brothers, like P’Chan and Erika and Vee and Mars.  He knows those bodyguards.  They pick him up from school and make sure he eats his snack before his fencing lessons.  Mars sometimes brings Kinn a milkshake if traffic is good and he can stop at McDonald’s before school lets out.

Mars was on Khun’s detail today.  That means Mars is dead.

And Kinn can’t cry about it, because his mother is going to pieces.  “P’Khun is okay, Mae,” he murmurs, and squeezes her hands.  “Don’t cry.”

For the next hour or two, he waits for Papa to come and tell them that it was a mistake, that the dead men weren’t Mars and Chai and Fifth, that P’Khun is playing a trick on them and will be grounded.  But when Papa comes, he looks as haggard as Mae.  “I’m sorry, my darling,” he says, and Mama finally lets go of Kinn to cling to him instead.  “I’ll find him, I’m sorry.  Ssh, ssh, be strong for the boys.”

Kinn stands in Mae’s shadow.  He wants to feel relieved that Papa is here, but Papa doesn’t look invincible.  He’s not saying that the problem is fixed, or that everything will be better soon, or any of the comforting things he’s supposed to be saying.

Mae is still crying, but Papa looks around her and sees Kinn.  He holds out his hand and pulls Kinn in, too.  “Your mother needs you,” he says.  “Can you be a good boy and take care of her for me?”

“Of course, Papa,” Kinn says.  This was always Khun’s job before.

Mama recovers her composure soon after, like a switch being flipped.  She asks for Kim to be brought downstairs and orders a bodyguard to bring Kinn his dinner.  She doesn’t cry again, that Kinn knows of anyway, until Tankhun is safely home and in a hospital bed.

But everything is different after that afternoon.  Kinn isn’t a child anymore.  His parents can’t guarantee his safety.  If he’s lost, P’Chan won’t be there in half an hour to save him.

And when Khun comes home, he’s so afraid.  Kinn’s not exactly sure what they did to him, except for the round burn scars he sees sometimes on Khun’s wrists and neck.  He doesn’t…

The memory dissolves.  “Kinn,” Porsche says, distantly.  “Kinn.  Wake up.”

So Kinn tries to.  It’s hard.  He doesn’t really dream, not like his brothers do, but…

“Wake up,” Porsche’s voice says.  “Ai’Kinn, you’re okay.  Don’t cry.  It’s just a bad dream.”

Kinn tries to take a deep breath but he can’t.  It feels like there’s something sitting on his chest, maybe the cat he was never allowed to have.  Maybe a medium sized dog it would never be fair to own.

“It’s okay, it’s just a dream,” Porsche says.  “Open your eyes?”

Kinn does but his eyelids feel so heavy.  Everything feels too slow and effortful, but he manages to reach out for Porsche.  He’s still fuzzy, but in the middle of the night, he knows what he needs.  He needs to put this down for a while.  He needs…

Porsche takes his hand and squeezes.  “I’ve got you,” he says, and Kinn, half-awake, feels like Porsche is pulling the dream out of him.  He’s taking everything that happened to Kinn that day, and everything that happened to his brother.  He's taking all the stress and responsibility Kinn wasn’t ready for.

It’s such a relief.  It’s such a fucking relief.

Kinn finally manages to blink his eyes open, and Porsche is there, cloudy in his vision.  He didn’t leave, not like Tankhun and Mama and Kim and Pa.

And Kinn feels so bad for putting everything on him.  It finally all makes sense, in the hazy, middle of the night way.  The rape, the minor family, all the fighting after.  It was Kinn trying to put his shit down over and over and over again without asking Porsche if it was okay to have him hold it.

“I’m sorry,” he tries to say.  He also thinks he might be having a heart attack.  If these are his last words, they’re good ones.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Porsche says, gently.  He’s not acting like Kinn is having a heart attack, so maybe he doesn’t know.  “Can you take a deep breath?”

He’s looking at Kinn very gently, and that makes the impossible tightness in Kinn’s chest ease.  Kinn looks over, checking that the curtains are closed, and then crawls into Porsche’s lap.  He’s trembling and he’s soaked with sweat and he can’t breathe.

“Yeah, there you go,” Porsche says, like this is a normal thing for Kinn to be doing.  “Feel here?  Can you breathe with me?”

Kinn realizes that Porsche has dragged Kinn’s hand up to his chest.  He can feel it rising and falling and tries to force himself to stop panting and breathe in time.  He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him.  He isn’t like this.  He doesn’t get to be.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have talked about that right before bed,” Porsche muses, a long time later.  “You wanna go hide in the shower for a bit?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and wipes his eyes.  He breaks down again once he can blame it on the steam.  Porsche wraps around his back and doesn’t speak, just makes small comforting noises.

Kinn is the crier of the family, but he hates it.  It scares him to be out of control as much as maybe he needs to do this.  The fear makes the helpless tears worse.

“Did you dream about your mom?” Porsche asks, when it’s becoming obvious that Kinn is not going to calm down on his own.  He’s still draped comfortingly over Kinn’s back while Kinn cushions his head on his forearm and sobs into the shower tiles.

Kinn nods.  Porsche has seen him lose his shit before, after his dad died, other times, and somehow it’s always about her.  He misses her so much.

“Can you tell me?” Porsche prompts gently.

It’s still too big to put into words.  Kinn shakes his head.  “Sad,” he rasps.  That’s all he’s got.

“Sure,” Porsche says.  “It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’m here.  Be sad.”

Kinn’s so fucking sad.  He’s felt like this a lot, since that horrible night.  And it’s never been safe to show it, ever.

Mama would never have told him to be strong for her, and she was so careful to still make time for Kinn and Kim once Khun was home with them.  But Kinn could see how much Khun needed her and how rocked she was by what happened.  He always assumed Khun would get better, and then she’d be there for him again.

And then she died.

When Tawan betrayed him, Kinn was starting to get to the place where some of this could have come out.  And he can see now how much more scared he felt after, when the place he’d been making safe for himself turned out not to be.  In a way, it hurt him as much as losing his mom.

He and Porsche have been together almost eight years, and it’s not like this is exactly a secret from Porsche.  But their relationship has been so shaky almost since the beginning.  It’s never been a good time to test the solidity of the ground holding them up.

It’s still not a good time.  It’s a Monday night, and Kinn has to work tomorrow.  He shouldn’t be sobbing and choking out snot into his shower drain.

But Porsche is here, which he wasn’t as the head of the minor family.  They were in a fight, but they resolved it.  And Kinn doesn’t feel like he’s one mistake away from everything ending.

He feels calmer after that thought.  He’s been one bad day away from the end of it all since he was eleven.  And tonight he’s not.

The weight on his chest starts to lift.  “Let’s go back to bed,” Kinn finally mumbles.  Once he’s there, he texts Khun to see if he can take some meetings tomorrow.  Maybe it would be okay to just rest for a bit, after all.  Just for a couple hours.

Porsche is still asleep when Kinn wakes up.  There were so many mornings when he woke up and Porsche wasn’t in bed with him.  The bed was cold and Kinn was alone.

Before they actually fell back asleep, Porsche spent fifteen minutes texting with Tankhun.  Kinn has been told to take the whole day off, and tomorrow, and the guilt of it is already eating at him.

He shifts and puts his head on Porsche’s chest, intending to sleep for a while longer, but it wakes Porsche up.  Kinn has a brief moment of feeling like he can’t even sleep properly, but Porsche wraps his arms tight around Kinn and makes a pleased noise.

“They didn’t bring the tray in,” he notes sleepily.  The bump and clatter of the cups when they’re set down always wakes him up, even if he falls right back asleep now.

“I can call down for it now,” Kinn offers, even though he’s still red-eyed and probably quite puffy and doesn’t want anyone to look at him.  He’s not good at hiding that he was crying.

“I can make some breakfast,” Porsche says, and kisses the top of Kinn’s head.  “You want it now?”

“Sure,” Kinn says, and then a little self-consciously, “Vegas showed me how to fry eggs.  Do you want me to help?”

“I’d love help,” Porsche says, and they bump into each other in the kitchen while Kinn carefully fries eggs and Porsche makes rice.

The kitchen doesn’t have windows, which is easier for Kinn.  He caught a glimpse of himself in the living room windows, and he doesn’t look like Kinn Theerapanyakun.  He cried so hard he burst a blood vessel in his eye, and his face is all swollen, and he’s in just a pair of boxers, out of his usual silk pajamas.

“Can we eat in here?” he asks Porsche, self-consciously.  Chay and Kim eat in their kitchen, right?  And Kinn can’t take the windows right now.

“Sure,” Porsche says, and hops up on the counter, because there’s only one bar stool and no table anyway.  It should feel awkward, but Porsche kicks his foot out to brace on Kinn’s stool, and instead it just feels cozy in a way that KInn hasn’t experienced probably since his mom died.

After they eat, Porsche washes all the dishes by hand.  “I’m gonna call down and ask housekeeping not to come, is that okay?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at Kinn.

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and only realizes he should have been drying the dishes when Porsche picks up another kind of towel and starts doing it.  “I can put them back.”

He doesn't know where most of them go, but Porsche doesn't make fun of him, just helps Kinn nest the bowls and find the right slots for the spoons.

“Can we talk about some of that from yesterday?” Porsche asks, while they dry the dishes.  “I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to give you nightmares, I know…”

“It wasn't about our shit,” Kinn says and doesn't know how to go on.  He's not sure if that's good or bad, if it should have been about what Porsche said when they fought, about the rape being because of something that's gone wrong in his brain.

“Yeah, you kept calling for your brother,” Porsche says.  “I'm sorry, I didn't think it would get so heavy for you.  I thought it was more just like, mafia bullshit.”

