Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If you asked Porsche what it was to be the head of the minor family, he'd call it tiring.

For the first few weeks, he thinks it won't always be a blur of names, faces, and numbers.  The dogs in town may have barked for Gun, but everyone in Bangkok understands that Korn is the kennel master.  When he asks his contacts to come meet his nephew (Porsche hates being called that), they come.  Soon, Porsche thinks, he’ll have finally run out of fat old men with thumb rings, and Porsche can start getting them straight in his head, but finally never seems to come.  Korn is really fucking connected.

Kinn sits at the head of the long table, but it's at Korn's elbow that Porsche starts to learn.  The old man ran guns and drugs for decades before becoming a professorial grandfather living above the clouds.  He has a way of making the numbers seem easy.

(And if it's easier for Porsche to accept his authority than it is to admit that Kinn is a little more equal than him, well.  No one asks Porsche to say that out loud.)

Porsche wants to hate his new puppet master, but well…

“I want to apologize for everything to do with your mother,” Korn says.  Porsche doesn't buy it, but Kinn just tore him a new asshole for confusing Khuns Somchai and Somchak.  At least this is an apology instead of an interrogation.

“I'd like us to meet with Dr. Suva together so that you fully understand her condition,” Korn goes on.  “It was wrong of me to keep so much from you, especially once you came into the family.  I had to be sure, you see.  I had to know I could trust you with her.”

Porsche should probably decline and do… something different.  He should probably not accept whatever half-truth Korn is feeding him.  He should call his own doctor, or something, not that he’s ever really had one.  

But he likes Dr. Suva.  He trusts her.  And he doesn’t have a neurologist he can call up, and it’s easier to accept that Porsche is good at telling when people are lying, and that what Korn’s saying is at least true enough that the old man believes it himself.

“Sure, I’d um, I’d like that, I guess,” Porsche says, not thinking Korn means now.   But he does, and they go down to the clinic together and sit in Dr. Suva’s office.

She did the exam after… after the diamond auction.  She was the only person that day who had given any consideration to Porsche's feelings on… everything.  She'd stopped the exam when he expressed discomfort and waited.  She'd explained how the bleeding fissure in his ass would heal until he’d stopped thinking he was dying.  She'd taken the blood sample for the STI panel without making him feel diseased.  Porsche really, really trusts her, even if Korn's involved and he's fucking sus, even with his mom.

Korn and Dr. Suva spend five hours walking Porsche through Naemphung’s entire medical history.  They explain every test and why it was done.  They show him X-rays and promising studies.  They introduce him to her nurses.  Korn knows the staff's names, their children’s names, their pets.   And they like him.  They treat him like a sweet old grandpa, not a crazy attic-wifer who’s been ordering them to grind pills into Naemphung’s food to keep her sedated.

Porsche wants to believe that Korn drugged her into forgetting him.  He wants this to be someone else's fault.  He doesn't want her to have left him.

“I'm sorry for my cowardice,” Korn says at the end, back in his study, handing Porsche a glass of very fine whiskey.  “I thought it was kinder to let you believe she'd gone in an accident.”

“There's always hope for a treatment,” Porsche says, and tries to smile.  Korn’s right.  This is worse.  “Maybe in five years…”

Korn gives him a tired smile back.  “Of course, and she'll have the best care as long as either of us is alive.  I promise you this, Porsche, and I am a man who makes very few promises.”

“Thank you,” Porsche says, and tacks on “Uncle,” even though he still feels weird about it.  He wants to be mad at Korn for how much he's fucked up Kinn.  But after the tongue lashing he got today, he thinks maybe Kinn is the problem and not this nice old man.  Maybe it won’t hurt Porsche to learn at the knee of the guy who knows what he’s doing.

Korn dies a few weeks later.  It's Chan’s second day back on the job, and maybe a week after Kinn gets the news that Big's out of the woods and probably won't die after all.

“He wasn't quite himself after… what happened with Khun Gun,” Dr. Suva says to Porsche in the hallway outside the room where they tried and failed to bring Korn back to life.  She looks over at Chan, who has been chain-smoking into a kidney basin since Korn was pronounced.  “I should have insisted on a cardiac work up.”

“You know how he is - was,” Chan says.  Porsche wasn't aware Chan smoked.  He'd like to know how he hides the smell, and he’d really like to know how he's doing it in the middle of medical without setting off the sprinklers.  They're fucking sensitive.  “Didn't like anyone knowing he had a heart.”

Dr. Suva gives Chan a wry look.  Porsche isn't sure whether they're talking about Korn's medical problems or his personality.  He'd try to puzzle it out, but just then Kim Theerapanyakun storms into medical, marking the second time ever Porsche has seen him in person.  He is surprisingly short.  

Chan drops the cigarette and summons up a much tenderer version of the professional calm he usually displays.  "Let's go see your pa," he tells Kim.  Porsche goes to find Kinn, who should be arriving home soon from an important meeting this interrupted.

“That's not him,” Kinn says, from the doorway of the resuscitation room.

“Kinn,” Kim says, rather abruptly.  It's belied by the care with which he's holding his father's hand.  “It's him.”

“Nong, it's him,” Tankhun says.  “I’ve been with him since it happened.  I know he doesn’t look like himself right now, but it’s him.”

Something in Kinn’s face softens when Tankhun speaks, and when he speaks next, it’s gentler.  “I’m sorry you had to see that, hia.”

Tankhun shakes his head.  He was crying a little, right after it happened, when they called Porsche down to be with him while they called the death, but he stopped.  “I told him we loved him,” he says.  “I said it for all of us, don’t worry.  It was… it was really fast, Kinn.  He didn’t suffer.”

Kinn clears his throat.  “I’ll make the arrangements,” he says, still sounding doubtful, and stalks off down the corridor the way he does after ugly meetings.

Porsche looks between Kim and Tankhun and then realizes he’s the one who is supposed to follow Kinn.  So he does.

They’ve been fighting all week about something Korn said that made so much sense when he explained it, but has absolutely fucked Kinn’s cashflow for a construction project he’s trying to finance.  Last night, Porsche tried to explain, and Kinn yelled at him over the briefing room table and called him shit-for-brains.

If Kinn’s father hadn’t just dropped dead, Porsche would be somewhere sulking, but he does love Kinn, despite how rough yesterday night was.  He follows Kinn into the elevator and then has no fucking idea what to say.

“Fuck,” Kinn says.  “Goddamnit.  That was an important meeting.  How the fuck am I supposed to get this financing?”

“Sorry,” Porsche tells him, and then they’re getting off the elevator and Porsche is following him into the apartment and the sorry sounds like it was for the meeting, and not the dead father.  Maybe it's for both.  Kinn doesn't seem to absorbed that his dad is dead yet.

Kinn heads straight for the study.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters, and turns on the walkie-talkie app on his phone.  “Chan?”

“Sir,” Chan’s voice crackles back.  “My condolences.”

“Thanks,” Kinn says.  “I guess we need some fucking monks, or something.  Do you know what he wanted?”

“Yessir, I have the document with his wishes here.  I’ll present the final plan for your approval.”

“Thanks,” Kinn says, and flings himself into the desk chair.  “Fuck.”

“Can I… help?” Porsche asks, although the funeral planning hasn’t seemed too incredibly onerous.  He doesn’t really remember what happened after his parents died.  He thinks maybe Uncle Thee came and lifted him out of the cabinet, and they went upstairs to where Chay was crying, and…

He shakes his head.  Kinn is saying something.  Porsche should focus.  He zooms back into the present.

“-blowjob?” Kinn says, and gives Porsche the edge of a weird, hard smile that Porsche doesn’t like very much.

“Yeah, I mean, of course,” Porsche says, hoping that makes sense in response to what Kinn said.  “Um.  Here?”

“Sure,” Kinn says, and gets himself out of his pants.  Porsche wasn’t expecting the answer to be blowjob, although people like to fuck when someone dies, right?  It’s normal?

He stands just looking at Kinn’s dick for a second, but that’s weird, so he gets on his knees.  He uh… he’s done this before, he knows how to do it, he…

Porsche doesn’t really like giving blowjobs, he’s discovered.  He goes down on all his partners, but there’s something about eating pussy that feels like work, sometimes, and cock is a whole new level of difficulty, especially Kinn’s monster dong.  It tastes weird and it makes Porsche’s throat hurt, and…

“Open your mouth,” Kinn says, and so Porsche opens his mouth.  They’ve only done this a few times, Kinn getting off more on ‘teaching’ Porsche than actually fucking his mouth.  That was fun.

This is…  Kinn feeds the head of his cock into Porsche’s open mouth.  He doesn’t say I bet you’re a virgin, or I’m going to teach you to take it so good, which are both premises that get Porsche pretty fucking hot.  “Don’t bite me,” Kinn says.

This is kind of rough.  Porsche gets his hand around the base of Kinn’s cock before he can thrust all the way in, and makes a tight, spitty channel.  But Kinn is big, and even with the hand his cock still makes Porsche gag and his eyes water.

But this is a sympathy blowjob and it would be really bad manners to quit.  Porsche was just… he’s not opposed to a sympathy fuck, but he thought it would be one where Kinn put him on his back and told him that he made everything better, or something similarly romantic.  He feels like a human fleshlight, and…

Kinn thrusts a little too deep.  Porsche feels like his teeth are going to be knocked back into his throat and then he’ll throw them up.  He wants to spit the fucking cock out.  Maybe he will bite.

“I’m close,” Kinn says, and fists his hand in Porsche’s hair, keeping him in the right spot.  “I’m close, I’m…”

He knocks forward again, and Porsche doesn’t know if he can take much more of this.  It’s taking everything in him not to fight.  He’s…

Kinn comes all over his tongue, and the corner of his mouth.  Porsche feels it drip down to his shirt.  He feels vaguely soiled, like he’s the sock Kinn is using to jerk off with.

“Is that… better?” Porsche asks.

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and tucks himself away again.  “Thanks, baby.  Can I get you back?”

“My dad didn’t just die,” Porsche says, instead of I am as soft as melted butter.   That really didn’t do it for him, wow.  “I’m here for what you need.”

“Fuck,” Kinn says again.  “Fuck.  I just left Hia down there with a dead body.  I should get back downstairs.  You’re coming?”

“Of course,” Porsche says.  “I’ll just change my shirt.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Kinn says, now acting like it’s a five-alarm fire to get Tankhun away from the body.  “I should… I've got to get to my brother, I’ll…”

And he’s gone.  Of course Porsche is fine with that.  Kinn's dad died like, an hour ago.  He should get back to Tankhun.

There's cum on his collarbone and he spends way too long trying to scrub it off, and then has to change into a sweatshirt to hide the red mark the washcloth leaves.  He just doesn't want Kinn's brothers thinking he smells like semen.  He doesn't want them thinking Kinn treats Porsche like some kind of human sex doll.  It isn't like that between them.

After the funeral, Porsche learns that it doesn’t mean anything to be the (sort of) nephew of a dead man.  People aren’t as polite to him in meetings as they were when Korn summoned them and Korn made the introduction.  Porsche goes from Korn’s nephew to Kinn’s boyfriend (or sometimes Kinn’s girlfriend, when someone is trying to rattle him.)  It’s different.

It’s worse.  It’s so much worse.

Life with Korn pulling the strings felt exhausting.  Porsche was rushed from meeting to meeting, reciting the numbers Korn prepped for him like a talking doll.  He didn’t think he was doing good, exactly, but it was reassuring to think that someone other than Porsche was in the background strategizing.  He kind of started to get why Kinn let Korn lead him around by the dick.

Life without Korn is so fucking overwhelming.  Porsche can’t do math in his head, for one, and these meetings go from polite teas that end with a little business to back-alley envelopes of cash meetings almost before Korn’s body is cool.  As much as Porsche preps beforehand, he can never keep the different grades and different quantities straight in his head (and he feels kind of gross being a fucking drug dealer, what if someone is selling these to kids?)

“How much did it cost?” Kinn asks him, in one main family/minor family meeting.

“... uh,” Porsche says.  It definitely started with a two.  Behind Kinn, Chan visibly winces.  “Two… million?”

He expects Kinn to be pissed off, but he isn’t this time.  That doesn't mean Porsche won't set him off later in the meeting.  There's always something new and stupid he can blunder into.  “Arm, call and get the final numbers and the bank transfer details,” Kinn orders with a sigh.  “Porsche.”

“I know, I know,” Porsche says, and resists the urge to put his head in his hands on the table.  Somchak is a scary motherfucker and there was a moment riding back in the Maserati where Porsche thought he was having a heart attack.  He’s tired.  He wants to take a shower and curl up under the blankets of their bed, where he feels safe again.

“You have to remember the numbers,” Kinn says.  “C’mon, Porsche.”

Porsche is trying.   He would like to remember the numbers as much as anyone else.  He’s the one struggling through the meetings.  It’s just a lot to remember, and Porsche is more of a body person.  He's better at moving than thinking.

“How was Big when you spoke to him?” Chan asks, an obvious misdirection.  He’s a lot freer, now that Korn is gone.  He’s perfect in open meetings but behind closed doors he’s a lot more relaxed with Kinn, almost fatherly.  Porsche feels… some kind of weird way about that.

And he feels some kind of weird way about Big not dying too.  He didn’t want the guy to die for him, and he definitely didn’t want to die himself.  But he just feels… weird, when Kinn talks about Big with so much obvious affection.  How can Kinn like the bastard who tied Porsche up and kicked him around the gym until he scarred from the carpet burn?  How can -

“Porsche,” Chan says quietly.  

Porsche snaps back to reality.  He can really get thinking, these days.  He’s not sure why.  “Sorry, what were you saying?” he asks.  Kinn sighs, but not loudly enough for Porsche to make something out of it.  He tries to shove down how childish it makes him feel, and how out of control.

He’s irrationally annoyed by how excited Kinn is once Big is cleared to come home from the hospital.  Kinn just lost his father, he reminds himself.  It’s good he’s excited about something.  Don’t be mean.

He feels weirdly satisfied when Big just sleeps for the first four days he’s out of the hospital.  Kinn goes to visit him once, but he’s out cold and they don’t get to talk.  The satisfaction lasts for about a minute, and then Porsche feels guilty about how vicious he’s being.  Big saved his life and Kinn cares about him.  Porsche should be nice.

Porsche has to do night stuff, so he usually falls back asleep after Kinn’s alarm goes off for an hour or two.  He wakes up to a message from Kinn asking to meet before he goes to the minor family house for the day.  Sure, Porsche replies, ignoring a sick feeling like he;s in trouble before he’s even vertical.  There in 30.

He makes it in 10, hoping to get whatever the bad thing is over with before it snarls up his afternoon.  He needs to talk to Vegas for a bit before he goes to his first meeting and get his head on straight.  He needs to talk to Pete for a bit and feel like someone in the world still likes him.  Things have been rough with Chay recently, but it’ll blow over.

Of course, Kinn is still in a meeting, and Porsche spends fifteen minutes in his waiting room, trying not to injure the dignity of the minor family head with fidgeting.  He feels so naked in the fishbowl of the waiting room.  He wants to drag the furniture around until he has a dark, safe place to hide, but of course that’s a weird fucking thought.

And then suddenly fucking Big steps in, and weirder, doesn’t go straight in with Kinn.  He waits outside like a guest, which doesn’t seem right.  Big was always Kinn’s shadow, even with the broken arm, even when that was Porsche's job.  It makes Porsche want to spit.

Well, Porsche has manners.  He won't spit.  He'll say thank you now and get it out of the way.  The guy did save his life.

“Hey, I wanted to say,” he starts, and Big cuts him this look like save it, you fucking idiot.   Porsche will persevere though.  He will thank this awful, awful man.

But Kinn interrupts.  “Hey, come in,” he says, and smiles, so maybe Porsche isn’t in shit?  If he’s not in shit, he would have eaten brunch before he left the suite.  He always forgets when he’s at the minor family house - he’s so busy with meetings, and sometimes the stress gives him a stomachache.

Big follows him.  Porsche has a sinking feeling like he knows where this is going.  Fuck, if only he was better at math, he wouldn’t have to deal with these indignities.  Can the head of the minor family hire a tutor for help with fractions, or is that…

Kinn waves them both onto the sofa like they have an equal right to be sitting there.  He turns to Porsche, and leans in for a kiss.  “I figured out a solution to your problem,” he says to Porsche, and smiles.  “I've got P’Chan, so I'll give you Big.”

Chapter Text

After the bizarre revelation that Big has been acting as Kinn’s fucking poison taster, like Kinn is some medieval king, Porsche leaves with the asshole, swallowing down the bile that’s gathering in his throat.  He’s going to be decent to the guy, of course, but fuck.

Kinn doesn’t trust him.  He couldn’t make it more obvious if he hired a skywriter and hung a banner saying Porsche Kittisawat is a miserable failure.   He’s begged his best guy to come back when he should probably be off another month, just to keep an eye on Porsche in meetings.

It hurts.  Porsche doesn’t mean to be bad with numbers.  He’s doing his best to learn quickly, with very little support.

The only consolation is that Big doesn’t look any happier.  Porsche would like to think that he wants to be back on bed rest, where he obviously belongs, but the guy is probably plotting how to get back on Kinn’s detail.  He has absolutely no sense of self-preservation.

Porsche sucks it up and thanks him for that.  Whether or not he thinks he was worth Big’s fourish bullet holes (Tawan wasn’t a great shot, even that close up), he owes the guy enormously for not making Chay’s last memory of Porsche him bleeding out on a warehouse floor.

He’s no stranger to bad coworkers.  He has ways of making people he doesn’t like keep their distance.  But fuck, he can’t bring himself to fuck with the guy who saved his life.  He still remembers feeling the impact of the bullets against Big’s body, and soaking Big’s blood off his legs.  He owes this guy.

For a few minutes, Porsche thinks maaaaybe he can get away with simply stashing Big in the car and going in to flunk his meetings privately.  The man isn’t exactly steady on his feet.  The big brother part of Porsche that’s been kind of underutilized lately would like to send Big back to bed with some nourishing soup (which apparently he’d taste for poison?  Is that something Porsche should be worried about?)

So he calls Pete, who is kind of his Kinn-specific oracular interpreter.  “Big’s like a human tape recorder,” Pete tells Porsche.  “And he was Kinn’s close guard in college, he understands all the business shit.  It’s gonna help you a lot to have someone in meetings who can explain all the fucking numbers to you.”

Porsche hates the idea of a human tape recorder with him all day, even though he can tell that Pete doesn’t mean it in a bad way.  Pete gets along with everyone, and apparently that includes Big.  And he knows that Vegas is not able to stay awake long enough to prep Porsche for all the meetings he’s been going to, even if he’s been doing his best to help (Porsche wishes he understood why.)

Porsche locks eyes with Pete.  Give him a shot, Pete’s face is saying.  He’s not as bad as you’re making him in your head.

But Pete thinks that about everyone, basically, including Kinn.

“Great,” Porsche says.  “Let me introduce you to the staff.”

He can already tell that their first meeting together is going horribly.   Human tape recorder, Porsche keeps hearing in his head.  He can’t even put the words into numbers in his head, he’s that fucked up over this.

There’s so much to remember in these meetings.  First, he has to look like a mob boss.  He has to walk and talk like a mob boss.  He has to come in and swing his dick around.  He’s used to his game face being the kind of high-end bartender who looks a little like trouble and a lot like fun that Mama wouldn’t approve of, but sweet underneath.  This is a big shift.

Then, he has to remember all the relationships in play.  Who is he speaking to, an underling or a boss?  If he has the boss, is it someone who is in an equalish position to him, and what does that mean?  If it’s an underling, should he be insulted that they came instead of their overlord or is it a guy it makes sense for him to be talking to?  Are they appropriately deferential, or kind of an asshole, and does Porsche think that’s on orders from above or just as part of a bad personality?

And then while he thinks about this and a million other things, he also has to do back of the envelope math.  No one is giving him round numbers, either.  There’s decimal places and fractions and fuck.

Today is worse than usual.  He’s mostly getting through by watching the guy’s body language to try to check whether he thinks he’s getting away with something.  He’s not even quite sure what they’re talking about - heroin, probably?  But they’re so euphemistic Porsche can’t even really remember why they’re here today.

The guy tenses slightly, so there’s something going on, but damned if Porsche can even recall what they’re talking about.  He thinks furiously, tries to replay the last few minutes of conversation in his head, but it’s so much white noise.  Is it worth calling the guy on, or -

Big leans in.  “Khun Porsche, he made a mistake with the math,” Big says, and whispers the name of the product, the number the guy said and the correct number in his ear.

That fucker.  Porsche is pretty sure he was trying to mix up the grades and confuse Porsche, and it damn near worked.  “You wouldn’t be making mistakes with the numbers on purpose, would you?” Porsche asks, and watches the underling gulp.

There’s a bittersweet satisfaction in making someone fear him.  For so much of Porsche’s life, he wasn’t powerful, and now he is.  The terror makes him feel, for a few minutes, safe.

But it all evaporates when the accountant stands and bows himself out.  Porsche’s human tape recorder trails him out to dinner.  And Porsche is just one man again, a little awkward at the head of the groaning table the minor family sets out for dinner every night.

For a second, he looks over at Big and wonders if it’ll be different now that he has a buddy around.  But of course, Big isn’t his buddy.  They were never friends.  Big hates him.

In a lot of ways, being the head of the minor family is like being the head bartender at Hum Bar.  Porsche still has to eat shit, but now it’s a different kind of shit.  A better class of shit, if you will.  But shit is shit, even if you put it in a sugar-rimmed coupe glass.

Big’s hands are starting to shake.  He’s on ultralight duties, whatever that means, and he’s kind of grey.  Porsche hands him an orange juice, and Big glares at him.

Porsche takes some of the easier-to-eat food laid out on the table and imagines this in Big’s inevitable report to Kinn.  Subject handed me off-brand orange juice.  Did not sniff for poison before eating grilled squid.  Performance: unsatisfactory.

And then he has to take a big bite of something really spicy before he starts imagining what his punishment for today might be.

Over the next few days, Porsche can’t shake the thought that he’s being monitored.  There’s no change to Big’s surliness, and he’s too professional for Porsche to catch him texting Kinn.  But surely they’re talking about him, right?

Porsche is pretty jealous that Big accompanied Kinn to Korn’s grave.  Kinn won’t even talk about his father to Porsche.  And Big got to go with him to the cemetery.  It’s not fair.

But whatever Big is saying, somehow it’s improving Kinn’s mood.  It doesn’t make sense.  Porsche is so sure that Big is texting Kinn about him day and night, recording all his little slip-ups, his myriad shortcomings, even his stupid laugh.  How can that be making Kinn happy?

Porsche gets so in his head about it that he thinks about asking Arm to hack Kinn’s phone again.  He needs to know.  He has to read Big’s messages about him.

The opportunity to snoop presents itself sooner than Porsche expects it to, several days before he would have worked himself up to bribe Arm.  He and Kinn are out for dinner at a see-and-be-seen restaurant in a part of town so fashionable Porsche wouldn’t have dared to walk down the street six months ago.  Kinn looks up from his phone during their appetizer and swears.

“I need to talk to the head of zoning, hang on -”

For a second, Porsche is kind of pissed off that Kinn has not only been looking at his phone during their no-work dinner, but also is now ditching him for the planning commissioner.  And then he looks down and realizes Kinn’s phone is face up on the table, unlocked.

He glances up quickly.  Kinn’s back is to him.  He could…

… he does.  He grabs the phone and quickly swipes to Kinn’s message thread with Big, bracing himself to see the worst, nastiest -

There’s nothing.  The full history since Big got his new number is just an order for Big to meet Kinn to take him to the cemetery, which Porsche was fully aware of, and another request two days ago asking if Big wouldn’t mind picking up a ham and cheese toast from the 7/11, because Kinn’s craving it specifically as a midmorning snack and Porsche is probably still asleep?  The kitchen doesn't make it the same, Big replied.  I'll be about 15.

Is that some sort of code?  Does it mean -

Fuck, he’s snooping on Kinn’s phone in the middle of a very crowded restaurant.  He can put the phone down and then figure out the mystery of the ham and cheese toast. 

He glances over at Kinn.  Kinn’s back is still turned and both the head of zoning and the planning commissioner are focused on him, not Porsche.

Porsche carefully locks the phone and nudges it back to where Kinn put it down, next to his green papaya salad.  He’s so fucking stealthy.  Mission fucking -

He looks up and realizes that Chan is staring directly at him, frowning slightly.  Fuck!  How does Porsche manage to forget Chan is there as often as he does?  The man fucking blends into the wall.  He turns into a motherfucking chair when he isn’t shooting at someone.

Chan raises his eyebrow.  Porsche gives him a weak smile.  Oh god, oh fuck, oh -

“This is my partner, Porsche,” Kinn says, and Porsche stands to greet the zoning people and their wives.  Waiters are following with more chairs, so this is apparently no longer a no-work dinner.

“A pleasure,” Porsche says to one of the wives, and pulls out her chair.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, it was…”

“I’m sorry that turned into a business dinner,” Kinn says, a couple hours later in the back of the Maserati.  “I wanted it to be a nice night out.”

“The food was still good,” Porsche says, leaning into the arm Kinn wraps around his shoulders.  “I see why you wanted to take me.”

“Yeah, it’s one of my favourite places,” Kinn agrees.  “We can do it again sometime and I’ll leave my phone at home.  Sorry.”

Porsche tries not to freeze at that.  Oh god, did Kinn catch him with the phone?  Is this turning into a huge fight?

But Kinn doesn’t say anything more.  The sweet tone doesn’t turn to recrimination.  He kisses Porsche on the side of the head and yawns.

It’s Chan whose eye Porsche catches in the rearview mirror.  Awh, fuck.

Kinn steps back to the office for ‘one more quick thing’ which usually takes at least half an hour.  Porsche was looking forward to getting laid tonight, for the first time in a while, but he thinks they’re going to miss each other again.  He’s exhausted, he’s not going to last another forty-five minutes while Kinn sends emails and does skincare.

Chan peels off with Kinn when he heads back to the other elevators and Porsche thinks he’s safe.  He can go to bed, and he’ll fucking deal with this in the -

“K’Porsche,” Chan says, and steps into the elevator with Porsche a literal millisecond before the door starts to close.  “A word.”

“I’d rather not,” Porsche says, and the door whooshes shut.  Porsche’s life whooshes before his eyes.

“I’d like you to tell me what you were looking at on K’Kinn’s phone,” Chan says, and glares at Porsche.  Fuck, how is he so intimidating sometimes and human furniture other times!  It doesn’t make sense!  “I’ll know if you lie.”

Porsche doesn’t even know what else is on Kinn’s phone.  He thinks he’s seen Kinn play Candy Crush, maybe…

Chan glares harder.