Kinn laughs a little.  “Yeah, I'm sure there's some of that in there too,” he says.  “It's just… it's hard to…”

“It's hard to put it into words?” Porsche asks, and hands Kinn a dry fork.  He stops, and puts his hands on his hips.  “It’s… I don’t think I realized how much it was wound up inside you, whatever it is.”

“Yeah,” Kinn says.  “It’s just like…”

Suddenly his father slides into perfect focus, in a way Kinn has never been able to see him before.  Korn in Kinn’s mind has been a perfect loving father, and he’s been a monster, but Kinn has never ever thought of his father as only a man.

“Pa was always worried about how people thought about us,” Kinn says slowly, and suddenly feels the weight of that.  “Grandfather played the game, and so did Mama, but I don’t think they cared about it in the same way Pa did.”

“I always kind of thought it was your grandfather who fucked you up,” Porsche says.  “Vegas talked about him a bit, so I wasn’t surprised when you said you were scared of him.”

Kinn nods.  “Yeah, I mean, he was… I was really terrified of him,” he says, slowly.  “But, I mean…”

He spends so long trying to put back into words how much Grandfather saw him as his mother’s son as well as his father’s.  Everything that Tankhun (and Kinn) were, Grandfather looked at as proof that the Theerapanyakuns had become the kind of people who could be interested in art and soft men.  He didn’t totally understand Mama and her sons, but he liked that he could touch the high class world he’d fought for years to shove his children into through them.

“Ah, I see,” Porsche says, when Kinn starts talking himself in circles.  “But your dad…?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says.  In his mind’s eye, he can see his father in one of his soft sweaters, looking every inch a rich man with generations of rich men behind him.

But he wasn’t.  Kinn’s always been part of a world with private jets and private security men following him around.  To the manor born, Vegas would say, in his international school English, because that’s what they both were, through their mothers.  Mama was the better match, of course, because Vegas’ Ma was an unsuitably young socialite Uncle Gun knocked up, but…

But Pa wasn’t born into this.  Kinn’s never thought of that before.

It makes something make sense in his head, if he thinks of his father being anxious instead of omniscient.  He always thought of his father as something like a god, all-knowing and all-seeing.  If he really thinks about that, the all-seeing one was probably P’Chan, and Kinn’s father was good at turning a loss into another step in the plan.

He says as much to Porsche, and Porsche nods.  “Yeah, I get it,” Porsche says.  “It’s hard to think of them as just people, isn’t it?”  Kinn nods.  “I guess I never thought of your father as not fitting in.”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and shrugs.  He never thought of it before either, how tired his father would look after the big society events Kinn fills his calendar with, and the way he handed them to Kinn as soon as he could and never took them back.  And although he remembers the awful things Grandfather used to say about Papa, he never thought of how they might have affected his father.

The Theerapanyakuns had arrived by the time Kinn was born.  They lived in the compound, and the business was growing to the point that Korn's time was largely spent talking about hotels and car sales in a boardroom.  And Papa was a diplomat - Kinn hardly remembers him needing to pick up a gun.

But that's not how Papa grew up.  The Theerapanyakuns were rich, yes, but they weren't wealthy.  Papa bashed heads and broke knees just like Uncle Gun did, and then had to pretend that wasn't a part of him once the legitimate business outgrew the illicit one.  What would it have been like, to bring the violence of Grandfather's world into the boardrooms and ballrooms of Mama's?

Kinn doesn't know.

“I remember coming out to him,” he says to Porsche, all in a rush.  They’ve never really talked about this before - it’s not like Porsche has a coming out story to trade with him.  Kinn is even the one who told Porsche’s Pa’s grave, if he remembers properly.  He's so fucking shitty.

“Yeah?” Porsche asks, from where he’s perched on the counter again.  “I always kind of wondered if it was part of the grand plan.”

Kinn shakes his head.  “I think it was the one thing I did that really surprised him,” he says, quietly.  He was so nervous that he barely remembers what he said, but he remembers Papa’s face after, the surprised o of his mouth that he’d quickly hidden.  He remembered how much more nervous he was that Papa didn’t already know.

And then he remembers Papa standing up and embracing him.  He hadn’t expected that.  He didn’t get a hug after his mother died, he wasn’t expecting one for introducing a new weakness into their dangerous world.

He remembers crying, because he is the crier, and asking Pa if he still loved Kinn.  “Of course I do,” Pa said, sounding a little flustered, but also genuinely caring.  “Kinn, Kinn.  This doesn’t change how I feel about you.  Not an iota.”

Papa was never cold with them as kids, not like Uncle Gun could be with Vegas.  He wasn't the most hands-on father, but Kinn remembers his father sitting at the edge of his bed, stroking Kinn's hair as Kinn tried to stay awake just a little longer so he could finish telling Papa about his day.  Kinn never doubted that Papa loved him.

Not until the day when Mama died.  “He didn't even…” Kinn says, and looks up at Porsche.

“Sweetheart, he did kill your mom,” Porsche says, which somehow Kinn has never put together before.  It makes sense now, but there were so many years that Kinn had it mixed up in his head with what happened to Tankhun and how he was feeling about Time.  Papa had never been cold before, so Kinn must have done something to make him that way.  He'd never wondered if it was all just too much for his father.

“Yeah, but if I…” Kinn says, and has to swallow down the terror he feels at saying “if I bottomed” in the light of day in his kitchen.  “Then…”

Porsche gets this very weary look, just for a second, and then hides it away before Kinn can start trying to apologize for it.  “Kinn, you know that even being straight doesn't protect someone from sexual violence, right?  It's not about sex, it's about control.”

“Yeah, but,” Kinn starts, but Porsche gets this look like he's seen things, and he did lead the minor family for five years.  “Did…”

“Vegas doesn't do that, Pete wouldn't like it,” Porsche reassures him.  “That all got mixed up together, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says.  It did.  It's been a mess in his head for years, thinking that he wasn't safe and never would be safe, and that somehow rape would be the punishment for even a minute of weakness, and that his father would stop loving him and his family would be gone, like Tankhun and then his mom were.  He's just never stopped before to untangle all the strings.

He never got to come out to his mother, and he’ll never get to ask his father the question he’s thinking now.  Were you so restrictive because you were scared? He asks the universe.  Were you hard on me because you were trying to keep me safe?

He’s never going to know, but maybe the answer is yes.  Maybe Papa loved Kinn, and he was a shitty father, and guilty over what he did.  Maybe he was just a man, and all of his awful little stories and competition with Vegas were him trying to keep Kinn safe from a world Kinn never lived in.

And maybe it’s okay to let that go.

Kinn takes a deep breath.  When he lets it out, he feels like he's vomited up a solid lump of black tar onto the floor of the kitchen.  And he feels like he spent so many years choking on it, and like he can finally breathe again.

“You feeling better?” Porsche asks, and slithers off the counter to give Kinn a friendly head bump, and a kiss.  “Was it good to get that out?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and wraps his arms around Porsche's waist to just hold on for a while.

Porsche smooths out Kinn's wild air-dried hair and kisses the top of his head.  “We gotta stop talking about this because you're making me feel sympathy for your Pa,” he says.  “You wanna go fool around?”

Chapter Text

They do fool around, a little bit, because Kinn likes feeling wanted.  They sleep some more, and then Porsche calls the aunties at the spa, and they go down and Kinn has his face depuffed.  Porsche lies on the bed next to him and chats to the aunties about his deepening smile lines like he’s drawing fire.

Kinn shouldn’t enjoy that Porsche is doing this for him, but he does.  He feels like he’s always out in front of the troops, standing as a shield for everyone he cares about.  Just once, it’s nice to feel like someone is shielding him.

That’s not fair, he tells himself, as they make their way upstairs for dinner with Tankhun.  His weirdest cousin has now spent days teaching Kinn to fry eggs and use the rice cooker.  His brother dropped everything to take over his meetings so Kinn could sleep in for a few hours and visit the spa.

Kinn still feels low about that.  He doesn’t want to be a burden to his loved ones.  He doesn’t want to take more than he’s invited to, not ever again.  Not from Porsche, but also not from Kim, not from Khun, not from Chay or P’Chan.  Not even from Vegas or Pete.

He and Porsche get out of the elevator and cross the lobby to Tankhun’s suite instead of heading home.  Kinn still wants to hide himself away, a little, but he also wants to check on Khun and make sure that today hasn’t been too much for him, that it’s really okay that Kinn takes tomorrow off, after waking his brother in the middle of the night to beg him to take Kinn’s morning meetings by text.

The one saving grace to this evening is that Kim and Chay are hanging out with Vegas and Pete, so there won’t be little brothers.  In the first week of Pete and Vegas' residence, Kinn was surprised how much time Kim and Chay spent at the tower just to hang out with Pete and Vegas.  But he supposes it makes sense.  Kim and Vegas have always had an understanding, and Chay did split time between the main and minor family houses for several years.  The four of them (and Macau) have relationships outside of the ones Kinn and Khun have with Vegas.

And as much as Kinn loves Kim, he’s grateful Kim isn’t here to see him with the puffy face and the bloodshot eye.  It’s easier for him to be a pathetic wet mess in front of Khun only.   Kim and Chay deserve to think that their older siblings have everything handled.

Porsche gives a jaunty knock and pushes the door open.  “Hey!” he says, and holds still for Tankhun to give him a triple air-kiss, one hand ghosting over the small of Khun’s back.  For a second Kinn is worried that he said too much last night and that Porsche is being too careful.  Tankhun would never want that.