“His messages with Big,” Porsche admits, the words thick with guilt.  “I wanted to know what he was saying about me, and…”

“Porsche, Big’s not there to report on you,” Chan says, his voice going from sharp to gentle.  “He’s there to help.  I promise.”

“I know,” Porsche says.  “I know Big’s a good person.  I just, also, he must be -”

“He’s not,” Chan says.  “No one is spying on you, okay?  I promise you that wasn’t Kinn’s intention, and it certainly wasn’t mine.”

“Were you in on this too?” Porsche demands, before wondering if he’s really in any position to make demands.  “I mean…”

His floor dings and Chan follows him off the elevator.  He’s been treating Porsche a lot like he treated Pete, recently, and Porsche doesn’t know what to make of it.  He should maybe make a stink that he isn’t an underling.  But he appreciates someone treating him normally so much he can’t bring himself to do it.

“Yes, I was ‘in on it’ if you want to put it like that,” Chan agrees.  Porsche holds the door to the apartment for him so they don’t have to talk in the hallway.  The walls have ears here, although less so with Korn gone.  “I know Big has a good head for the business side of things.  He attended university with K’Kinn, he basically has a business degree himself.  And I know you will pay attention if I say someone’s on ultralight duties.  Big is a very valuable asset and I’m trusting you to take care of his health while he gets back on his feet.”

That sounds a lot less sinister than human tape recorder.   “Oh,” Porsche says.  “I didn’t know that.  About the university stuff.”

“No one told you,” Chan says.  “I hope this will work for you, but I also know what Big did to you after the diamond auction.  If he makes you feel too uncomfortable, let me know and I can probably get you Arm.  Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, feeling a weight lift now that he’s confirmed Big’s motives are not to harm him.  He just… struggles, sometimes.  His past with Kinn can feel very heavy.  Maybe Chan’s right and this was connected in his head to uh.  The diamond auction.  “Thanks.  I’ll… I mean, he’s doing a good job, and I’m not that uncomfortable.”

“Do you want to try it out for a few weeks and review?” Chan asks.  “Nothing’s set in stone.”

The ability to choose makes Porsche feel so much less nervous and out of sorts.  “Yeah, sounds good,” he agrees.  “I’ll talk to you if I need a change sooner.”

“Great,” Chan says.  “And it’s none of my business, but I think you should ask Kinn about these things rather than snooping on his phone.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Porsche says, and shrugs.  He doesn’t have words for how horrible that sounds.  He can’t just ask Kinn for things, that’s crazy talk.  “I’ll uh…”

“I’ll see myself out.  Goodnight, Khun Porsche.”

“Night,” Porsche says, and goes to change and shower.  The night was kind of a wash, but he’s feeling a bit better now.  Maybe he can wait up for Kinn.  They haven’t fucked for a couple days and Porsche misses him.

Big’s not so bad, actually.  He’s kind of grumpy, but at least he’s honest.  It’s not hard for Porsche to get a read on what he’s thinking, which is nice.

And he really helps in meetings.  Porsche has never been in a position to ask for help.  He hasn't really been in a position to receive help, not as an adult (Uncle Thee’s ineffective attempts to gamble back their money aside.)  Any money anyone gave him went straight to the never-ending interest on his loan.

Kinn seems much happier now that Porsche isn’t constantly ruining his family’s business with arithmetic errors.  And Porsche is definitely happy about that.  Now he just needs to keep things running smoothly, and not worry about the impossibility of doing that for what, the rest of his life?  Things work better when he goes moment by moment anyway.

Today wasn’t exactly quiet, but they’re both home in the evening for the first time in a couple days.  When Porsche gets back upstairs, Kinn’s stretched out on the couch in his leisure attire, his iPad in his hand and his glasses perched on his nose.  He looks relaxed, or what passes for relaxed with him.

Porsche relaxes too.  He likes Kinn like this, with the soft sweater and the reading glasses.  Even though Kinn is only threeish years older, Porsche finds the age difference kind of sexy, and the glasses really do it for him.

“One second,” Kinn says, and smiles, so Porsche goes to change out of his suit.

He comes back in his old clothes, from before.  Kinn’s been saying he’ll take Porsche out shopping, and Porsche would kind of like that, actually?  He doesn’t know how the head of the minor family dresses off duty (except that apparently Gun wore safari short suits and ascots.)  And he doesn’t know how Kinn’s boyfriend is supposed to look, either.  The idea of Kinn spoiling him and deciding what he wears makes Porsche kind of breathless.

Kinn gives him the just a sec finger, so Porsche curls up in the corner of the sofa and waits.  He feels like Kinn is going to be in a sweet mood when he’s done work, and he doesn’t want to do anything to spoil it.

“Hey,” Kinn says, not too long after, and finally puts his tablet down.  “How was your day?”

“Good,” Porsche says, and squirms closer to kiss him hello.  “Meetings were good.  You?”

“Not bad,” Kinn says, and rolls Porsche onto his back underneath him.  Porsche thrills at the casualness of it.  He likes it when Kinn does stuff to him like this.  They finally have time to fuck properly tonight, too.

Kinn runs his hand through Porsche’s hair and then pulls, just enough to make Porsche moan and bare his throat for Kinn’s teeth.  “”Sweet little thing,” Kinn says, so affectionate.  “Gonna let me have my way with you?”

“Yeah,” Porsche agrees, and grinds up against Kinn’s thigh.  Kinn’s eyes go dark and he leans in for a deeper kiss, like he’s trying to eat Porsche up.  It makes Porsche’s insides feel liquid.

“Gonna let me take my time tonight?” Kinn asks.  Porsche nods eagerly.  Kinn smiles.  “Go meet me in the bedroom.”

“Sure,” Porsche says, and they wrestle for a minute before Kinn actually lets him go, which gets Porsche’s dick hard in a confusing new way.  He’d consider himself pretty sexually experienced, but there’s a lot that’s new in this relationship with Kinn.  He never let any of the girls at the bar pin him and chew on his neck before they let him off the sofa, for one.

Another thing is the way it makes him feel when Kinn tells him to lie back and let Kinn  do all the work.  Porsche has never been able to let someone else take care of him before.  He was always the active party, whether he was fucking a girl behind the bar or fighting a debt collector or pleading with Chay’s school for a second extension on his tuition.

“You with me?” Kinn asks, pressing a kiss to Porsche’s inner thigh, and Porsche snaps back to the moment.

“Yeah,” he says, and wriggles in place, trying to dispel how good it feels.  Sometimes he feels it so much it gets overwhelming.  “Just thinking that this is really nice.”

Kinn’s eyes go soft at that and he presses another kiss to Porsche’s knee.  “Lift your hips.”

Porsche bridges up, and Kinn slides a pillow under him, and he gets to settle back down to the bed and relax.  The bed is another new thing.  The mattress isn’t twenty years old, and the sheets are always clean, and Porsche gets to fall asleep in it at night with Kinn between him and the rest of the world.  He’s a big fan.

Kinn slides two fingers inside him, dripping with lube, just how Porsche likes it.  Porsche has to fight to keep from pushing away from how good it feels.  It’s just so… so much, letting someone else give him pleasure like this.

Kinn crooks his fingers, stroking Porsche inside, and Porsche lets out a little moan.  “Yeah, let me hear,” Kinn says, his eyes dark.  He’s watching Porsche like he’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

Porsche blushes.  It’s hard to have someone’s attention on his reactions like this.  He’s never had a starring role in his own sex life before, and it’s another new thing to get used to.

For Kinn, he can do it, though.  Kinn adds another finger, and Porsche lets himself moan again, quietly, instead of biting it down.  “That’s it, baby,” Kinn says, coaxing.  “There you go.  Ready?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  Kinn lifts Porsche's leg to his shoulder and lines himself up.  He has to fuck himself in inch by inch, his cock so deep Porsche swears it’s touching his diaphragm, pushing more little noises out of him.  He wraps his arms and legs around Kinn’s bulkier body, and turns his face up, begging for a kiss.

Kinn gives it to him.  “So good, Porsche,” he says.  “Taking me so well.  So good for me.”

“Uh huh,” Porsche says, melting for the sweet talk.  “I am?”

“You’re the best boy in the whole world,” Kinn says, right into his ear.  “Best boyfriend.  I love you.”

Porsche is very weak for this.  It doesn’t take much more for him to come all over himself and Kinn’s hand.  Kinn pulls out when he’s done and pulls Porsche’s legs together, fucking the tight channel there until he finishes too, coating Porsche’s inner thighs with his spend.

Porsche is going to float away.  Kinn falls on top of him, anchoring him to the bed, and that’s perfect.  It still feels terrifying to have shown his hand so much, but it turned out exactly how he needed even if it was scary.  He’s the best and Kinn loves him.  He’s high on it.

Their bodies skin-to-skin are perfect, too.  Porsche still feels like human contact was a missing essential nutrient before, and he has to gorge on it to recover.  He had Chay, of course, and he had girls at the bar, but it was never like this.  It never made him feel as good and safe as Kinn does after they fuck.  Porsche thinks he’s addicted.

They cuddle together for a long time.  “How was that?” Kinn asks.  He’s not that much older than Porsche but when his eyes crinkle he gets the beginnings of some sexy little crow's feet.  Porsche reaches up to trace his cheek and Kinn smiles for real, instead of just with his eyes, and gives Porsche’s palm a kiss.  “Good?”

“So fucking good,” Porsche agrees.  He thinks about telling Kinn that if this is any better, he’ll come right out of his skin, but that seems superfluous.  There’s no way sex could be anything more than this.

“What do you think about mixing it up next time?” Kinn asks, cutting into Porsche’s happy moment of basking in this.  “Trying something new?”

… oh.

Kinn is watching him closely.  “We don't have to,” he murmurs.  “I love you.  This is enough.”

“No, I mean, of course we can,” Porsche says, and makes himself smile.  Of course this isn't enough for Kinn.  The man had all of Bangkok on a sexual platter before Porsche dropped into his life.  Porsche can't just rest on his laurels, he's got to compete with that.  “Um, just.  What are you thinking of?”

“I dunno,” Kinn says, unhelpfully.  Porsche is already picturing Vegas pulling people’s ear bones out and hearing Pete’s muffled screams in his subconscious.  There’s so much about sex that’s weird.   “Maybe more of wrestling you on the couch.  That was hot.”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, relieved.  “I mean sure, I was into that.  I'm flexible.”

“Yeah, you fucking are,” Kinn says, laughing, and palms Porsche's ass.  “I'd love to see that in action too.”

“Sure,” Porsche says, glad that this is about him doing the splits on Kinn’s dick and not like, something weird.  He can be adventurous.  He can branch out.  Right?  “Yeah, that's hot.”

“No Vegas bullshit,” Kinn promises.  “Just… more.  New.”

“Yeah, sure,” Porsche says.  “Of course.”

They love each other.  What could go wrong?

Chapter Text

“Maybe tonight?” Kinn asks, as they’re getting ready for a gala.  They’ve fooled around in the shower, handjobs and stuff, but they haven’t had any serious time alone for a few days.  Porsche has almost forgotten that they talked about… more.

(That’s a lie.  He’s woken up every day worried about what might be changing between them.  He’s spent long car rides wondering what he can do to finally be enough.)

“I’m into it,” he says, and spends the whole evening with a sick knot of dread in his stomach.  He tries to drown it with little glasses of champagne, which makes the anxiety that much worse.  

Anyone could put anything in an open tray of glasses, and Porsche has to stifle the terror of what would happen to him if he let that happen again.  But he needs something and the half-full champagne stems are easy to lose count of in a way that isn’t true of mixed drinks at the bar, especially since he'd be sending Big to get them.  (And Porsche has been in bars since he was 19.  God knows that the drinks there aren’t always safe either.)

He’s drunk by the time they get home, but he’s a bartender.  He’s good at hiding it.  And he’d rather not be totally present for this.  Alcohol makes it easy to slip out of his body a little.

Kinn’s buzzed too.  He’s excited, and it’s sweet.  Porsche can’t help but respond to his enthusiasm, even if he’s nervous.  When Kinn is sweet to him, all the bad stuff seems to fall away.  Maybe this will be fun?

Chan catches Kinn’s eye when they come into the lobby.  Kinn nods to dismiss him, and the guards melt back into the shadow of the lobby, Big included.  Porsche feels kind of weird about that and he’s not sure why.

Big’s still grouchy with Porsche, but he’s done a really fucking good job over the last couple of weeks.  He’s good at math and good at picking his moment to whisper in Porsche’s ear.  He’s taken it upon himself to run little errands for Porsche during the day, and has noticed Porsche’s favourite sodas and favourite snacks without being asked.  And when things got a little hairy in a meeting, he pressed Porsche flat in a doorway with the same fervor that he’d shielded him from Tawan’s bullets.  For once, Porsche didn't worry that he was about to be double-crossed, or even that the guy protecting him was chickenshit.  Big has already taken a bullet for him.  Porsche already has the proof that he would.

Porsche isn’t used to anyone taking care of him.  It makes him feel this strange longing for Uncle Thee.  It’s been a few months now without him, and Porsche misses some things about him.  His cooking, for one.  The way he’d smell like cigarettes when he hugged Porsche hello.  The -

Kinn’s teeth close against the skin of Porsche’s collarbone and Porsche jolts back to the elevator.  Right, they’re going to go upstairs and fuck.  He needs to focus.

“Good?” Kinn asks, biting down again.

“Yeah,” Porsche says, and feels an academic interest in the way his body is responding to the teeth, the way his cock gets hard, the way his voice goes breathy.  It doesn’t feel like it’s him this is happening to, but still he responds to it.  Strange.

Kinn herds him down the hall and Porsche goes, knocking into the walls, thunking off the windows.  If he wasn’t so drunk, this would feel safe and familiar to him, but now he feels like furniture knocking into furniture.

Kinn gets his pants open and Porsche stumbles and falls onto the bed as they slide down his hips faster than expected.  He has to windmill his arms to land on the mattress rather than the floor, and he doesn’t land softly.  He looks up at Kinn like a toddler looking to its mother to see how to react.

“You good for this?” Kinn asks, smiling softly like Porsche has done something silly.  “How much did you drink?”

“Same as you,” Porsche lies.  “Yeah, I’m just…  I’m good.  C’mon.”

Kinn grins and crawls on top of Porsche.  “Fuck, I love seeing my marks here,” he murmurs, biting down again.  Porsche’s body shudders at the feeling, and at the moist heat of Kinn’s mouth when he moves to suck a mark instead.  “You’re so fucking sexy.”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, which isn’t quite the right thing to say but Kinn doesn’t notice.  He likes the marks too.  He likes being reminded he’s Kinn’s.  He’s just not sure he likes wearing them to business meetings.  He’s not exactly beating the Kinn’s girlfriend allegations.

“Grab the lube?” Kinn asks.  Porsche's hand reaches into the drawer and pulls it out.  Kinn takes it from him.

Porsche’s legs spread themselves.  If all this is is hickeys and fucking, he’ll be okay.  He does like the marks, probably.  

And Kinn is always careful when they fuck.  One time he didn’t use enough lube and Porsche had a fucking weird reaction.  His eyes watered for an hour and his body started shaking.  It was very fucking embarassing.  Since then, Kinn’s been careful to always get him really wet first.

He is tonight, too.  “Relax, relax,” Kinn murmurs, and Porsche picks the reins to his body back up and finds the muscles he needs to make let go.  “Good?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  “I’m ready.”

Kinn works himself in little by little, which is how it normally goes.  Porsche is starting to relax more.  This isn’t bad, it was just hickies.  It’s fine.  He didn’t need to be so worried.

Finally Kinn is all the way inside.  Porsche reaches up, going to cling onto his boyfriend for a second.  This is one of his favourite parts of sex, feeling close and Kinn being sweet to him before they get into it.  As long as he has this -

Kinn’s hand lands on his neck, pushing him down flat.  “Stay,” he says, like Porsche is a puppy.  That’s a Vegas and Pete thing, and Porsche was promised no Vegas and Pete things.  His body starts to buzz.

“I promise you this is safe,” Kinn says, and his hand tightens on Porsche’s throat.  “Tell me no if you don’t like it, okay?”

Porsche’s whole brain turns to white noise.  Danger danger danger danger danger danger!   But he’s frozen to the bed.  He can’t even shake his head - Kinn’s hand is on his throat, pressing down on Porsche’s jugular.  Porsche is too scared even to try to move away from it.

And Porsche’s body is responding to it.  Somehow he’s still hard.  Somehow when Kinn releases and pumps his cock, he moans for it.  Somehow -

Kinn presses down again, and Porsche explodes all over Kinn’s hand.  “You love this,” Kinn says, and pulls out to jerk himself off.  “Fuck, you're so hot.  I knew you'd be into this.”

“I love it?” Porsche says, but maybe the question gets lost.  Maybe Kinn's right, and he does.  Kinn knew Porsche was gay and he wanted to be fucked, after all.  Maybe he -

Kinn comes over Porsche's belly.  The heat of it burns.  “You do,” he says confidently.  “How are you?”

“Fine,” Porsche agrees.  He's not dead.  He didn't pass out or piss himself.  Maybe he's okay.

“You were great,” Kinn assures him.  “You were amazing.  Fuck, Porsche, you’re perfect.”

Porsche reaches for Kinn again, and this time Kinn lets him cling tight.  “That was what you wanted?” Porsche asks, trying to get a sense of whether there’s more fucking more in his future.  He didn’t know his heart could race like this.

“Yeah, that was amazing,” Kinn agrees.  “So fucking good for me.  Fuck, that was hot.”

Porsche would prefer that this come before they fuck and without him being choked, but as long as it’s here, he’ll take it.  He nods, and curls up to pillow his head on Kinn’s stomach, how he likes when he’s feeling any kind of bad.  Kinn brings his hand up to card through Porsche’s hair, and they lie like that for a while.

I’m okay, Porsche tells himself.  That was okay.   He says it enough times that he starts to believe it.

Kinn falls asleep quickly enough, and then Porsche gets up to shower.  In the guest room.  With a bottle of Kinn’s whiskey.

Three shots of scotch are enough to make his hands stop shaking, but layered on top of the champagne and the excitement of the evening, they make Porsche feel too hot and his stomach queasy.  He adds a little more to calm his nerves, just a couple more swallows, and climbs into the shower to scrape the dried cum off his abs.  He doesn’t like this part.

When he gets out, he’s back to pleasantly numb to the world.  He stands swaying in front of the mirror, and looks at the damage.  The hickies are huge and livid.  He won’t be able to hide them under his shirt tomorrow, which makes him feel… nothing.   And when he turns his head…

Just under the hinge of his jaw, he can see Kinn’s thumbprint.  He fits his hand against his neck to cover it, and -

Kinn’s hand shoving him against the wall.  The room sparking and growing dark.  Porsche’s weakening hands unable to fight him free.  The sound of white noise in his ears -

Best not to do that, then.

Kinn’s closet was 90% full when Porsche moved in, so some of the clothes he likes less on Porsche are kept in the walk-in here.  Porsche wraps himself securely in towels, and goes to dig out something cozy.  All he can find is his old bodyguard tracksuit, which, well…

Good enough.  But he can’t imagine going back to bed in it.  (Ahd Kinn will have questions if he realizes Porsche had another five shots of whiskey while showering.)  If he sleeps here, the aunties will know, no matter how perfectly he makes the bed in the morning.

No, he needs to go back to the minor family house.  It’s the best solution.

And if he’s going back to the minor family house, he needs a bodyguard.  A few days after the coup, he took his bike out to clear his head, and when he came back Kinn was practically turning the city upside down looking for him.  Porsche was embarrassed by his own thoughtlessness.

Anyone downstairs could take him, but that feels… threatening somehow.  Suspicious.  He doesn’t want people asking questions about why Porsche is like this right now.  It would look bad on Kinn.

Big will take him, Porsche decides, fuzzy.  Porsche can be another one of the countless interchangeable twinks Big has returned to where they came from after Kinn’s finished with them.  Surely some left in the same state Porsche is in now.  Surely he won’t be surprised.

He takes another long drag on the mostly empty whiskey bottle and heads downstairs to ask for a lift.

Big’s grouchy, but he does it.  He tells Porsche to fuck off first, and Porsche almost does, but then Big hustles him down to the garage and grabs the keys to a Maserati.  Oh yeah, Porsche thinks, being poured into the backseat.  Maybe I’m too drunk to drive.

“You fucking think?” Big says, so maybe that came out outside Porsche’s head.  He still sounds angry but his driving is smooth, like Porsche is a bag of soup in the backseat instead of a drunk, spinny, twenty-three year old crime lord.

That’s so nice.  Porsche still feels so weird about having sex like that.  He could use someone nice, even if it’s Big.

“Do I have to sit in the back?” he asks.  It's lonely back here.  And then he remembered that actually, he’s the boss, so no, he doesn’t.  He’s pretty sure he’s climbed into the front seat of Jom’s car before.  It was a few years ago and he was shorter, but -

“Put your fucking seatbelt on!” Big snarls.  Porsche will as soon as he isn’t upside down anymore.

“Awh, you do care,” Porsche says, and turns a drunken somersault in the footwell to land in the passenger seat.  “I’m buckling up, see?”

Being upside down was bad.  He says a few other things, but that out of body feeling is back, probably good because his blood and his brain and a whole lot of scotch is sloshing around inside him.  “I’m going to be sick,” he says, and is comforted by the cool evening breeze and Big’s begrudging efforts to keep him from falling out of the car and rub his back.

Porsche wakes up as hungover as he ever was a bartender.  He thinks about crawling to the bathroom to stick his head under the tap.  His mouth tastes like oak and bile.  His tongue feels like the wooden cask they aged the scotch in.

And then he looks up and realizes why he’s awake.  “Here,” Big says and shoves a tray at him.  There’s fried eggs and toast, and a 2 liter bottle of ice cold sprite, like it was in the freezer for a few minutes before being brought up to Porsche.  Chay used to do that for him, but if Porsche thinks about Chay in his pathetic state, he’ll cry.

Porsche takes the tray, startled.  “Fuck, am I late for a meeting?” That's the only reason anyone would be trying to hustle him back to presentable, right?

“Not for a couple hours,” Big says, staring away from the eggs.  Porsche has noticed that he can be kind of squeamish about food, which is funny.  “Anything else?”

Porsche didn't ask for this, and hasn't been part of the standard service package with any other bodyguard.  Despite Big's snarky tone, he thinks that this might be… to be nice?  Fuck, what did Porsche say to him last night?

He sits up a bit more and winces.  Last night he was more worried about his carotid, but today all these hickies fucking hurt.  He wonders if he can fit into Pete's old turtleneck tonight, no one is going to take him seriously looking like he and his prom date got carried away after the big dance.

“I might need some concealer,” he admits, wincing.  Is this going to be an every night thing?  It feels comforting to know that Kinn wants him and would mark him, but also… bad.  Porsche's brain is too much like a cement mixer for him to puzzle out why.

“Of course,” Big says, and stomps out.

The eggs are just right and the toast is just right and the sprite is so cold.   And Porsche didn't have to get up and make it for himself.  He could cry.

Chay used to bring him fluids, but he also has a goody-two-shoes streak a mile wide and hates when Porsche gets into trouble.  He'll help, but whether he's splinting Porsche's fingers or making him eggs, he smoulders with you shouldn't get yourself into these scrapes.   Porsche prefers not to involve him if he doesn’t have to.  It's not good for Chay to worry.

Uncle Thee was the one who would laugh at Porsche's hangovers and fix him a big breakfast.  Even the first time Porsche got sloshed at 14, Thee treated it more like it was funny than a bad thing to do.  He'd cleaned up the puke without complaining and run out for a burger and fries so Porsche could refill his stomach.  It probably wasn’t great parenting, but Porsche had enough problems from that night without Thee giving him shit.

Porsche doesn't know why, but Big reminds him of Thee.  Not in the gambling addict way - Big doesn't even really drink, he's definitely not out hitting casinos- but just in the gruffness and maybe… softness underneath?  It feels homey to Porsche.  Comforting, in a time when very little has felt comforting.

Maybe P’Chan was right, Porsche thinks, uncorking the Sprite and taking a few huge swallows.  He feels so queasy.  Maybe Big is a good fit for him, if he can have someone who can help Porsche protect Kinn, too.  Maybe this will work out okay for a little while, just until Porsche gets a head for the numbers and Big heals up enough to go back to Kinn.

Kinn's kind of pissed off Porsche disappeared in the middle of the night and slept til 2pm.  “What if I needed you?” he asks Porsche angrily the next night.  “How the fuck did you sleep so long, anyway?”

“I was tired,” Porsche says.  He wants to get up and leave, but that'll just make things worse.  Kinn's totally capable of following him, for one, especially when he's in a bad mood and looking for someone to pick a fight with.  He tries to hold it in around the staff, and he loves Tankhun too much to get into it with him.  That just leaves Porsche.

“If you were tired, why not sleep in bed?” Kinn asks, angrily, and stands up off the couch.  Porsche doesn't know what to say to that.  He holds very still and is very quiet, like he can end this fight by not moving.  “Are you coming tonight or will I be sleeping alone again?”

“I’ll come.  You can go first in the bathroom,” Porsche says, quietly but not too quietly.  He doesn't want to piss Kinn off more.  Porsche knows he doesn't like it when Porsche disappears on him in the middle of the night.  He should have anticipated that it would make Kinn moody.  He should have handled his shit.

The next day, Kinn goes to the graveyard again, and then it gets worse.   Porsche isn't sure how he manages to exist in such separate registers.  At work, he swings his dick around and threatens people.  At the gala that night, he jokes and flirts with the governor's wife.  In the back of the car, he feels like a rabbit hiding in plain sight from a cat, except no matter how still and quiet he is, the backseat is only so big.

He wishes they could at least fight in private.  He knows he mixed up some names, but it's humiliating to be scolded with someone else watching.  He didn't think it went that badly - the governor's wife liked him even if he called her Irene instead of Iris?

He wants to say that to Kinn, but the words get stuck in his throat.  It feels too dangerous to stand up to him right now.  It's better to show his belly and hope that's enough to not have his throat ripped out.

“Kinn, I’m really tired,” he says, and his voice is turning plaintive.  He just wants this to stop.  “I didn’t mean to.  I’m sorry.”

Kinn sighs in disgust and turns to the window.  Porsche hopes he doesn't want to have sex because the idea of being touched by someone so angry with him makes him want to claw his skin off.

He knows he shouldn't.  He knows this will just make things worse.  But he feels sick lying next to Kinn and waiting to see if he wakes up still angry.  He slips out of bed again and goes to knock on Big's door.

Maybe if he just gets an early start.  Maybe if he just works harder.  Maybe, maybe Porsche can make this better and keep it better.  Maybe he can make this a world where Kinn never gets angry, and Porsche never has to feel afraid.