But Tankhun doesn’t react like anything is different.  He draws away like Porsche’s hand is a gentle rub to a cat’s belly, not unwanted but not permitted either.  Porsche lets him go without comment.  Kinn realizes that this is always how Porsche has treated his big brother, as though Tankhun was once an alley cat and will never quite be habituated to people, and as though Porsche will spend the rest of both their lives pss pss pssing him anyway.

He thinks back to Khun admitting that he was holding Porsche at arm’s length while the two of them figured themselves out.  And he thinks of Porsche admitting that it was difficult being on the outside with the family, and having their relationship go to shit at the same time.  And he feels an enormous surge of affection that Porsche has spent so many years still making an effort with Khun.

Chan is sitting on the sofa, a drink in his hand, and he stands when Tankhun has finished giving Kinn his ritual welcome-home sleeve-beating.  “That’s quite the bloodshot eye,” Chan says, and takes a quick step across the living area to take Kinn’s chin into his hand.

Kinn usually feels too much like he needs to be tough to ever let himself take comfort in things like this.  It was something Papa tried to weave into the fabric of Kinn’s being.  Image, image, image.

It still feels surprising to think of it, but Papa was just a man.  A lonely man, even before Uncle Gun died.  Maybe even before Mama died.

Kinn feels like he can see now where Papa’s lessons were useful and where they weren’t.  They’re on firmer footing than they’ve ever been.  Despite his two-day freakout about smiling too much in a hallway, the image he projects is airtight, and having Vegas underfoot for the last week or so has convinced him that even his cousin softens out when he’s at home.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s okay for the three people Kinn loves and trusts most in the world to have some indication that he enjoys their comfort.  But Kinn has no idea how to show that, as much as he’s been enjoying all the attention he’s been receiving today.  He’s probably never going to have the words to say yes, please make sure I’m okay.

But he doesn’t need them.  Chan has Kinn’s face in his hands, and Kinn has been an open book to him since he was four.  Chan shifts, telegraphing what he’s going to do, and reels Kinn in for a hug.

Kinn exhales and lets Chan pull him in close and tight, like he used to do when Kinn was just a middle brother and didn’t have to be so tough all the time.  Chan doesn’t ask him more questions or make him explain that he burst a blood vessel in his eye crying.  It reminds Kinn a little of the night Mama died, when Papa just walked out.

But Chan was there.  And he let Kinn collapse howling into his arms and held him safe and tight.  Chan was the one who tucked him into bed after, and Chan sat with him until Kinn cried himself to sleep when Kim and Khun couldn’t.

Kinn isn’t going to howl tonight, but it’s nice to feel he isn’t all alone again.  He still feels rough, but no one is demanding he hide it or shape up.  No one’s making him feel like he’s letting the family down.  Somehow it feels more… manageable, if he’s allowed to vent these feelings once in a while.

Chan lets him go, but keeps his arm wrapped around Kinn’s shoulders.  “You’re taking tomorrow off too, so why don’t we work out around noon?”

“Okay,” Kinn says, like he didn’t come here half-thinking he’d protest until they let him go into the office tomorrow.  Tankhun looks like he has things handled.  And Kinn could really use another day off.

Tankhun takes Kinn’s elbow and draws him to the table.  “Come eat,” he says, and Kinn looks over his shoulder to make sure Porsche is right there behind him.

In bed that night, Porsche flops into bed and rolls over so he’s half-on, half-off of Kinn’s chest.  He fusses for a few minutes, pushing Kinn’s hair out of his face and rubbing their noses together.  He wasn’t overbearing at dinner, but he was more solicitous than usual, putting bites on Kinn’s plate and keeping a hand on his knee, making sure Kinn knew he was there, too.

It makes Kinn feel like he’s offered the most painful, vulnerable part of himself up to Porsche, and that Porsche has taken it and has been holding it gently, carefully, all day in his cupped hands.  It makes the fight they had feel more worth it than their awful past fights, where Kinn would push and Porsche would go silent.  They’re finally fucking getting somewhere.

Porsche gives Kinn another sniff kiss, and then fixes him with a warm but firm gaze.  “I'm really glad you got all of that out,” he says.  “Do you feel better?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and leans up for another kiss.  “Thanks for waking me up.”

“You're always there for me,” Porsche says, easily.  “I’m sorry that got so heavy right before bed, I kind of thought when we talked about it, it was going to be more about like, discovering your prostate and getting over your germaphobia a little bit.”

Kinn got a bit wrapped up in the emotional, and it’s sort of good to have the conversation turn back to the physical.  “Um, yeah,” he says, because he has been enjoying discovering his prostate.  “I like it when you finger me.”

He should probably say more, but it’s hard to describe the way it makes him feel safe and cared for in bed.  It’s still so alien to Kinn to let someone else take care of his pleasure.

Porsche’s mouth quirks up, his expression sly and knowing, and Kinn feels his face heat.  “I can tell you like it,” Porsche says, and the quirk turns into a full grin.  “So getting fucked.  Is it something you want to try tonight or tomorrow?”

Kinn already feels so stripped-raw and vulnerable.  He shakes his head.  He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this shy about sex before, but to be fair, before Porsche, there was very little emotion to it.  Even with Tawan it was never like this.

“Sure,” Porsche says, and leans down for another kiss.  Kinn lets his hand run down to Porsche’s ass, and the kiss turns a little dirtier, and Kinn gets his dick sucked for the second time that day.  He feels like he’s fallen into a parallel universe after the comparative drought of the last few years, but as he crawls down the bed to reciprocate, he hopes this universe’s Kinn will forgive him for not switching back.

He has dinner with Tay, who for once leaves his harem out of it.  “What’s on your mind?” Tay asks, as they sprawl out on Tay’s sofa afterwards.  “Everything good with Porsche?”

Kinn goes cherry red, and all of his words dry up.  He’s scared if he says what he wants out loud, Tay will tease him, and even though that’s usually fun, he can’t handle it right now.  He still feels so raw about what he wants.

There’s a second where Kinn can tell Tay is about to give him a hard time about the blush, but then Tay registers his expression.  “Kinn, honey,” he says, his voice all sweet concern that Kinn doesn’t deserve.  “What’s the matter?”

Kinn has to take a big swallow of the fancy juice Tay buys him and then play with the bottle for a few minutes before the embarrassment burns off enough he can speak again.  “I thought a lot about what we talked about,” he says, knowing Tay will know what he means.  “I um.  Thanks for saying I was an asshole.”

“Anytime,” Tay says, his dark eyes still full of concern.  “Are you okay?”

Kinn nods and then shakes his head, and then shrugs, staring down at his hands.  “I uh.  I talked to Porsche about it too,” he starts, haltingly.  “Do you remember when I was thinking about coming out to Papa?”

“Yeah,” Tay says.  “I remembered how worried you were.  You asked if you could stay with me if he kicked you out.”

Kinn nods.  He still doesn’t know why he’d anticipated such a negative reaction, except that being gay could be perceived as a weakness, and Papa didn’t let him show weakness.  “I’ve been thinking about that,” he tells Tay, and manages to glance up at him, away from his own hands, just for a second before the embarrassment overwhelms him again.  “I was really relieved he didn’t want to get rid of me.”

“Yeah, I remember that too,” Tay says, and reaches out to put his hand on Kinn’s knee.  “I mean, it’s good, obviously, that he didn’t throw you out…”

There’s a but there that Tay doesn’t have to say for Kinn to hear.  That’s okay, it’s what Kinn is trying to work himself up to talk about.  “I remember him saying that a husband could be just like a wife, and we could do surrogacy and still have a child,” Kinn says.  At the time it was a far-off and bewildering concept, like he was talking about Kinn's future as an astronaut or a deep sea diver, but now that he’s a childless thirty-five year old, it mostly just hurts that his father’s first response had been to shove Kinn into a different dutiful son box.  “He said nothing had to change.”

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about?” Tay asks gently.  “Maybe about disappointing him?”

Kinn can’t say that out loud.  But it’s what he’s been thinking.  “Do you ever worry about being a bad son?” he asks, tightly.  He knows that he shouldn’t, that it’s not allowed anymore because of what Korn did.  But he still doesn’t want to disappoint his papa.

“Of course,” Tay says immediately.  “Of course I do.  I’d love to say that I only live for myself and all that Instagram bullshit, but I’m a Lerttavinont too.  I think I understand what you’re saying.”

Kinn nods, tightly, and keeps staring miserably down at his hands.  “How do you…?”

“Well, first of all, I remind myself that I’m most useful as a living Lerttavinont,” Tay says, the casualness of the statement making Kinn’s head spin.

His eyes shoot up from his hands, and he stares into Tay’s face, trying to read his expression.  “Are you okay?” he asks, because Tay is his best friend in the world, and selfishly all Kinn can think is that he has no idea what he’d do without him.

“I’m good now,” Tay says, and reaches out to pat Kinn’s hand.  “I had some dark moments with Time.  You know how upset my parents were about me dumping him.”

Kinn flips his hand over and grabs Tay’s.  He feels so guilty that he hadn’t realized, that he’d assumed Tay was genuine in his protestations that he couldn’t care less about Time’s cheating, that the alliance of the Lerttavinonts and the Ratanapakorns was worth the bullshit he put up with to secure it.  As far as Kinn can tell, Tay’s father and Time’s are close enough friends on their own that all their deals are secure.  There was never a need for Tay and Time to be given to one another, like their fathers were sealing a land deal in the classical era.

Tay squeezes Kinn’s hand.  “I’m fine, I promise,” he says.  “It was better once I’d done it and the worst had happened.  The hardest part was how I was building it up in my head.”

“I would have helped you,” Kinn says, his voice feeling stuck in his throat.

Tay smiles.  “After all that hullabaloo you made in high school about living with me, of course I knew you would,” he says, and tugs Kinn closer on the sofa.  “I talked to Khun about it and he said he’d hire me as a live-in decorator.  And of course, once I did it, it was fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Kinn says.  “I should have…”

“You’d just been kidnapped and locked in a freezer,” Tay says.  “I understand you had bigger fish to fry.  And you made so much time for me after I dumped him.  I’m not mad at you.”

Kinn nods and huddles closer to Tay, slouching so they can sit shoulder to shoulder.  “I talked to Porsche about him fucking me,” he admits.  Tay’s safe.  Tay won’t judge him.  “I’m… I’m really sorry for all the shit I said in high school.  I think I was scared of what I wanted.”

“I don’t want to scandalize you, but there’s nothing inherently submissive about bottoming,” Tay says.  “And if you don’t sleep with the nephew of Bangkok’s foremost gossip columnist, there’s a better chance of your personal business staying private.”

“It was just one time,” Kinn says.  “And I still think the agency should have disclosed that when I hired him.”

Tay bumps their shoulders together.  “I’m just teasing,” he says.  “Do you want me to talk you through the full how-to?  I know you’re uh… obsessive about cleanliness.”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, blushing scarlet again.  But that’s definitely been on his mind.  “Thanks.”

At home alone the next night, Kinn locks the front door, then the bedroom door, and then the ensuite.  And then he turns on the shower, and hides inside with a “gift” from Tay.  There’s more in a duffel bag he’s hidden in the back of a closet drawer, but this feels like a place he can start.

The “gift” is a butt plug, a little longer and wider than Porsche’s two fingers.  It fits easily in Kinn’s palm.  If he were to hold it up to his own mostly-soft cock, he could say it was petite or maybe even cute.

He hasn’t tried to finger himself since that night in Tokyo, in the hotel bathtub.  Yes, Porsche has done it, but that’s different.   That’s Porsche.

For a second, the world seems strange and too-large, like it did that winter night in Tokyo.  Kinn closes his eyes and tries to will his surroundings to seem non-threatening.  He's in his own fucking shower, he doesn't need to lose his shit.

Of course that doesn’t work, so he shoves the stupid toy aside and sits down on the shower bench with his eyes closed, trying to get his breathing and heart-rate under control.  He unboxed the toy at Tay’s so he wouldn’t have to dispose of the packaging.  All he’s done is take it out of the bag Tay lent him and gotten naked to shower.  He feels pathetic for being so nervous over nothing.

He curls up on the shower bench and presses his head into his knees, concentrating on his breathing, like P’Chan told him to do when he practiced shooting.  In, out.  In, out.  Hold.

He cracks his eyes open, and all that he can see is tile.  It’s one of the few places in the apartment that isn’t somehow mirrored.  All that's there is the slightly rough stone Kinn can feel under his ass, and the door that’s fogged up with hot steam, and soap and shampoo and Kinn.  No one is watching.  No one can see.

Kinn takes another deep breath, and wedges himself into the corner of the shower.  Maybe he won’t put it in, but he can just… touch himself there.   Get used to doing this without Porsche for emotional support.  Tay said it would be easier to fuck if he wasn’t super nervous, and there was a second after he got into the shower where Kinn could taste iron in his mouth and feel his heart hitting his sternum.

He grabs the lube they hide behind the shampoo and uses it to trace the pucker of his asshole.  He has to bite his lip against the sensation - it feels good, it always does.  He likes it.

Maybe that’s what Kinn was worried about in high school, that he’d like this too much and -

No.  He focuses back on his fingers.  He doesn’t need to think about all that right now.

His fingers sink in.  The angle isn’t as easy as when Porsche does it, but it still feels good, that now-familiar hot tight burn.

Kinn tries to turn his wrist to pump in and out, but he’s pretzeled up around his own thighs and he can’t, not very well.  He turns and eyes the toy on the bench next to him.  It would be easier if he just…

No thinking.  He picks the thing up, gives it a quick coat of lube, and presses it against his hole.  There’s a second of resistance, and then…

Kinn winces.  It feels big, and the stretch is more, and he’s not sure if…

His leg slips on the bench a little, and the thing slides in deeper, glancing against Kinn’s prostate, and that… Oh, that’s…

He shifts around, getting his knee on the bench so he can bend over and press his forehead against the shower wall.  He has to pause again for a moment and remind himself that no one can see him.  No one is going to come in and laugh at him for bending over for it.

When his head is on right again, he pumps the thing in and out a few times, trying to find his prostate.  He does, and it feels good in a shivery, electric way, like it does when Porsche plays with him, and…

Ignoring how stupid he must look, Kinn grits his teeth and jerks himself off to the rhythm of the thing sliding across his prostate.  He has his jerk-off go-to fantasies, but he doesn’t seem to need them right now.  There’s just the animal movement of his body, forward into his hand, and back against the stupid little toy, and…

Kinn bites his lip hard as his orgasm tears through him, shaking him with pleasure.  He feels so good it’s hard to catch his breath.  He has to ease the toy out and sit down on the bench so he doesn't fall over.

He’s still paranoid that someone will see what he’s been up to, so still flushed and breathing hard, he cleans the toy off and sneaks into the dressing room to hide it back in the duffel from Tay.

And then he gets back in the shower to wash up and think.  Tay suggested maybe… this, and deciding by himself if he liked it or not.

Kinn did.  His whole body feels pleasantly loose and fuzzy.  He wishes Porsche was here with him, but otherwise he feels great.

Great, but not different.  Not unlike himself.  He’s…

There’s a distant but loud knock on the bedroom door.  “Kinn?” Porsche yells.  “What are you doing in there?  Can I come in and get my headphones?”

Kinn freezes for a second.  It’s just Porsche, and there’s no evidence of what he was doing, but…

“Kinn?” Porsche shouts again, with another booming knock.  “You okay?  Why’d you lock the door?”

“Coming!” Kinn calls, steps out of the safe cocoon of his shower back into the real world.

Chapter Text

Kinn is still flushed and disheveled when he makes it out of the shower. He squelches across the hardwood to unlock the bedroom door, his heart in his throat.

Porsche is gonna know Kinn was up to something. And Kinn is pathetically worried Porsche will be angry.

He pauses for a second to take a deep breath, and hears Porsche shift on the other side of the bedroom door. “Kinn?” he says.

“Hey,” Kinn says, and finally flips the lock open. “Sorry.”

Porsche steps into the bedroom and hunts around their bedside table for his airpods. “I see you’ve gone on red alert around the apartment.”

Porsche is smiling as he says it. He's obviously just teasing. He can't actually know what Kinn was doing.

Kinn still feels like he's been caught in something bad. He can see himself in the window, and he's flushed crimson all the way down to his knees. He looks like a sunburnt tomato.

Porsche finds his headphones, but stops and gives Kinn a once-over. “Kinn?”

Kinn suddenly feels sick with shame, even though he's not sure why. Porsche has never had a problem with Kinn jerking off when they're apart. And it's Kinn who's made a thing about anal.

“Hey,” Porsche murmurs, and puts his hand on Kinn's back. “I'm home early, did I surprise you? I can text that I'm coming back if you want some privacy. You want me to go?”

Kinn very much does not want Porsche to leave. Even if he’s behaving like a stepped-on cat, there’s nothing he wants more than his boyfriend home early for the evening. He leans in and gives Porsche a hard kiss. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Porsche makes a happy surprised noise and kisses Kinn back. “Did you finish jerking off, or did I get you halfway through?”

Kinn is running out of blood to blush with, and he's not sure why he's blushing anyway, but somehow this makes him flush harder.

“I finished,” he says, because they're adult men in their 30s. It's not like Porsche doesn't know the shape of why Kinn locked the bedroom door while home alone on a Thursday night.

“Too bad,” Porsche says, and his mouth quirks up into an irresistible crooked little grin. “I would’ve helped.”

Kinn is so fucking helpless for that smile. He pulls Porsche close for another kiss, and then another. “I thought I was being subtle,” he grouses, when Porsche pulls away for a breath.

“So subtle,” Porsche laughs, and pulls his hand away from Kinn's lower back to indicate his damp, blushing disheveledness. “I'm a genius detective.”

“Of course you are,” Kinn agrees, finally feeling his ears stop heating.  

They kiss again. Porsche's hand sneaks down to cup Kinn's cock through the towel, and Kinn hisses and bites down on Porsche's lip.

“No?” Porsche asks, and pulls his hand away. The towel mostly slides away with it, but that's fine.

“Probably not tonight,” Kinn agrees. Not that he's an old man, but as much as his cock is trying to get hard, he doesn't think he can go again. He came pretty blindingly in the shower. “Doesn't mean you can't have some fun.”

Porsche crowds against Kinn for another kiss, hungry, and they stumble back towards the bed. “You wanna suck me?” Porsche asks.

The back of Kinn's legs hit the mattress and he drops to his knees beside the bed. “Always,” he says, and scrabbles to open the fly of Porsche’s tight work jeans. Porsche springs free of his briefs as soon as the zip is down. He's all leg, so Kinn has to crane his neck up to suck his cockhead into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Porsche murmurs, and his knees quake for a second.  

Kinn grins, as much as he can around a mouthful of cock, anyway. He loves making Porsche fall apart.

Porsche grins back, his eyebrow quirking up in challenge. This is the Porsche Kinn loves the most, the man who dove into the Chao Praya when Kinn had him cornered, the man who ran the minor family for four years with a half-day training seminar and a Glock.

“You wanna play it like that?” Porsche asks, and pushes Kinn back until his head touches the mattress. He pauses for a second, giving Kinn a chance to pull away.

Kinn doesn't want to pull away. He opens his mouth wider, lets Porsche's cock slide deeper, until all he can see and smell and taste is Porsche.