Chapter Text

Despite knowing how wild it would make Kinn if he knew about it, Porsche goes to visit Vegas during his afternoon rest the next day and flops down on the bed with him.  “Bad day?” Vegas asks sleepily, and scrunches his fingers in Porsche’s hair.  Porsche takes a deep breath and starts to settle, for the first time since he got into the limo and Kinn started chewing him out.

For reasons that aren’t clear to Porsche, Vegas has recently started treating him not all that differently than he treats Macau.  He treats Porsche’s mafia boss problems in a very similar register to Macau whining about girls on Line sharing screenshots of his private instagram.  Porsche doesn’t need it to make sense to accept it, and he knows there is a reason.  And the reason is that he is not Kinn's cousin.

Pete knocked on his bedroom door just a couple days after Vegas was released from the hospital, back to the minor family house.  Porsche likes Vegas - he’d been calling to ask about him every day while he recovered, and he’d gone to visit Pete and offer his support.  But he’d been pretty sure that easy camaraderie would be gone now that Porsche was the head of the minor family and Vegas was just Korn’s nephew.  There was no reason this job should belong to him.

“Hey,” Pete says to Porsche, and hands him a baggie of hair.

“Thank you?” Porsche says, blinking.  He’d had a long day and a bag of hair made about as much sense as anything else that had happened.

“That’s yours,” Pete says, and it takes Porsche a long moment to realize he means your hair, from your head and not your baggie of hair, which you misplaced around the compound.   “Vegas wanted me to return it to you.”

“Oh,” Porsche says.  “Okay.  Thank you.”

Pete’s eyes crinkle.  “You okay, man?  You look fucking exhausted.  He also wanted me to tell you that you’re not Kinn’s cousin.”

That also takes a second to register, but when it does… Porsche’s knees go weak and he sinks down to the bedroom floor.  “Fuck, you’re serious?” he asks, staring up Pete’s nose.  Of course he was pretty sure he wasn't  Kinn’s cousin, but…  It’s been nagging at him more than he thought.  He’s pretty fucking relieved that this isn’t something he’s going to have to deal with in six months when Kinn decides to get Porsche’s hair tested.

“I’m serious,” Pete confirms.  “It’s a little bit complicated, but long story short, Vegas stole your hair for a DNA test.  You’re not Kinn’s cousin.  He wants you to come for dinner tonight.”

“Isn’t he pissed off at me?”  Porsche asked once about visiting the hospital, and Pete had kind of hmmed at him, in a way that Porsche understood meant this wasn’t a very good idea.  He was so sure that whatever budding friendship there was between them was destroyed in a few sentences by Korn, and he’s been sorer over it than he wanted to admit.  There aren’t that many people Porsche likes the way he likes Vegas.

“He got over it,” Pete says, still smiling his just a little guy smile.  Porsche can’t quite tell if he’s hiding something or just reverting to his default mode.  “Do you have a meeting or anything?  The aunties are going to bring some food up to his apartment for us.  Come hang.”

“Yeah, okay,” Porsche says.  Pete levers him off the floor, and they go to eat dinner with Vegas, who seems happy to see Porsche even if he can barely stay awake.  And it’s been good since then.

“Porsche,” Vegas says gently.  “You with me?”

Porsche nods, and pulls the edge of the blanket up to wrap in.  He doesn’t talk to Vegas about his relationship with Kinn.  It seems like a bad idea.  

But also he just wants some time with someone who likes him.  Kinn’s pissed off.  Chay won’t even speak to him.  Porsche is scared to visit Yok and Jom and Tem; bad things happen in his world now.

So that leaves Pete and Vegas.

Vegas doesn’t try to make Porsche talk about things.  He helps him wrap up a little tighter, and keeps rubbing his head, which is really what he needs right now.  They're quiet for a long time.

“Did Kinn hit you?” Vegas asks, after a few minutes of silently lying in the darkness.  Porsche honestly thought Vegas had fallen asleep and was pondering the risk of taking a nap with him.  He's exhausted.

“Of course not,” Porsche mumbles.  “Why would you even say that?  He wouldn't.”

“Hm,” Vegas says, in a way that means I don’t agree with this but I’m not going to argue with you.   It's the kind of thing Porsche would do to Chay, to drive him crazy and make him expand on his point.  But Porsche is an older brother too, and it doesn't work on him.

(He appreciates the effort, though.  When he was younger, he'd daydream about being a middle brother instead of the oldest.  It was comforting to imagine a world where he had his own Porsche between himself and Chay and the things Uncle couldn't keep up with.

And before Vegas confirmed he wasn't a Theerapanyakun, he'd occasionally imagined himself and Chay as part of Kinn's real family.  They'd fall in neatly, all the boys in neat two year steps.  Tankhun, Kinn, Vegas, Porsche, Kim in neat little hops down, and Chay and Macau together on the bottom riser.  Macau is only three months younger than Chay, and Porsche had imagined -)

“You've got a meeting in half an hour,” Pete says from the doorway, breaking the quiet.  “Big's looking for you.”

“Thanks,” Porsche mumbles, like he isn't sick for imagining actually being part of Kinn's family.  Of course it's better he doesn't have any blood ties to his boyfriend.  Of course.

Big is kind of grumpy when Porsche finds him downstairs, but in like, the way that Porsche would be with Chay when he stayed up too late gaming.  There’s a strong I’m concerned about your future, young man vibe to his scowl as he hustles Porsche into the car and directs Nop to make haste to the meeting.

Big half-turns in his seat and the light comes through the windshield weird, which triggers some nearly-dissolved memory of Porsche’s childhood.  There’s his mother reaching to the backseat to soothe Chay in his car seat.  His father with one hand on the wheel and one on the radio buttons.  Porsche, honey, can you grab his binky for him, I can’t reach -

“Porsche,” Big says.  It sounds like he’s said it a couple times.  Porsche snaps to.  "Run me through our approach again, please.”

“Yeah, sure,” Porsche says.  That was weird.  There’s no reason Big should be triggering Mom memories.  He -

“Porsche,” Big says again, the grouchiness less veiled.

“Right, yes,” Porsche agrees and gets himself to focus for the next couple hours.

In the car home from his meeting, Porsche stares at the back of Big’s head.  They don’t like each other, so Porsche is confused about why Big still kind of reminds him of Uncle Thee. 

They’re absolutely nothing alike, for one.  Thee was (literally) criminally easy-going.  Big is (literally) criminally uptight.  Big is also, what, 30?  And while Thee wasn’t super-old, he was the same age as Porsche’s father.

But some of the initial anger Porsche had towards Thee is dissolving the longer the old man is gone.  Yeah, the guy fucked up, but he was still basically Porsche’s dad for most of his life.  And he definitely wasn’t perfect, but now that he’s gone, Porsche remembers some of the times Thee took care of him when he was sick, or rescued him from trouble, or laughed at him when he was monkeying around instead of being helpful.  The memory of how horrible it was to constantly hunt for the next baht is fading, and instead Porsche thinks a little about how Thee… loved him.  

Maybe he’d go back to street-fighting if he could have his nicotine-scented stray-cat Uncle pick up pizza for him one more time.  And then here’s Big, who Porsche hated and thought was dead and softened towards.  Tawan wasn’t a great shot, but it was still four bullets at close range.  It was really fucking touch and go.  But Big came back.

Porsche doesn’t know why he has this weird urge to please Big, or this weird feeling that around Big, he’s safe.  He’s had this feeling before with girls, so strong that it’s kind of the reason he never dated before Kinn.  Some nice girl getting in under his guard and then letting him down seemed like it could be deadly and -

- And how the fuck did Big become someone that Porsche finds soothing.   He does not like Big.   He still has nightmares about the asshole sometimes, about Big and Ken tying him up and doing what Kinn did and -

“Porsche,” Big says, and Porsche snaps out of the memory.  “Pete said that K’Vegas is awake and wants to hear how the meeting went.  Should I dial him for you?”

“I can call him myself,” Porsche mumbles, and spends the whole call trying not to get sucked into a different memory of riding home from school on Uncle Thee’s shoulders.  But it’s okay, because this is clearly just Vegas checking in, because he too is gaslighting (?) Porsche into thinking that he’s someone who cares about Porsche like a brother.  Even if it’s fake, it works.

Fortified by the feeling that maybe someone likes him, Porsche goes back to the tower that night.  He’d spend more time at the minor family house with Pete and Vegas, but he feels guilty about it now that Big is on his detail.  The guy gets grumpier and grumpier the longer he’s away from the tower (and Kinn.)

Besides that, Porsche sort of has the feeling that if he hides, it’ll just get worse when he does see Kinn.  He was pissed enough that Porsche took off in the middle of the night.  Porsche doesn’t want to fan the flames of discontent.  That’s not part of being perfect forever.

Kinn’s calmed down.  “Hey, sorry,” he says to Porsche when Porsche finds him in their bedroom.  He’s half-dressed, and Porsche isn’t sure whether he’s coming or going.  He can barely keep up with his own schedule.  “I was kind of an asshole after the gala.”

“It’s okay,” Porsche says, and leans in for a kiss on the cheek.  “Do we need to be somewhere?”

“I’m going to go for a massage,” Kinn says.  “Come with me, hey?  And then let me make it up to you.”

“Oh,” Porsche says, and feels weirdly uncomfortable with that.  Someone else touching him with Kinn there…?  But he doesn’t want to reject Kinn’s gesture of apology.  “Sure, I mean.  Sounds nice.”

“Do you want to change?” Kinn asks.  He’s putting on a pair of workout leggings that cling to his sculpted legs and a long hoodie type thing that looks very smooth and touchable.  Porsche doesn’t really have anything like that.  All of his new wardrobe purchases have been for the minor family - suits, loafers, tailored shirts.  All he has to lounge around in is his collection of old t-shirts and the bodyguard tracksuit.  He usually wears Kinn's clothes to bed.

He still wants to ask about maybe shopping, but now’s not a good time.  He’ll go get the massage if he has to.  And then maybe later, when things are good between them again, he can ask about fancy workout stuff.

“Um, this is okay, right?” he asks, taking off his suit  jacket, and carefully laying it over the bedroom chair.  It wrinkles super easily.  “I’m going to take it off anyway?”

“Sure,” Kinn says.  “Let me call down and tell them there will be two of us.”

The aunties have set up a second table in the treatment room by the time Porsche and Kinn come down the elevator.  “Your usual, Khun Kinn?” the older of the two asks, and twitches back the blanket on the bed..

The younger woman gently touches Porsche’s elbow.  “K’Porsche, it’s nice to have you join us.  I’d like to do a history with you before we begin.  Step this way for just one moment.”

Porsche didn’t realize there would be a q&a portion to the massage.  It makes him even more nervous.  What if he answers wrong?

The auntie takes him to a little side room.  “Any allergies?” she asks.

“No,” Porsche says, and tries not to fidget.  The head of the minor family doesn’t fidget.  He’s not going to eat anything, is he?  Why does she need to know this?

“Any injuries?”

“Uh,” Porsche says, and tries to figure out how to start.  There have been a lot, between the bodyguarding, the street fighting, the reckless scooter riding and the tae kwon do championship training.  “I mean.”

“I’m used to working with the bodyguards,” the auntie says cheerfully.  “My name is Lina.  You were on and off K’Kinn’s detail so fast that P’Chan never sent you for a tune-up!”

Chan knows that Kinn raped Porsche.  He maybe decided not to push the issue by sending Porsche to be involuntarily manhandled by a stranger, which Porsche appreciates.  The talk is helping, but Porsche still feels… something about just letting this woman touch him.  But he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable, so…

“Nice to meet you, P’Lina,” he says.  “Um.  I mean.  I’ve been injured quite a few times, I guess.  My knee fucks up sometimes, and I ripped my shoulder a few years ago, and…”

Lina nods along, taking notes on a clipboard.  “Would you prefer I stick to upper body tonight?” she asks.  “I can get you some track pants and we can come back to your knee later.”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, and his voice cracks with relief.  Kinn’s not wearing any underwear and Porsche knows this is a mostly-nude activity.  The idea of some stranger touching his hips and ass and thighs -  “Sorry.  I’ve never done this before.”

“That’s fine, honey,” Lina says.  “You can’t be bad at getting a massage.  I’ll check in with you about the pressure and all that.  How’s your jaw?”

“Uh?” Porsche asks, and feels it.  “Uh, maybe.  Sore.  I guess.”

“Sometimes bodyguards prefer I start there, or with their feet,” Lina says.  “Would that be good?”

“Sure,” Porsche says, and gratefully accepts the track pants.

Having someone touch his body is scary but nice.  Porsche isn't sure whether having Kinn there is better or worse.  It's reassuring that he's being sweet but Porsche also feels very stupid that his masseuse has to talk to him and Kinn's just knows what he wants.

Lina seems to get him, though.  He startles badly when she goes to roll the sheet under the waist of his tracksuit.  So she leaves it draped high, over where he suspects there's a fingerprint bruise on his hip.  Porsche appreciates the consideration but he also wishes he could be brave enough to go lower.  His back really fucking hurts.

It seems to go on forever.  He thinks Kinn might be asleep.  But finally Lina runs her hands through his hair and pulls away.  “Thank you, Khun Porsche,” she says.  “I'd like to see you back to work on your knee.  I'll contact your bodyguard about a future appointment.”

“Big's with him,” Kinn says sleepily.  “He can schedule it.”

“Drink lots of water,” Lina says, and the two women bow themselves out.

Kinn sits up, yawning.  “How was that?” he asks.  “Good?  I didn't realize you hadn't been down here before.”