“Fuck,” Porsche gasps, and his hips hitch forward a little too deep, making Kinn gag and his eyes water. He's pinned by the bed, so he can't pull away like he's used to. “Okay?”

Kinn can't nod like this, so he grabs Porsche's denim-clad ass and pulls him further forward. He can deep-throat but it's always been on his own terms, with full control and ability to pause whenever he wants. Having Porsche fuck his mouth is a new thing, but he likes it.

Porsche fucks forward a little more confidently, and doesn't pause this time when Kinn gags. “You can take it,” he tells Kinn, once again with the confidence of a man who thinks swimming through the Chao Praya is a viable escape strategy. “Swallow.”

It takes Kinn a few tries, and then he does, and his nose presses to Porsche's belly. He's teared up from gagging, and he can feel snot smearing against Porsche's belly and the hem of his T-shirt.

Porsche's hand settles in his hair. He doesn't pull, as Kinn expects him to. Instead his hands gently cup Kinn's skull, protecting him from being shoved too hard against the mattress. As rough as his hips are, his hands hold like Kinn is something very delicate and precious.

Kinn chokes again and closes his eyes. It feels good to be pinned against the bed in the same way it feels good when Porsche uses him as a body pillow. He distantly registers his cock trying to get hard again, but his hands are too busy holding onto Porsche's thighs for him to bother with it. This is a different kind of satisfaction.

His world narrows to his mouth, the slick slide of Porsche's cock over his tongue, and the softening resistance of his throat. He chokes again, weeps more helpless tears, and presses his nose into Porsche's belly for the smell there, over and over again for what feels like hours.

It's probably not a long time, because Porsche is barely staying in control of his thrusts, making low desperate grunts that rumble down to where Kinn's mouth kisses his pelvis.

Kinn feels hazy with it. He's good. Porsche is happy.

Porsche doesn't warn Kinn that he's about to come. Kinn doesn't realize it's happening until Porsche pulls out of his throat and Kinn has to deal with a large mouthful of spit and semen he wasn't expecting.

Kinn chokes hard, swallows the cum wrong, and has to pull away to cough. “Sorry, sorry,” Porsche says and kneels down next to him, one hand still in Kinn's hair. “You want some water?”

Kinn shakes his head, still coughing. He feels… naked and overwhelmed, in a good way. But he can tell it will be a bad way if Porsche gets up and leaves him.

He reaches for the hand Porsche doesn't have in his hair and holds it with both of his. “You're good,” Porsche says. “You did a good job, Kinn.”

Somehow that's what becomes too much. Kinn's coughing is subsiding, which makes it hard to hide that he's just crying. This has happened to Porsche a few times, when they weren't fucking because he was getting back in touch with his body. But it isn't supposed to happen to Kinn.

Porsche tries to slide his hand down to Kinn's half-mast cock, and Kinn tightens his hands on Porsche's. “No,” he says, and it comes out hoarse and half-sobbed. His awareness is coming back to his own body, and he starts to be able to tell he's shaking.

“Sure, sure,” Porsche says, warm and easy. “Come get into bed, okay?”

Porsche is good at this. He herds Kinn under the duvet and pulls it up over their heads, so no one can see them.

The tears keep flowing out of Kinn's eyes, and he can't stop reaching for Porsche. “I'm here,” Porsche says. “It’s okay. I won't go.”

“Okay,” Kinn croaks, and feels much younger than 35. “It was good,” he manages to add, because it seems rude to cry about getting his face fucked and maybe make Porsche think he doesn't want to do it again. “I liked it.”

“Yeah, I could see,” Porsche says. “You did a great job, you were so good for me, you…”

Kinn sobs again and shakes his head. He can't handle hearing that right now. It hurts.  

“Too much,” he sobs out, not sure if that makes sense. What's too much? He doesn't know. But his ass is tender, and his throat is hoarse, and he can’t hear those words right now.

“Ai’Kinn,” Porsche says, a little sadly, but is quiet until Kinn stops feeling like an exposed nerve. You can talk, Kinn wants to say. Just not that. But the quiet is easier. Safer, maybe.

Porsche has been petting Kinn's hair while they talk, but he stops and shifts so that he's just cupping Kinn's skull again, firm pressure to pull Kinn's head into his shoulder, and from the arm around his waist. The words were overwhelming, and Kinn realizes when it stops that the physical sensation was too.

It's dark and quiet and the pressure helps. Kinn gradually stops shaking, feeling guilty that he's taking his time with this, but also like he needs it.

He tries to pull away once, when he's gotten the bare minimum he thinks he can live with, but Porsche makes an exasperated noise and reels him back in. So Kinn stays until he's full up on whatever he's getting, and honestly a little bored, and then a few minutes longer.

“Do you want to shower?” Kinn asks, when he thinks he can sound normal post-deep-throat hoarse, and not weepy hoarse. Overlying the scent of Porsche is the usual bar-night sweet-stale alcohol, and Porsche is still almost fully dressed. It would probably feel good to change and wash that off.

“Sure,” Porsche says, and they go to sleep without Kinn having to talk about it.

He feels faintly ridiculous over the next few days, unsure of where the tears came from. “You look like a cat who fell out of a tree,” Chan remarks, when they meet to box.

“Banged up?” Kinn asks. An overzealous junior bodyguard shoved him to the ground earlier this week as a car backfired. He's sporting some road rash and a scraped chin, which to be fair, is better than being shot through the skull if the engine noise had been a gun.

“Ruffled and pretending you're not,” Chan says. “You okay?”

Kinn nods, because he's fine about the tackle. He told Chan not to assign punishment - he doesn't want his security detail hesitating to protect him. And he's got the new kid's file on his desk. There's something about the stupidity and protectiveness that reminded him of Big.

“I'm still just, um, processing some stuff about Papa,” he says. That's probably how Porsche's therapist would put it. Chan gives him an unimpressed look - he's not one for therapy speak.

“Mm?” Chan says, which Kinn could ignore if he wanted to. It's not even words. This is more P’Chan's style.

“Do you think he was happy?” Kinn asks. That's not exactly what he means, but… also, it is.

“No,” Chan says, without hesitation. “I think he had moments where he was happier, but I don’t think he ever relaxed enough to feel that way, you know? He was always fucking worrying.”

“But,” Kinn says. But Papa was good at what he did. But that’s what the business demanded. But Papa was a great man. But…

“No,” Chan says. “He wasn’t strategizing. He was fretting and playing chess with me, and ignoring his wife and kids. You’re better than that, Kinn. Be happy.”

“I don’t…” Kinn says, again not sure if the sentence is going to end in deserve it, or if it’s an I don’t know how.

“Of course you do,” Chan tells him. “Look at how hard you tried for Porsche, huh? You worked so hard for him, and you listened, and you grew up. It’s not all you, but he’s in a good place right now, isn’t he? Whenever I see him now, he’s smiling. Don’t you deserve that too?”

Kinn wants to argue, but it’s P’Chan, and it all somehow rings true. The words hurt when they land, but in the same way Porsche’s did a few nights ago. They hurt like true blows to the jaw hurt.

Kinn has to take a moment and breathe, his eyes glued to Chan’s cross-training sneakers. When he finally looks up, Chan has a warm half-smile that somehow reminds Kinn of his mother.

“Be fucking happy, kid,” Chan says. “Whatever it is you’re really asking me about, you should do it. It’s what your mother would want.”

Kinn’s eyes sting again. “Yeah, maybe,” he agrees, and it takes him a few minutes before they can actually get to the boxing, the handwraps and the warmup and the rest of the ritual.

There’s a charity performance for one of the orchestras in the city a few nights later. Kinn is getting dressed for it, assuming that he’s third-wheeling with Kim and Chay, when Porsche bursts into the dressing room. “Am I too late?” he asks. “There was traffic. I’ll shower as fast as I can.”

Kinn surreptitiously checks his calendar while Porsche is taking a 45 second shower, and finds that yes, Porsche is listed with Kim and Chay as his guests.

“I didn’t know you liked classical music,” he says, trying to fit cufflinks on Porsche’s left wrist while Porsche brushes his hair out one-handed. “Is this a surprise?”

“I thought Chay would tell you,” Porsche says, and switches the hand holding his hairbrush so Kinn can do up his other cufflink, and then holds still so Kinn can tie his bowtie. “I said I was going to try to make more events that weren’t straight-up zoning meetings with canapes, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Kinn says. “... I’m happy you’re coming.”

Porsche leans back for a quick minty-flavored kiss. “Me too,” he says, and they hurry downstairs to the limo because there’s probably still traffic and Kim will kill them if they’re late.

They have a box, and Porsche takes the seat closer to the stage. Kinn watches him instead of the orchestra.  

Porsche looks relaxed and happy, his face open and interested as he leans forward to watch the musicians play. His expression changes with the music, and his fingers tap a little against Kinn’s, interlaced together on the arm rest, when a lively section starts to play.

He looks like himself, Kinn realizes. For a long, long time, Porsche had been so sad, or angry, or walled-off. He’d been numb or despairing or a million other things that made sense for his circumstances. But this is who Porsche is to Kinn.

Of course Kinn is going to watch him, besotted, instead of the conductor. He only realizes that people can watch him watching Porsche when they stand up during the intermission and Chay and Kim both smirk at him. Apparently he was a little more obvious than he thought.

Kinn thinks about being embarrassed, but he doesn’t really care. He loves his boyfriend, so sue him. “I want to try their signature cocktail,” Porsche tells Kinn. “For market research. Do you want anything?”

“I’ll come with you,” Kinn says, and slips his arm protectively around Porsche’s waist.

He catches their reflection in a window as they walk back towards the bar. They look well-matched, he thinks. They haven’t coordinated outfits or anything like that, but they’ve been together long enough that they look effortless together, like they belong to each other.

Chay bounds up behind them, all leg just like Porsche. “P’Kim is meditating on the first theme,” he says. “I’ll come for a drink.”

“Can you order an old-fashioned?” Porsche asks. “I want to see how they make it here.”

“Sure!” Chay agrees enthusiastically, and they huddle together three abreast in the line for the bar, Chay and Porsche chatting enthusiastically about the music.

Porsche used to look so uncomfortable at these things that Kinn can kind of understand why people thought he was being paid to attend. Now, he looks more at home than Kim does most of the time, easily smiling at acquaintances as they pass by.

This is what Kinn always wanted for him, for Porsche to be at home in Kinn’s world. He doesn’t know how he’s accomplished this but apparently he has.

Kinn nods to the Minister of Culture and the head of Bangkok’s zoning board.  And then they’re at the bar and Porsche is ordering for the three of them.

Kinn should go network, but instead he stands with Porsche and Chay in a little knot by the window. It’s easier for security if they travel in packs at these things.

“Do you want a sip?” Porsche asks, holding up Chay’s old fashioned.

Papa would not approve of Kinn sharing drinks with, well, anyone. Kinn swaps Porsche for his Perrier and gets enough of a mouthful that he can render a verdict. “Not as good as yours,” he says, “The balance is off with the orange and the bitters.”

Porsche smiles at him, with an outsized amount of sun for an obvious compliment on his very superior old fashioneds. “Yeah, I agree,” he says. “Should we go back to Kim or is he composing?”

“He’ll text me,” Chay says, peacefully. He looks better too, Kinn thinks, and it lifts some of the deeply held guilt he feels about mental health days, and trying to keep his travel to a sensible and humane level. Even if Kinn still feels uncomfortable saying that it’s good for him to rest, he can see the results of his taking it easier on Chay.

And it feels good.

“That was fun,” Porsche murmurs to him in the car, leaning his head on Kinn’s shoulder. “Let me know about the next one.”

“Whatever you want,” Kinn says, and catches a glimpse of the two of them in the rearview mirror. They look like how Kinn Theerapanyakun and his partner should look, with Porsche tucked in against Kinn’s side, sheltered under Kinn’s much broader shoulders. Kinn looks broad and powerful, and Porsche looks young and sweet and small.

For a second, Kinn feels dishonest. This isn’t how it is between them, not all the time at least. Isn’t it a lie to make the world think that this is all Porsche is?

Porsche yawns and his head starts to get heavier against Kinn’s shoulder. They have once again hit traffic, and the last piece the orchestra played was a slower one, like a lullaby. Porsche has been sleepy-eyed since they left the concert hall.

Maybe it isn’t a lie for this to be Kinn’s public image. It’s not like it’s untrue, it’s just not his permanent state. Maybe he’ll talk to Porsche about it when they get home and see how he feels.

“You can rest for a bit,” Kinn tells Porsche, here and now. Vegas talked to him once about Porsche’s car freakouts, how he’d break down as soon as he was aloneish. It feels like something good that he’s curled up against Kinn yawning tonight. “I’ll wake you when we get home.”

Kinn feels calm and peaceful when he gets home, and Porsche is better off for his car nap. They stretch out on the bed, and Kinn makes a snap decision.

“Can I show you something?” he asks, and pulls out the secret bag of toys he’s been experimenting with for the last few weeks from a place he still doesn’t think is secret enough.  

Tonight he thinks that maybe he’s not ashamed of what he’s doing, it’s just that he wants his privacy. He wants to share on his own terms. It's a new thought.

Porsche sits up on his elbow and watches as Kinn spills the bag over their duvet. Kinn’s not totally sure how he’s going to react. Maybe he’ll think this is funny (and it is, a little.) Maybe he’ll be sad or angry that Kinn gets to spend three weeks playing with his own ass, and Porsche just got a roofie and some spit for his first time. Maybe…

“You really want to try this,” Porsche says, sounding a little sleepy and a little surprised. “You uh… wow, where did you get all this? I've thought about going to a sex store with Pete, but I'm worried the secondhand embarrassment might kill Ink.”

Kinn feels his throat trying to close up but he fights through it. “I talked a little with Tay,” he says, belatedly feeling guilty that he brought up their issues to a third party, even if Porsche does talk to Vegas about their sex life, a fact that Kinn resolutely tries to ignore. “He, uh…”

“That was sweet of him,” Porsche says. “Have you used all of this?”

Kinn shakes his head, and sits down on the bed, the toys a lake of latex and silicone between him and Porsche. “Not yet,” he says, feeling like he used to before he was the family heir, when he was just Nong Kinn, Chan’s grumpy, chubby little shadow.  “Some of it, uh…” he stops and presses his lips together for a long moment before he can continue.  “Some of it makes me too nervous, and…”

“Nervous how?” Porsche asks.

Kinn shrugs.  “That it'll… change me somehow, I dunno.  I'll be different after.”

He expects Porsche to laugh, but Porsche doesn't.  “I understand,” he says, and picks up one of the bigger toys.  “I felt different after I started fucking you, kinda.”

“Oh,” Kinn says, because that sounds like a bad thing.

“Just that there was a part of me that maybe I was pretending wasn't there for a long time.  And then everyone could see it,” Porsche says, and idly sets the dildo down to pick up a roll of condoms.  “It mostly wasn't bad.  It was just… different to have other people know that I was attracted to men.  I thought they'd see me differently.”

“I never thought of that,” Kinn says, softly.  “I'm…”

“I wanted to be with you,” Porsche interrupts.  “I want to be with you.  It wasn't a big thing for the people I care about.  It was just annoying for people to think I couldn't shoot or couldn't protect myself because I love you.  And it was kind of funny that everyone assumed I was your sugar baby when we got together and this hot stud bartender beforehand, when it was a lot more the other way around.”

“Sometimes I think me and Vegas both being gay made us so much more ruthless,” Kinn says, and Porsche nods, still absently inspecting the toys on the bed.  This is a funny conversation to be having while Porsche holds a realistic flesh-toned dildo, complete with veiny balls.  “We could never show any kind of softness.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Porsche says.  “When I was the head of the minor family, sometimes I wondered if it would be different if I was still straight, but I don't think so.  There's always someone out there looking to pull you apart.  I wasn't good at not letting them, but Vegas is.”

Kinn nods.  “Do you mind that people think you're my…” He's not sure what the word is.

Porsche shrugs.  “I'm mostly fine with people thinking what they want about me,” he says.  “You know I'm your partner and you treat me well, and that's all we can really control, right?  Us in here?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and looks down at the toys on the bed again.  “... This is okay?”

“This is okay,” Porsche says, his voice warm.  “I like that you let me take control sometimes.  It makes me feel like…” He laughs, a little self-conscious.  “Like I'm really your partner, you know?  Not just cute little Nong Po, or however people out there see me.  You'll share yourself with me and let me care for you.”

“You are,” Kinn says.  “You do.”

Porsche yawns.  “I'm too tired to do anything with this tonight,” he says, and reaches for the little duffle.  “We’re old men, Kinn.”

“I don't feel old,” Kinn says, helping Porsche round up the errant condoms and lube samples.  “I feel like I'm just getting started.”

Porsche doesn't answer, but he does lean in and give Kinn the kind of kiss that feels like coming home after weeks away.  Kinn thinks maybe he understands.

Chapter Text

After all that, it should be easy when Kinn finally decides that tonight’s the night.

It makes sense in his head, because he's dutifully worked his way up through the toys he got from Tay, and that must mean he's ready.  Yes, it's been something he's been keeping private, but that's just because he wants to perform well when he and Porsche finally do it.  It's natural to want to rehearse before a performance.

He asks Porsche on a Sunday afternoon, after a lunch of black coffee and seltzer.  He's been fasting since last night, worried about… mess.  He wants to show well.

Porsche is lying on the sofa, a bowl of noodles on the couch next to him, and his head swivels like a puppy with an ear infection.  “What?” he says, like he can't quite believe what he's hearing.

Kinn blushes hard, still nervous.  “I um.  I want you to fuck me?”

He wishes he sounded more confident.  Kinn Theerapanyakun shouldn't -

“Are you sure?” Porsche asks, and puts the bowl of noodles on the floor.  “Now?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says.  He doesn't usually skip meals and the coffee and hunger is making him a little dizzy, but he's sunk so much into this today and yesterday.  He needs to go through with it or he’s wasted twelve hours.  “If you want.”

“Sure?” Porsche agrees, standing up and dusting some peanuts off his shirt.  “Do you want to go to the bedroom?”

Kinn nods.

The prep feels good and familiar, even if Kinn feels a little dizzy and spinny.  The coffee is making him anxious, but he doesn't want to say that out loud.  He closes his eyes and tries to breathe deeply and relax.  It's Porsche, this will be good.

Usually relaxing is easy, but today he can't.  Kinn's unpicked a lot of his underlying baggage, but it's hard to hand control over today.  The imaginary watchers are loud in his head, and it's different with Porsche than it is alone in the shower.  

Porsche has done what he usually does, but Kinn doesn't quite feel… ready, physically or emotionally.  “Go ahead,” he says, because he's invested so much in this, and he doesn't want to disappoint Porsche.  He doesn't want to disappoint himself.   A big part of him really wants this, even if he's very nervous.

“Do you wanna be on top?” Porsche asks, his hand dripping with lube and crawls up Kinn’s body for a kiss.  “Might feel better if you can control how deep we go.”

Kinn’s heart is beating fast in anticipation, and he's increasingly lightheaded.  He’s internally worried that if he tries to do anything too cardiovascular, he’ll black out.