“Just that time I passed out in the sauna,” Porsche says, and Kinn gets off the table to find his clothes.  He's fully nude, which makes Porsche feel weird about the track pants.  He thinks about shimmying out of them, but that's more awkward.

He stands up slowly.  “Cold?” Kinn asks, and smirks at him.

“My knee is fucked up,” Porsche says, trying to ignore the smirk and how exposed it makes him feel.  This isn’t funny to him, it’s -  “She wants to talk to Dr. Suva before she works on it.”

“Oh,” Kinn says, and the teasing little smile fades away.  “Does it hurt you?  You okay?”

It does, sometimes, when he kneels (or runs, or kicks, or lunges, or…)  Just like his jaw hurts sometimes when he gives blowjobs.  “Not really,” Porsche lies.  “Thank you for this.  It was really nice.”

“Now I can start making up to you,” Kinn says.  “I ordered in for dinner from that place I was trying to take you.  Let's head back upstairs.  I promise, no work.”

The dinner is nice.  After, Kinn fucks him really sweetly, on his back so they can kiss.  He's gentle and his hands stay far away from Porsche's throat.

Porsche barely feels uneasy while they do it.  He locks his ankles high on Kinn's back and holds on tight.

“Is this okay for your knee?” Kinn asks, and pressed a kiss on his shin (of the wrong leg, but it’s not like Porsche mentioned where his injury was.)

“S’good,” Porsche mumbles.  It barely hurts.  It’s worth it for this.  He kicks his heel against Kinn’s shoulder, impatient.

“Mm,” Kinn agrees, and rocks into him nice and slow.  They kiss and kiss, two sweat-slicked bodies moving together.  They even come at the same time, like they’re in some romantic movie.

Kinn keeps being sweet after they’re finished.  “How come you never went to the spa before?” he asks, his thumb landing on the hinge of Porsche’s jaw.  Now it doesn’t feel threatening to Porsche to just let it lie there.  It’s good.

“I never thought of it,” Porsche says honestly.  He’s been to physiotherapy a couple of times for injury rehab.  He never thought that massage would be something he would do for fun.

“Did you like it?” Kinn asks, and settles in on the pillow next to Porsche.  Like this, with his hair ungelled and his face very young and open, there’s no trace of the man who angrily berated Porsche in the car two nights ago.

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  “I'd maybe like to go with you, though.  Still feels weird being down there by myself.”

“I’ll book us in again next week,” Kinn promises, and pulls Porsche’s hand up to kiss his knuckles.  “The apology was the food, by the way, the massage is just… basic human rights.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not a human rights violation to have tight shoulders,” Porsche jokes, but leans up for another kiss before they fall asleep.

He drowses for a while, Kinn a warm weight in bed next to him.  He’s been thinking, a little, and that’s always dangerous.  Chay would probably scold him for putting it like that, but Chay hasn’t been around and it’s true.

Porsche would feel like this before, hopeless, in the dark period where he’d just started his second year of university and suddenly there were debt collectors at his house breaking his family heirlooms and threatening his little brother.  Chay had been almost three full years away from his high school graduation at that point.  Their finances were in shambles, their safety threatened, Uncle gone more and more.

In that period there had been many times when Porsche had wiped the blood off his face, or splinted his frequently broken middle finger, or even just fucked up his knee standing too long.  He’d look at himself in the bathroom mirror, or blurry in the reflection of the shower tiles, and think there’s no fucking way I can do this until Chay graduates.  It had just seemed so endless.

 But he’d pretty much made it.  He’d been halfway through Chay’s last year of high school when Kinn had come knocking and offered him the mafia job.  (‘Offered’ a voice that sounds very much like Chay’s scoffs in Porsche’s head.)  

He’d had one more semester to pay for himself and Chay, and then he’d just barely scrape out of university, and Chay would be done with high school, out of the house more often (and therefore safe.)  Porsche could get a third daytime job to add to street-fighting and bartending.  Maybe he could finally make some headway on the principal of his loan instead of just paying interest.  There’d been a light at the end of the tunnel.

Sometimes as the minor family head, he feels like the twenty year-old kid who got them into this mess.  He wants to tell himself that this is just a rough patch, that it’ll be over soon.  But he doesn’t know what the end is.  He doesn’t know when rough will turn back into manageable or maybe even progress.   There’s no high school graduation from the mafia.

But here, in bed with Kinn, Porsche can close his eyes and imagine that maybe this is what his happy future looks like.  He’s warm and relaxed and full of nice food.  Kinn was so sweet and caring that Porsche almost can’t remember that he was an asshole a few nights ago, or that apparently he thinks Porsche doesn’t fuck good enough.  

For tonight, his jaw and his bad shoulder don’t hurt so much anymore.  Vegas was nice.  Kinn does love him, he does.  Porsche rolls, tilts himself more towards Kinn.  You’re okay, he tells himself.  You’re gonna be okay.

And he even believes it.

Chapter Text

Like a switch being flipped, Big goes from kind of cool, actually, to a real dickbag.  Porsche doesn’t know what happened to trigger it.  He thinks that Big might have caught him and Kinn making out in the bathroom of a gala, and he feels super shitty about it.

Since… everything, Porsche has been aware that Big had certain feelings for Kinn.  He feels like an asshole that he didn’t notice before.  He’s tried, as much as he can, not to rub his success in Big’s face the way he probably was when they first got together.  And he doesn’t know what else he can do.

Apparently his efforts weren’t enough.  Overnight, Big’s criticisms go from helpful to mean.  The hilarious little zingers he would get Porsche with occasionally are now just nasty.  He goes from being the thing that was getting Porsche through his days to someone he dreads seeing in the morning.

Porsche doesn’t know what to do about it.  Big is still the guy who saved his life - he doesn’t feel like he can be an asshole back.  And if he requested reassignment, he’d lose the help that Big is still giving him.

(He’s a hopeful person, too.  Maybe if he endures it, maybe if he finds the right thing to say…  Maybe Big will like him again.)

In the midst of Big’s cold shoulder, he and Kinn settle into a rhythm of more in their sex life.

It’s not every time.  They still fuck like they did before.  And it’s not even choking every time they do stuff.

After a mostly no-work dinner, Kinn does what they’d talked about the first time, and wrestles Porsche to the floor to take him.  They push the coffee table out of the way before they start and roll around on the floor.  It’s fun.

“Got you,” Kinn says triumphantly, sitting on Porsche’s hips.  Porsche wriggles a little under him, trying one more time to make him work for it, but Kinn’s hold is secure.  “You gonna give it up now?”

Porsche enjoyed that.  It felt more like play fighting with Chay than anything violent.  He liked that he could keep eeling out of Kinn’s hold, and Kinn would keep getting up on his knees and trying again to wrestle him to the floor.  It felt sexy that Kinn would make an effort for him like that.

“You got me,” he agrees, and spreads his legs.  He’s only wearing his underwear and he prepped himself in the bathroom before they started.  “You win.”

“Then I’m taking my prize,” Kinn tells him, and loosely pins his hands over his head to pull his underwear down far enough he has access to Porsche’s loose hole.

Porsche gets all shivery at the idea he’s the prize.  “You cold?” Kinn asks, nosing along the side of Porsche’s neck.  “I can grab the throw off the couch.”

“I’m good,” Porsche answers.  He flexes his hands in Kinn’s grip and Kinn presses down harder.  He shivers again.

“Ah,” Kinn says, and smiles with his eyes.  “I finally caught you, huh?  Gonna keep you right here and do whatever I want to you.”

“Mmhmm,” Porsche says.  “Keep me right - ah!”

Kinn’s started pushing into him.  He has to breathe hard to make himself relax, but it’s like Kinn has a direct line to his dick.  Porsche is so fucking hard, even when it hurts a little.

“Good?” Kinn asks.  Porsche makes a little moan of agreement.  “You gonna ride me, handsome?”

Porsche’s legs are already trembling, but he nods.  Kinn flips them over without pulling out, and switches his hold so he’s pinning Porsche’s arms to his own chest.  “Show me that fighting spirit, huh?” Kinn asks.

Porsche bites his lip and starts fucking himself down on Kinn’s cock.  Kinn’s usually on top, except for a couple times in the pool, and it’s hard to coordinate all the moving parts even though Porsche can fuck like a sewing machine when he’s topping someone else.

Kinn plants his feet and thrusts up into Porsche hard.  Porsche cries out, louder than he meant to.  “You good?” Kinn asks, still smiling with his eyes.  “That sounded like it hurt.”

“Uh,” Porsche gasps.  It did, a little, but not in a bad way.  “I’m good.”

Kinn readjusts his hold so that he’s not gripping Porsche’s wrists but lacing their fingers together.  It gives Porsche something to push against without feeling like he’s going to crush Kinn’s sternum.  The rhythm gets easier, especially when Kinn starts bouncing his hips up to help.

Porsche feels his orgasm start to build at the base of his spine.  “I’m close,” he pants.  “Please Kinn, I’m close, I…”

“Can you come like this?” Kinn asks him.  “Try for me?”

“Maybe,” Porsche whimpers, and works himself down, and down, and down.  He’s starting to vibrate with how close he is.  But he can’t quite get there.  “I need… I need…”

Kinn doesn’t ask him for more.  He shifts Porsche’s grip, and takes both of Porsche’s hands in one of his.  Porsche comes with Kinn stroking his cock in time with his increasingly ragged downward thrusts.

“Can you take a little more?” Kinn asks, rolling him on his back.  “Gonna let me get what I want?”

“Okay,” Porsche says, and shivers and jangles through Kinn fucking him to completion.

That’s not always his favourite thing, but tonight it feels okay.  Kinn pulls out and Porsche feels like his bones have melted into the carpet.  “Was that good?” Kinn asks affectionately, and grabs the throw off the couch.

“Yeah,” Porsche says, and shifts to pillow his head on Kinn’s shoulder.  “That was fun.”

“How was your day?” Kinn asks, when Porsche has finished cozying up to him.  “Good?”

It was shitty.  Porsche shrugs.  “Okay,” he answers.  “You?”

“The same,” Kinn says.  “Do you want to go soak in the bath?”

“Yeah,” Porsche agrees, and wraps the throw around himself to wobble after Kinn.

They both bring their phones with them into the bathroom, and they both set them on the bathroom counter.  Porsche has his muted except for texts from a few key players: Kinn, Chan, Big, Arm, Pete and Nop.  But really, Kinn’s the person most likely to text him late and he’s got his hands in the water.

So Porsche is surprised when a phone buzzes.  “Can you grab that?” Kinn asks, pinned between Porsche and the bathtub.  “I’m sure it’ll just be quick, I can answer it in here.”

“Sure,” Porsche says, and pops out of the tub.  Kinn leans forward to add more hot water.  “Oh, there’s no notification.”

It takes him another second to realize that maybe he’s the one who buzzed.  It’s probably Chan or Nop, dealing with scheduling for tomorrow.  He’ll just…

When he picks up his phone, the message is from Chay.

Porsche has wet hands.  He drops the phone before he can read the text.

Kinn snaps the water off, looking up at him like a gunman might burst through the fiftieth story window at any second.  The bathroom goes eerily silent.  

“It’s - no,” Porsche says, scrabbling on the floor for his phone.  “It’s Chay.”

“Oh,” Kinn says, relaxing.  And then - “Oh!  You okay?”

He gets out of the bath and grabs a towel for both of them.  “Yeah, I’m…” Porsche says, finally finding his phone on the floor.  He’s shaking with adrenaline, suddenly.  “It’s…”

He’s a mafia boss - his texts are hidden.  All his phone screen says is the name of the texter.  And Porsche can’t bring himself to enter the password.

He and Chay haven’t spoken for a little more than a month.  Porsche has called, texted, knocked on Chay’s door, tried to ambush him in the lobby.  But Chay ignores the calls, leaves the texts on read, doesn't answer the door, and simply looked through Porsche the one time he tried the lobby trick.  It was too awful for Porsche to make a second attempt.

Kinn drapes the towel over his shoulders.  “Do you want me to read it?” he asks.

Porsche all but shoves the phone into his hands.  If Chay says he never wants to speak again, if he says he hates Porsche… Porsche can't handle seeing it there in black and white.  He doesn't know why this is fucking him up more than someone shooting at his car this afternoon, but it is.

Kinn types the PIN, his own birthday.  Porsche's old phones were always some variation on Chay’s.  Chay was the most important person in his life, his better half.  He is still Porsche's better half.  Chay was even right.  Being the head of a crime family fucking sucks, actually.

The PIN finally entered, Kinn skims for what feels like an hour.  “It's good,” he reports, looking up with a smile.  “He wants to meet up.”

Porsche's eyes start to water.  He's already shaking.  He snatches the phone back.

I want to try to talk again, the message reads.  I'm still really mad but I miss you too much to keep going like this.

Of course we can talk, Porsche texts back.  Water from his hair must be dripping onto the phone screen.  I love you, Nong.

Immediately he wishes he hadn't added the second part.  If Chay doesn't reciprocate, Porsche will disintegrate into a fine dust.

The typing bubble appears and disappears for what seems like an eternity.  Porsche waits for I don’t love you anymore or maybe just okay.   He knows how much it’ll crush him to read it, and he can’t look away.

ilu 2 is what the text finally reads, and then the typing bubbles stop.

The phone blurs in Porsche’s hands as more water from his hair drips into his eyes.  He’s shaking with a mixture of relief and dread for how he’ll fuck up the next conversation.  Even when he ran away from home and left Chay all by himself, it didn’t feel this awful.