And it only feels safe like this, flat on his back on the bed, half-hidden in the mountain of pillows.  “Like this,” Kinn demands.  “Please.”

“Hmm,” Porsche says again, but he helps Kinn get his legs sorted out and his hips propped up on a pillow.  Kinn huffs impatiently.  He wants Porsche inside him, but he also kind of wants to be twenty minutes from now when he’s had an orgasm and his brain has switched off and he’s cuddling in bed with Porsche.

“Sure you’re good?” Porsche asks.  Kinn wishes he wouldn’t, because he’s rapidly losing his nerve.

“Just do it,” he says, and feels the blunt head of Porsche’s cock against his hole.

He immediately tenses up.  It’s too big and he didn't let Porsche take his time with his fingers.  It’s not like toys where he’s alone and driving the action.

“Deep breath,” Porsche coaxes.  “Push down for me, okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Kinn agrees, and tries not to grit his teeth.  He feels himself open a little and then push Porsche out, and it just feels weird, not good at all.  

He tenses up more, which includes screwing up his face.  “Kinn,” Porsche says, with a bit of a laugh in his voice.  “We can stop.”

“Not yet,” Kinn says, trying not to pant.  He’s… maybe built this up in his head too much, he realizes.  Both as something he was scared of and something that would feel amazing.  But maybe…

Porsche finally gets the head of his cock into Kinn, and it’s… so much.   Sometimes the toys have a moment where he’s uncomfortable, but this burns, and as Porsche pushes forward, Kinn feels like his guts are being rearranged.  It’s…

Kinn squeezes his eyes shut, panting.  His cock is going soft, and he realizes his hands have flown to Porsche’s hips to keep him from sinking deeper.  He’s genuinely scared if Porsche pushes in all the way, Kinn will rip in two.

“Kinn,” Porsche says, with fond exasperation.  “Stop grinding your teeth.  If it's too much, I'll stop.”

“Nngh,” Kinn says, and tenses up every muscle in his body in his effort to just fucking relax.   “I can… just…”

Porsche pulls out, and Kinn yelps.  “You looked like you were giving birth,” Porsche scolds, swinging his leg over Kinn's hips so he can sit on top of him.  “Either you let me rub your back for like, three hours before we do this, or…” he pauses.  “There's no or.”

“Porsche,” Kinn whines.  He doesn't know why he's complaining.  He's fucking glad Porsche stopped before his intestines were permanently rearranged.

“What was that?” Porsche asks.  Kinn grabs a pillow and pulls it over his face.  Porsche pulls it away.  “Kinn.”

“I’m tired,” Kinn whines.  “I didn't eat all day.”

 Porsche gives him an unimpressed look.  “It’s an ass, Kinn, shit happens.  You don't need a fucking juice cleanse to get fucked.  You sure you're ready?”

Kinn squeezes his eyes shut.  He feels like he's getting a bad grade in bottoming, and it hurts.  He can hear how whiny he's being and that's not attractive.  Porsche will…

Porsche's voice softens.  “It's okay if you're not ready,” he says gently.  “This isn't something we have to do if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Maybe this isn't a performance.  Maybe it's just Kinn and Porsche, alone together, and Kinn can be brave and admit he needs help.  Maybe he can hand over a little more control, in service of getting what he wants and needs.  It feels... safe to do so.

“I'm scared,” Kinn admits, his voice rough.  His eyes are still squeezed shut.  “I'm… I wanna do it good for you, and… But it still scares me a little.”

Porsche leans down and feathers a kiss over Kinn's closed eyes.  He's quiet for a minute, collecting his thoughts.  “I don't want to scare you or hurt you in bed,” he says, very gently.  “Maybe you wanna let me into whatever you're doing in the shower?  We can work up to this together?”

“I'm… maybe,” Kinn says.  “I'm still…”  He swallows hard, feeling ridiculous and terrified, and very loved.  “Will you come in the shower with me?  I… I still need some privacy, I can't…”

“I can do that,” Porsche says, and Kinn finally gets brave enough to open his eyes.  Porsche has a very patient, tender smile.  “Do you want to maybe eat now?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says gratefully.  “I'm starving.”

“Tonight?” Kinn asks, a few weeks later.  He feels a lot more comfortable with himself and having things in his ass.  Tonight could be a good night to finally try a cock.

He had to shoot his way out of a parking garage this afternoon.  He's spent the last four hours trying not to slide back to that awful day when he almost lost Chan and Porsche and his own life.  Getting fucked would probably stop the image of Porsche with a gun to his forehead.

Porsche spent most of the afternoon locked in the office at the bar, waiting to hear if Kinn was dead or alive.  He and Kinn met in the lobby, getting back to the compound, and Porsche shouted at Kinn for being reckless for ten minutes before he'd get in the elevator. 

They're home now, upstairs in their own apartment, behind locked door after locked door.  There's a trail of clothing leading to the shower, and they've been standing under the spray of water, clinging to each other, for a long time now.

Porsche doesn't respond, his eyes hazy.

“Tonight?” Kinn says again.  He's not sure why it would be good but… it seems right.  They'll…

“Fuck me,” Porsche says, his voice rough and desperate.  “You stupid fucker, don't you dare die, I'll fucking kill you, I want you, please Kinn, please…”

“I've got you,” Kinn says, and doesn't get fucked because he's bending Porsche over in the shower for desperate I'm alive sex.

For their anniversary, they go back to the resort Kinn took Porsche to for their first real vacation.  They do vacation things like they did the first time.  They take a cooking class, and get a massage.  They wake up before dawn to go for a swim and then sleep the afternoon away in a hammock.

Kinn's been awake for a few minutes when he feels Porsche start to rouse.  “Go back to sleep,” Kinn murmurs.

“I'm up,” Porsche mumbles, and then drowses for another twenty minutes while Kinn watches him breathe and strokes his hair.

“How are you feeling?” Kinn asks, when Porsche finally opens his eyes enough to count as up.

“Were you watching me sleep?” Porsche asks, and yawns.  Kinn reaches for a denial, but one is not forthcoming.  “You can,” Porsche says, and sounds like he's laughing.  “You're my boyfriend, you can watch me sleep.”

“I was,” Kinn admits, and Porsche's eyes crinkle into that smile that Kinn loves more than anything else.  “You're cute when you're asleep.”

“I'm cute all the time,” Porsche disagrees, still grinning.  Kinn can't argue.  “You wanna fuck?”

“In the hammock?” Kinn asks.

“Sure,” Porsche says, but the sway of the hammock when they roll to kiss makes him seasick, and they climb out to go to their bed.

They've been keeping the heavy shutters closed in their villa, because it makes the room feel cool and dark and secret.  When they slant them open, all there is for miles is sea and jungle.  It feels like they're the only two people in the world.

Porsche's shirt is already discarded next to the hammock, and he steps out of his loose shorts before they're even inside.  Kinn almost tackles him to the ground and takes him on the floor, but they did that yesterday and he friction burnt his knee.

It doesn't feel like the right mood for a hard, desperate fuck on the floor.  The heat of the afternoon demands a slow, languid tempo, and that's what Kinn gives Porsche when they make it to the huge bed in the center of the room.

They're both dewed with sweat from the hammock.  Kinn grabs the lube and tries to take his time with Porsche but…

“I'm good,” Porsche murmurs, when Kinn's smeared a mess of slick inside him with two fingers.  “Just go slow.”

So Kinn does, until the lube has gone tacky and the sun has changed position in the sky.  He's not trying to make himself come.  He just wants to feel it, feel Porsche.

Eventually he stills inside, worn out.  Porsche grabs Kinn’s hands and holds them against his belly, tight.  He doesn't protest the stop, except by little twitches and groans.  

“Is this okay?” Kinn asks.

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  “I'm uh… I'm getting sore, can we…”  Kinn goes to pull out.  Porsche squeezes Kinn’s hands, hard.  “One more minute.”

It feels good to be close like this, slick with sweat.  Kinn would happily stay here for hours.  He'd live here, if he could.

Porsche keeps them like this for a few long breaths.  “Okay, uh… okay.”

Kinn pulls out, and Porsche rolls on his back immediately, looking for a kiss.  Kinn gives him one.  He misses their connection immediately.  He wants…

He doesn't know.  He just wants Porsche.

Porsche is still bambi-legged on the bed.  Kinn crawls over him and paws for the lube.  “I want,” he says.

“Okay,” Porsche agrees, his cock hard and blood hot in Kinn's hand.  “Yes, you -”

Kinn should probably be more careful.  He should take his time.  He should…

He smears a handful of lube over Porsche’s cock and Porsche’s eyes go wide. 

Kinn hesitates.  “Can I?” he asks.  Maybe Porsche doesn’t want to.  Maybe Porsche doesn’t want him.

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  “Let’s try.”

Kinn’s shaking as he gets Porsche lined up.  He’s nervous, but he wants and -

The head of Porsche’s cock slips in, and Porsche bites back a groan.  “Fuck, Kinn,” he says.  “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Kinn gasps.  There’s a stretch but it’s manageable.  It’s worth it to be close to Porsche like this, even if it’s not exactly comfortable.   He likes it.

Porsche tentatively brings his hands up to Kinn’s hips, caressing gently. That feels even better.  Kinn isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands, or how to sink down, or…

“Deep breath,” Porsche says, and Kinn lets him slip a little deeper.  “Good?”

Kinn nods.  “Full,” he says.  He takes a deep breath and tries to slide all the way down, but can’t quite figure out the angle to get all the way to Porsche’s pelvis.  When he tries to bounce back up, the movement is strange, foreign.

For a second, Kinn feels awkward and embarrassed, like he’s fifteen years old in an ensuite at a party.  He bites his lip.  He doesn’t know…

Porsche sits up and kisses him, and it’s okay again.  “Do you want me to drive?” he asks, his hands still comforting against Kinn’s hips.

“Yeah,” Kinn says.  Porsche pulls out and rolls him onto his back, and slicks up with another handful of lube.  It feels smoother when he fucks back in.

One of the things Kinn worried about was that he’d be too loud when they finally did this.  In the moment, all he can do is make little punched-out wheezes, like Porsche is making contact with his diaphragm.  It can’t be sexy.

But Porsche is staring down at Kinn with open-mouthed wonder.  He’s looking at Kinn like he’s never seen him before, like Kinn is something good, like he’s…

Kinn hiccups out another wheeze.  He can’t be looked at like this.  It’s too much.  It’s cracking him open.

Porsche folds forward and smashes their open mouths together.  It’s not so much a kiss as an exchange of air.  Kinn locks his arms around Porsche’s shoulders to keep him there.

This feels good.  It feels right.

And it feels bigger than he thought it would.  Not the actual fucking, which feels better and better as he relaxes.  But…

“Hey,” Porsche says, and wraps his hand around Kinn’s cock.  “Let go for me, okay?  I’ve got you.”

“Mmhmm,” Kinn says, or tries to say between his strange wracking noises.  He can’t make himself let go, for a few minutes at least.  It feels so good, but he can’t.

He feels like he’s falling.  He feels like landing might hurt.  He feels…

“It’s okay, Kinn,” Porsche whispers, raggedy.  “I do, I have you.”

Kinn lets out another wheezing groan, and his body starts to come.  It feels strange to do so with something in him.  Strange and blindingly good.

Porsche gasps, and Kinn startles as he pulls out, leaking something hot and wet against Kinn’s asshole.  “Did you finish?” Kinn asks, dumbly.

“Yeah,” Porsche says, and wraps Kinn up tight in his arms.  “Good timing.”

“Yeah,” Kinn agrees, and starts to cry.  He’s fucking… he cries after sex sometimes, and he hates it when he tops but it’s even worse and more embarrassing now.

“Kinn,” Porsche says fondly.  “It’s okay.  You were good.”

Kinn nods and hides his face in Porsche’s shoulder.  He doesn’t feel like himself, in the best way.  He feels small and light, like a breeze could carry him back into the forest.  He hasn’t felt this way since he was twelve years old.

He cries with big stupid noises against Porsche’s shoulder for a long time.  He might as well, since he made stupid wheezy moans and stupid agonized faces, and they probably only fucked for ten minutes, and now he’s crying about it.  They’re not gonna do this again, there’s no way.

“What?” Porsche whispers in his ear.  “Tell me.  It’s okay.”

It takes Kinn a while to calm down enough to form intelligible words, but then he does.  “I was so tired,” he says, nonsensically.  “I couldn’t rest, Porsche.”

“Yeah, I could see that,” Porsche says, and starts to gently rub Kinn’s back, firm enough not to tickle.  “Now it’s better?”

Kinn nods.  “I can put it down,” he says, and is so profoundly relieved he has to stop and ugly cry against Porsche’s shoulder again.  A thought occurs.  “Can’t I?”

“You can, Ai’Kinn, I’ve got you,” Porsche confirms.  “You can rest.  You can let me take care of you.  It’s okay.”

Kinn nods.  “I really need to be me sometimes,” he says, and his voice sounds scraped out.  He hiccups.  “I need you.”

“I need you too,” Porsche says, and kisses the top of Kinn’s head.  “Was this what you needed?”

Kinn nods.  He can’t put into words how safe he felt, knowing that Porsche had him.  How good it felt to know that the only audience to him falling apart was Porsche.  How different he feels, how rested.

“I’m on your side, Kinn,” Porsche says, and kisses Kinn’s forehead again.  “I am.  Are you hungry?  Could you eat?”

Epilogue

Six months and change later, Vegas calls Kinn on his cellphone to ask for a meeting.  “Bring Porsche,” he says.  “I’ll make you breakfast.”

“Sure,” Kinn says, and only thinks of thinking he’s being lured into an ambush.  It’s just a breakfast meeting.  In fact, it might just be a breakfast.  Kinn is included in just breakfast now.

It’s not.  Vegas has a newspaper on the polished-smooth wood table in the minor family kitchen.  “Take a read,” he says, but Kinn can get the gist from the picture on the front page.

There in handcuffs is his and Vegas’ archrival, Red Daeng.  “What happened to Medevev?” Kinn asks, spinning the paper to Porsche.

“Dead,” Vegas says.  “Some international task force.  The drugs, the human trafficking, the tax evasion.  It looks like they got too big for Johnny Law.”

“Well, fuck,” Porsche says, and then slowly repeats Johnny Law in English a few times, just like Vegas said it.  Pete, sitting on the other side of the table, laughs at him.

“Where does this leave us?” Kinn asks Vegas.

“Free and clear, I think,” Vegas says.  “We used different suppliers.”

“Who Daeng also put out of business,” Pete adds, lest Kinn get too hopeful.  “In case you wanted us to flood the streets with cheap product or something.  Our guy is, uh.  Visiting Brazil.”

“I see,” Kinn says.  The minor family has folded in a few of its very illegal businesses.  The drug trade was ripped from under them.  Vegas voluntarily gave up a large portion of the high interest loan sharking.

They still have the casinos and the brothels.  They still sell pot and happy pills to tourists on Soi Cowboy.  But the casinos are basically legal and the pot has been decriminalized.  Vegas has put the fear of Vegas into brothel middle management, and they’re fairly well run, not the type of place to make an example of during political grandstanding.

“Are we even fucking criminals anymore?” Vegas asks, a question Kinn was coming to a lot more slowly.  “Did fucking Daeng save me from getting perp-walked?”

“The irony,” Pete says dryly.  “Although to be fair, I’m a lot shorter than Medevev, think I could have literally dodged that bullet.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Vegas scolds, and Kinn hears Porsche kick out at Pete under the table and the ensuing violent game of footsie.  “Seriously, Pete, not funny.”

Pete catches Kinn’s eye across the table and gives Kinn one of those little Pete looks, like he’s so long-suffering for putting up with Vegas wanting him not to get shot in the head.  Kinn hides a smile.

“So what do we do?” Vegas asks.  “Is this our moment to swoop in and reclaim our coke-addled birthright?”

Of course Kinn should say yes.  It is, after all, their coke-addled birthright.  Papa and Uncle Gun lost blood, sweat and tears establishing the supply relationships for cocaine and all of the other nastier drugs that went with it.  The Theerapanyakuns are criminals, there’s no…

“Do you need the money?” Porsche asks.  “I know I caused cashflow problems when I fucked that up.  Do you need…”

“No, not really,” Kinn says.  They don’t.  He figured it out.  “It’s safer for Vegas, legally speaking, if we stay out of the uh, very illegal.”

“Yeah, just in the regular illegal,” Pete says and grins.  “Like Porsche wanted.”

“Is that why I'm here too?” Porsche asks.

“You're a voice for fucking… ethics,” Vegas says, sounding disgruntled by the idea.  “And you started this, you get to help finish it.”

“Well, I say stay out,” Porsche says, and sets his chin.  “I've always said that.”

Kinn looks over at Vegas, who shrugs.  “The margins are actually pretty fucking shitty,” Vegas says, pretty fucking shitty in English.  “Of course, we weren't operating at a loss, but it's substantially lowered our operating costs.  We, uh, killed a lot of staff doing it, and that was not very cost effective.”

Pete looks over at Kinn and shrugs in agreement.  “Yeah, that,” he says, sounding like he's laughing at Vegas internally for his little death is expensive speech.

The three of them are looking at Kinn expectantly, like he'll be the voice of disagreement.

Maybe he should be.  His father would have been.

And then Kinn thinks of how calm it's been, as a mostly-legal property developer and businessman whose favourite cousin is only a medium-grey criminal.  It's so much fucking easier.  And Vegas is right, the margins were bad.  Sometimes they had to reverse-launder money to keep up with supply.

“Fuck it, I'm with you,” Kinn says.  “Let it go.”

Vegas looks between Kinn and Porsche and grins.  “You're gonna make a fucking respectable businessman out of me, nong,” he says to Porsche.  Porsche laughs.  “Fuck it, this feels good.  Who wants champagne?”

Kinn should say no.  It's a Tuesday morning.  He should get back in the car and go back to the office, and answer some emails and get ready for a meeting tomorrow about car imports.  He shouldn't sit down at his cousin's kitchen table, ready to celebrate his life being a little less dangerous, a little easier.

He shouldn't have said yes to this in the first place.  It's not what a dutiful son would do.  He should swallow the danger and push Vegas to go and kill a judge, to send a message that Theerapanyakun power is total.  There should be no part of him that is content with less, with being a real person instead of a figurehead.

But he does sit down, and Pete gives him a lopsided smile and gets up to pull a bottle of something cold and very expensive out of the fridge.  He pops the cork with an ease that Pete of seven years ago could not have mustered.  Porsche gets up to find glasses.

Pete pours like he has practice with it, and then gives Porsche a sly look.  “To only facing danger in bed,” he says, solemnly, and Porsche snorts champagne out his nose.  It only makes Kinn more dizzyingly in love with him.

Maybe later in the week, the car deal will fuck up.  Maybe Porsche will get snippy or Kinn’ll fight with Kim.  But, as Kinn raises a juice glass of champagne, it all feels survivable.

It feels better than survivable.  It feels good.  It feels like being alive, and awake, and in love.

“To us,” Kinn says, meaning Kim and Chay and Tankhun and Chan too, and they drink.