“Wow, hey,” Kinn says, and takes Porsche’s phone.  “It’s good news, right?”

Porsche nods, feeling his ears heat up.  He doesn’t know why he’s like this, for the last few months.  He’s okay with the mafia shit, but the smallest fucking thing, like Kinn not using enough lube, sets him off now.

“Do you want a hug?” Kinn asks.  Porsche nods.  He feels like an elephant is stepping on his chest.  This is so good and so terrible.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as Kinn wraps him up in his arms.  “Sorry, sorry.”

“I know how much it hurt you when he stopped talking to you,” Kinn says gently.  “I’m here, okay?  I love you.”

“I know,” Porsche croaks.  The hug is good but they're both naked and wet and it feels weird being dick-to-dick with Kinn.  Porsche pulls away and grabs his pajamas from the counter.  “Um, could we go to bed?”

“Sure,” Kinn says, and compresses his evening skincare from thirteen steps to four while Porsche dresses.  It’s thoughtful.

This is what gets Porsche so messed up in the head.  He knows it's business, but he doesn't understand how the man who holds him so tight in bed can disappear when they hit a boardroom.  He doesn’t feel like he’s a different person when Kinn is shouting at him across a polished wood table.  They’re still Kinn and Porsche.

But he shouldn’t be thinking about that right now.  Kinn finishes his skincare and turns the blankets down for Porsche.  He lets Porsche tuck his head under Kinn’s chin and hold on way too tightly, even though he complains that Porsche is a human space heater.

Porsche knows this is stupid.  He should be able to take care of himself.  He should let Kinn fall asleep unmolested.  But he can’t seem to calm himself down.  Maybe if he just had a drink, it would…

“Ssh,” Kinn says, and starts to rub Porsche’s back.  Porsche knows he’s still gripping Kinn way too tightly, but at least this makes some of the pressure in his chest release.  “He loves you, Porsche.  It’ll be okay.”

Porsche wants to sit down with Chay immediately, but Chay has… whatever he’s been doing, and Porsche has to go to work.  It takes almost 48 hours for them to schedule time together.

In his best dreams, this is easy.  Chay hugs him, says bygones are bygones, and tells him he’s thinking about going back to school.  The two of them are like they always were before.

In his nightmares, Porsche imagines Chay telling him Chay hates him now, that they’ll never reconcile.  He lies awake for almost the whole night before they meet, dreading his brother abandoning him forever.  His life doesn’t make any sense without Chay.  Everything feels wrong right now.

“He’s not going to do that,” Kinn says, watching Porsche try to dress to go meet Chay in the hotpot restaurant downstairs.  “I can see how much you two love each other.  Deep breath.”

Porsche nods and crosses his arms over his exposed chest.  He’s got his old jeans on but he can’t decide what top to wear.  It seems very important that he gets this right.  His relationship with his baby brother can’t end over a bad shirt choice.

Kinn reaches into the depths of the closet and pulls out one of his own more casual shirts.  “Try this,” he says.  “I think the tone works with your jeans.”

It does, and better, it still smells a bit like Kinn.  “Thanks,” Porsche tells him.  He really likes wearing Kinn’s clothes, it feels…

“Kiss for luck?” Kinn asks, and gives Porsche a long hug, too.  “Do you want me to walk you down there?”

Kinn is also not exactly in Chay’s good books, so as much as Porsche would like that… 

“I’m okay,” Porsche says, and leans in for another kiss.  He doesn’t understand why he can’t seem to settle himself anymore.  “I should go.”

“Don’t be late,” Kinn agrees.  “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Seeing Chay is a whole different kind of awful than Porsche was imaginined.  The second they lock eyes across the restaurant, Porsche can see that of course Chay still loves him.  But he can also see that Chay is still really angry.

It kills him inside before he even gets to the table.  He got so close to what Mama wanted for Chay.  He was almost happy, healthy and safely in university.  And Porsche had to go and fuck it all up for him by falling in love with Kinn.

They probably went longer without talking when Porsche was Kinn’s bodyguard, but the few weeks they’ve been apart feels like forever.   Porsche clocks a hundred changes in Chay before he even sits down at the table.  Chay looks thinner, like he hasn’t been eating well.  Tired, like he hasn’t been sleeping.  And Porsche thinks he’s been crying in the last few days.  Chay’s eyes stay puffy for a long time.  Porsche can always tell when he’s sad.

“Hey,” he says, drinking in the sight of his baby brother even as he tenses for a blow.

Chay gets up from the table and throws himself into Porsche’s arms.  “Hi, hia,” he mumbles against Porsche’s shoulder.

Porsche wants to hold him forever.  Chay is his baby brother, except sometimes he’s also like Porsche’s baby son, but on other days also Porsche’s dad.  He’s missed Chay a lot in the last weeks.  A brother/son/father in one person is a lot to lose.

People in the restaurant are probably watching them, but Porsche doesn’t care.  He can tell Chay’s still angry with him, but as long as he’s here, Porsche can deal with it.  There’s nothing in the world that’s worse than being cut off from Chay.

“You wanted to talk?” he asks, when Chay finally pulls away, and tries to wipe his eyes without making a big deal of it.

“Yeah,” Chay says, and rubs his own face on his shoulder.  It doesn’t make Porsche feel better to know that they’ve been missing each other.  He feels more like shit than ever.  If he could ever make the right decision, Chay wouldn’t have to feel like this.  “But… do you wanna eat first?”

“Yeah, of course,” Porsche agrees, and starts cooking the hot pot.  He’s missed the simple moments with his brother more than anything else in this weird new life.  Cooking, cleaning, folding Chay’s socks for him when he had a spare minute and the energy.  Before it was the little things that strung his life together, and now they’re gone.

Chay props his head up on his elbow and just watches.  They don’t talk, but that’s okay.  Porsche can see that Chay is still angry with him, and he’d rather not hear harsh words right now.  He can ignore it if they’re quiet together.

Porsche doesn’t like two things.  He doesn’t like other people to leave him.  He always runs first.  That kinda makes sense to him, given everything about his early life.  There’s a pretty clear a-to-b line.

And he doesn’t like people to be angry with him.  That doesn’t feel logical, but Porsche knows it maybe hurts him more than other people when someone he loves gets mad.  Chay’s been pissed off at him before, when the loan sharks started coming around, when he started street fighting, the first time he tried weed.  It doesn’t make sense  how much Porsche fears it.  Mama and Papa weren’t angry with him, and Uncle Thee’s fault was that he was too easy-going.

“Is it good?” he asks, placing some meat in Chay’s bowl.  He tries not to sound too desperate for Chay’s approval, but he thinks that Chay has some inkling of how much Porsche doesn’t like it when they fight.  (It never makes either of them stop, though.)

“It’s delicious,” Chay says, and gives Porsche the first glimmer of a smile Porsche has seen since the night Chay realized what exactly the minor family does for their money.  He shouted a lot that night.

Porsche smiles back and keeps cooking, like if he puts enough sliced beef in the hot pot, it’ll fix things.  “You eat too, hia,” Chay tells him, and Porsche gamely takes a slice of beef, but it tastes like ash in his mouth.

“Um,” he says, because if he chats, Chay won’t make him eat, probably.  “Have you met Arm?”  Chay nods.  “He puts sliced cheese on his hot pot.”

“That actually sounds kind of good,” Chay says, and for a few minutes, they’re brothers again.

But then the food is finished - Chay didn’t order much - and it’s time for them to talk.  Porsche is so nervous that he doesn’t know if he can sit for this.  He shifts in his chair, thinking about making a break for the door, and…

Chay grabs his wrist.  He knows Porsche better than anyone else in the whole world and he’s seen him literally run off rather than have a difficult conversation at least a couple times before.  Porsche isn’t surprised he’s being held in place.

“I still don’t like this,” he says, and Porsche uses all his new mob boss training not to squirm.  “But it’s like, worse if I don’t know you’re okay.  So.”

I’m sorry, I know it’s bad, Porsche wants to tell him.  I know you’re right, Chay, I should give this up.   Every other awful thing he’s done was in the name of keeping Chay safe, and this isn’t.   It makes it feel so much worse when Porsche knows people are fucking dying because of him and it isn’t even for his baby brother.

“Okay,” he says, because he loves Kinn too, and he can’t just stop.  He loves Chay.  He loves Kinn.  He needs Chay.  He needs Kinn just as much.  He feels like he’s being cut in two caught between them.  “So, can we see each other?”

“Yeah,” Chay says, rough.  “Let’s… I mean, we can try, right?”  He briefly looks across the restaurant and Porsche can see the sour expression on his face, the same one he came in wearing when he shouted at Porsche that they were the people the minor family had hurt.  It sours in Porsche’s stomach immediately.

“Of course we can,” Porsche says.  “Maybe… same time next week?”

“Sure,” Chay says, and smiles, but Porsche can tell he doesn’t really mean it.  “See you then.”

“Was it as bad as you thought?” Kinn asks, when Porsche comes back upstairs.  Porsche is so relieved to see him.  He spent the entire elevator ride feeling like Kinn was gone too, for absolutely no reason.

“It was okay,” Porsche says, and sits down next to Kinn to curl up really, really small.  “It could have been worse.”

“Awh, Porsche,” Kinn says, and gives Porsche the same kind of hug that Porsche gave Chay an hour ago, like Porsche is someone’s beloved baby brother.  Porsche closes his eyes and pretends for a few minutes that’s true.  What a fantasy.

Chay still being mad isn’t what Porsche wanted, but he’s the head of one of Thailand’s most important crime families.  Just like he had to get up and bartend when Chay loved him, he has to go to work and threaten people when Chay doesn’t.  So he does, the same as he always has.

Big is snide after his morning meeting and Porsche can’t shake it off like he has the last few days.  He doesn’t roll into the afternoon session the way he should, and that makes things worse, and then Big gets worse.  Porsche thinks about going to Chan and asking for Arm, but he knows Arm and he knows Big has a way better handle on the players he’s meeting and the products he’s moving.  And he saved Porsche’s life, so Porsche will fucking eat his shit because he’s right.

It isn’t a good day, but Porsche handles it.  The morning guy gets threatened.  The afternoon deal gets closed.

He chokes down a protein bar at lunch and barely drinks water.  By the time he gets home to change for tonight’s bread gala, he’s shaky and his head is starting to ache.  But that’s fine, he’ll get some food at the dinner, and it’s not like he’s never worked a shift hungover as shit.  He can -

Suddenly, he isn’t a little headachey.  He’s feeling the worst pain in his head he’s ever felt, like something burst in his brain.  The room goes white.

When Porsche can make sense of shapes again, Kinn is standing there, blurring in and out of Porsche’s field of vision.  “Porsche?” he says, and Porsche can feel the noise down to his bones, like explosive percussion.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Porsche grits out, and barely makes it into the half-bath to throw up the protein bar.  Kinn follows him and does everything a good boyfriend should.  The wet cloth is a relief, as is the toilet flush.  Porsche thinks he can smell the leather of his shoes, the vomit would have…

“You okay?” Kinn asks, a little quieter.  “Food poisoning?”

Porsche shrugs.  He wobbles to his feet, and Kinn catches him and holds him in a hug, which is great because Porsche feels heavy, like a bag of sand.  He doesn’t think he could maintain himself upright.

But it’s also bad because Kinn’s wearing aftershave and it smells repulsive.   It burns Porsche’s nose, and the longer he smells it the more he thinks he’ll be sick again.  He can’t say that though.

“I dunno,” he says.  “Headache.  Gonna… bed.”

“Sure,” Kinn says, and follows Porsche.  He unbuttons Porsche’s pants for him, and helps him shuck off his jacket.  He turns down the bed.  “Baby, I’m going to send the doctor up here, okay?  I’m speaking tonight, I gotta…”

“Yeah, go,” Porsche mumbles, because he’d rather throw up and shake and curse the light by himself.  Kinn doesn’t need to be a party to whatever this is.

“I’ll be home in a couple of hours,” Kinn says, and worriedly smooths one hand over Porsche’s head.  “I love you.”

Porsche can’t respond.  The door clicks shut and Kinn’s aftershave starts to fade away.  As Porsche pulls the blanket over his head, the thought occurs to him that he’s finally managed to let someone else be the one to leave.  And then…

And then, nothing for a very long time, because whatever this is, it needs to be slept off.

Chapter Text

Porsche goes from essentially a lifetime of perfect health to crippled by migraines in just a few weeks.  He never had time to get sick before, so he didn’t.  He still doesn’t have time to get sick, so he doesn’t understand why it’s happening now.

He was supposed to go to a gala tonight, but he spent a couple of hours on the bathroom floor, and then dragged himself to bed to sleep for a couple more.  He still feels woozy and the room is shimmering weirdly, but he’s also very thirsty.

He feels strange about it, but he doesn’t think he can get out of bed to go wander the tower and find sustenance.  He grabs the house phone.  “Auntie?” he says.  “Can someone bring me some sprite?”

“Of course, sweetie,” the kitchen auntie says.  “Right away.”

The person who brings the sprite, and a whole tray of other things, is P’Chan.  Porsche is a bit confused about why he’s even in the compound when Kinn is at an event.  Shouldn’t he…

“Big is with Kinn,” Chan says, and sets the tray down on the bed.  “Anything here smell offensive to you?”

Porsche shakes his head.  There’s a few bland options on the tray - bread, rice porridge, some fruit and some steamed egg.  He grabs a slice of watermelon.  His mouth and throat are so dry.

“I’d like to have Lina come up and see if there’s anything we can do for these headaches,” Chan says, after waiting for Porscbe to finish a few bites of watermelon and a spoonful of rice and push the tray aside.  “Is that okay?”

Porsche wants to say yes, but he feels kitten-weak and the idea of a stranger touching his hips and ass, and especially the faint scarring on his back…  His hands clench in the big sweatshirt he borrowed from Kinn and he stares down at the bed.

Chan squats down next to him.  “It was a genuine question, Porsche.  The answer can be no.  But she’s, uh… Sensitive to your soft spots.”

Oh god, she noticed how uneasy he was.  That’s humiliating.  Porsche feels his cheeks start to burn.

“Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Chan says softly.  “You’re okay, kiddo.  We’re just trying to get you feeling better.  Do you want to say no?”

Porsche doesn’t know.  He’s thirsty and nauseous and his jaw is killing him, and this is his fifth migraine in three weeks.  He’d like help.  But he doesn’t want to throw Kinn under the bus to get it.

“Here, drink your sprite,” Chan says, and uncaps it for him.  “Take a sec and we’ll talk.  Do you mind if I sit down?  My joints aren't what they used to be.”

“Sure, of course,” Porsche mumbles, and takes the bottle.

Chan lets him drink for a minute.  “Do you want me to propose a full plan and then you can decide?”

Porsche nods, miserably.  He still feels foggy and awful, and he’d like relief, but not if it means being naked on a table again.  He feels guilty that he can’t just tell Chan what he wants, but he has no fucking idea what will fix this.

“It might be easier to explain any… issues you might have to me and I can communicate with Lina for you,” Chan tells him.  “I’m aware of what happened that night.  I figured it was easier than fully reading in a new player.  What we’d like to do is have you sit up in a chair, and she can work on your head and neck and maybe some trigger points in your hands and feet.  You can stay upstairs.  Would that be…”

“Okay,” Porsche croaks, and then, in for a penny, in for a pound…  “Can you tell her I want to keep my pants on?”

“Yes, of course,” Chan says, very gentle.  He sounds like he does sometimes in meetings with just Kinn and Porsche, asking Kinn if he’s eaten, making sure he’s had enough to drink.  “Can I ask her to come upstairs?  Would you like me to stay during the procedure?”

Porsche hesitates.  It’s stupid, but Chan feels safe, like Dr. Suva.  And he offered.  “Yeah,” Porsche says, and his voice wobbles.  “Thanks.”

Chan types a brief message on his phone.  “I noticed that evening events seem to be a trigger for these,” he says.  “I know Kinn gave you shit a few weeks ago.  Are you still…”

Porsche’s whole face and neck flush red and he hides his face in his knees.  “I’m not making it up,” he tells Chan.  He hates the idea that Chan might think this isn’t real.  It’s not related to anything, Porsche is just feeling deathly ill two evenings a week for no particular reason.

“I can see you’re not,” Chan says, and shifts until his arm is touching Porsche’s.  “I don’t think you’re faking.  I think you’re really stressed, Porsche.  Would it help if I was on your detail at these galas?  I have some sway with Kinn that Big doesn’t.”

Just the idea makes some of the pain in Porsche’s head recede, which Porsche doesn’t like.  This is a physical problem with his physical body.  Porsche isn’t crazy.

But…  The idea of Kinn yelling at him again has been making him sick to his stomach.  He knows Chan’s right, he can shut Kinn down in ways Big would never dare.  If Chan had been there the night of the diamond auction, maybe Porsche wouldn’t…  

“Okay,” Porsche mumbles into his knees.

“Good lad,” Chan says, and presses a little more firmly against Porsche’s arm.  “Let’s get you set up for this in the study, alright?  Neck and shoulders only, I was very clear with Lina.”

The massage helps.  Some of the aura from the migraine dissipates and Porsche stops feeling so queasy.  “Can you eat a little more?” Chan asks him after.  “Would you like anything more substantial?”

“Pizza?” Porsche asks.  Kinn eats really clean and the kitchen at the minor family grinds out an enormous banquet every night with no input from Porsche.  He hasn’t had anything greasy or snacky for… a long time.

Chan’s face goes a little soft at that.  “Sure,” he says.  “Hang tight.”

Porsche gets set up on the couch with a cheese pizza and another sprite.  His stomach has hurt too much to eat properly for a while, and this is… good.  He feels weirdly like a child being supervised on a sick day, but, well, he’s open to new experiences.

Chan is sitting on the other end of the couch with his phone.  “I’d like to get you in for an ultrasound of your knee,” he says, flipping through his calendar.  “Is it alright with you if I find a time in your calendar and schedule it?”

“Sure,” Porsche says, not sure why Chan is asking.  Everyone else just throws things in there - Porsche swears it changes minute by minute sometimes.  And he’d like to get his knee unfucked, if it’s possible to do that.

“Is it bothering you?” Chan asks, and then rephrases the question immediately to “Does it hurt you?”

“Not really,” Porsche says.  It bugs him when he stays in one position too long, which he does almost every day in the back of the car.  But it’s still better than when he was bartending and standing all night on concrete.

“That’s not a no,” Chan says, and makes another note in his phone.  “Would seeing a physiotherapist be comfortable?”

Porsche wants to tell Chan that all this gentle attention and careful choice is unnecessary.  Porsche is tough and can handle a fucking physiotherapy appointment.

Except he doesn’t feel like he can.  One more thing, being asked to fully disrobe or being touched the wrong way, feels like it will break him.  He’s not sure of his own reactions right now and that scares him a lot.

Porsche isn’t used to being uncomfortable in his own body.  As long as he can remember, he’s been tall and athletic.  As a little kid, he could run as far and as fast as he wanted, beating big kids two grades older.  As a teenager, he had enough control he could put out a candle with a flick of his foot, and enough power to become the national taekwondo champ of Thailand.  As an adult, he could work all night, fuck on all his smoke breaks, and then kick ass as the sun came up.

He can still fight if he needs to, but that confidence in his own invincibility was destroyed as he walked through the tower past rows of bodies to get back to the elevator.  The aches and pains he’d barely notice seem crippling these days.  And he never feels confident in who, or what, might touch his body next.

He…

The door swings open.  Porsche jumps, almost knocking the pizza onto the floor, which would be bad because everything here is white or cream or beige.  Chan catches the box and sets it on the coffee table.

“Hey,” Kinn says, tossing his jacket on the lounge chair.  “Feeling better?”

Porsche freezes.  He doesn’t want to say yes, partly because he still feels like shit.  Part of it is that he doesn’t want Kinn to think he’s faking it to get out of work.  He can’t…

“Lina worked on him for about ninety minutes to get him upright and on the couch,” Chan answers for Porsche.  “And he's eaten about a slice and a half of pizza in an hour.  I don’t think we can call him good quite yet.  Let him sleep it off.”

“Poor thing,” Kinn says, and gives Porsche's foot a friendly shake as he lands on the arm of the couch.  “Did the massage help?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Porsche says, not sure what Kinn wants him to say.

“Good to hear,” Kinn says, and helps himself to a slice of pizza while he gives Chan a rundown on the event.

In the middle of Porsche’s migraines, he shoots the leader of the Red Diamond gang in what is unquestionably cold blood.  In the moment, it feels like he’s playing a video game.  Everything he’s scared of at night, the guns, the men, the sheer number of people out for his head, it all fades into the background.  He can almost hear theme music playing.

He’s killed people before, which is a new thing he has to live with, just like after he started street fighting he had to live with breaking bones and jaws.  But never like this, never execution-style like Kinn does.  It feels like a bad line to have crossed.

In the car home he feels like he’s the one who died.  Porsche Kittisawat can’t have been the man who just did that.  Porsche Kittisawat must be somewhere else, helping his little brother with his homework or slicing lemons for a Thursday evening bar shift.  The man in this body must be someone different.

Porsche has heard of people suffering from rejection sickness after a transplant.  Upstairs in the bathroom after the meeting, he thinks this body must be suffering that too.  He pukes and pukes and pukes until the toilet water is murky with bile and he can’t see his own blood-splattered face in the reflection of the bowl.  That’s good. It's wrong to see his own body housing someone else.

Big seems sorry for taunting him into it after, but Porsche can’t even look at him.  He’s not angry with Big.  He was right.  It was the best thing to do in the situation.

It’s just too much of a reminder that there’s another Porsche somewhere, the real Porsche, who doesn’t have to live with the weight of all of this.  It’s too much to see Big and think that there’s a possibility that Porsche could have bled out on the floor of that warehouse a few months ago.  It’s too much for Porsche to think that might have been better for all of them.

He’s supposed to see Chay a few days later, which should be long enough for the strangeness to dissipate but isn’t.  They’re trying once a week, but seeing each other hasn’t been that frequent.  Chay’s busy with something, even if he doesn’t want to explain to Porsche what it is.

Porsche arranged for them to meet at a very fancy restaurant, the kind they never would have been able to afford when he was a bartender.  He made the reservation before he shot that guy, not thinking of anything beyond the food being good.  Chay’s already there when he arrives after a meeting that refused to end on time.

Now, being escorted through the lacquered hallway to a table by the window, the location feels like a bribe, like Porsche is trying to dazzle Chay with fancy surroundings to keep him from noticing that Porsche is falling apart.  The cocktail by Chay’s elbow seems like the same; as Porsche’s brother, no one bothered to ID him.  For a second, all Porsche can see are the price tags on his offering: 700 baht for the cocktail, 5,000 for the designer steak knife sitting by Chay’s plate, 20,000 for the meal.

Porsche wants so badly for everything to go back to normal that for a few seconds, he hopes that it’s a bribe Chay will take.  He just wants to sit with his brother and eat and not have anyone ask him questions he can’t answer.  Can’t he have that for just one night?

“Hi Hia,” Chay says, making no attempt to disguise the fact he’s drinking.  Porsche wouldn’t even let him have half a beer when they were at the house together.  He was a strict parent.  “How are you?”

“Good,” Porsche says, which isn’t true.  “You?”

“Fine,” Chay says, cataloguing all of the little tells Porsche knows he has when he’s in trouble.  Porsche would like to try to hide them, but he can’t.  He’s just too fucking tired.

They make it through the first course, stilted, and then Porsche starts telling Chay how great the restaurant is supposed to be.  It isn’t even really that he thinks it is so great.  He’s mostly just repeating what Time said to him the last time they all had dinner together.  The silence has filled the room to it’s very high ceilings and is threatening to crush Porsche.

“Just like the compound,” Chay says, flat.  Porsche can’t read him when he’s in a mood like this.  He doesn’t know if that’s earnest or sarcastic.

And actually, Porsche does like living at the compound.  They still have their house and can go visit whenever they want.  He likes sleeping in a bed with his boyfriend and knowing there are a minimum of five armed men between him and trouble, instead of their easily-opened front gate.  For a second, he thinks maybe Chay does too.  He had it worse with the loan sharks than Porsche did.

“Are you liking the compound more?” he asks, hopefully.  He understands Chay’s ethical concerns with the mafia, but if he’d just accept that this kind of stuff makes life nicer and easier, Porsche could…

Chay’s eyes flash.  That was the wrong thing to say.  “Yeah, this soulless place for rich assholes is great,” Chay says, his voice getting breathy with anger.  “I love it as much as I love our soulless house for rich assholes.  I don’t want to fucking be here, hia!”

Porsche still has the reflexes to catch the napkin Chay throws at him, and the poker face to ignore all the rich assholes staring at him as Chay storms off.

Big is at his elbow, solicitous, which is good because Porsche can feel a headache building.  “Can you ask them to bring the bill?” he asks, and focuses on not throwing up on the waiter Nop runs off to find.

Massage helps at least a bit with that headache, and physio the next day helps too, and the ultrasound Chan scheduled for him is of interest to the doctors.  That’s good.  Porsche would like to get better.  But it makes him feel so uneasy to have people touching his body all the time.

“You okay?” Kinn asks him, when he crawls into bed after a late-evening physio appointment two days after his fight with Chay.  Porsche wanted to ask Chan to come with him again, but that's stupid, and beside, Chan is Kinn's weird uncle guy.  Porsche can't have him too.

Porsche nods.  The physio tried something with his IT bands, and it hurt so fucking much.  It’s better now, but Porsche is caught in the memory of how overwhelming it was, and doesn’t know why.

Kinn puts his tablet down and takes off his glasses.  “How was your appointment?”

“Mmhmm,” Porsche says.  He had a shit day.  Last week he shot a guy in cold blood and he keeps having nightmares (and daymares) about it.  Chay yelled at him in a restaurant.  His meetings all ran rough.  And then the IT band thing, and the horrible anticipation of knowing it would happen on both sides of his body.

“Do you want a hug?” Kinn asks.

Porsche really, really does.  He's so fucking tired.  And he feels so unsafe.  He nods.

Kinn scoops him close and holds him really tight, and Porsche starts to feel settled again.  It registers how much everything hurts in his body and he shifts, trying to get comfortable.

“I can hug you to sleep,” Kinn offers.  “Come lie down.”

“Aspirin,” Porsche mutters, because he's going to need it to go down.  He can…

“I've got it,” Kinn says.  Porsche has barely figured out how to get under the covers before Kinn is back with cold water and three aspirin.  “Was it a bad session?”

Porsche shrugs.  It wasn’t, he’s just being a pussy about a little bit of pain in his leg, and the physio’s hand on his ass.  He’s fine.  He’ll be fine after the aspirin starts working.

Kinn helps him lie down, and Porsche tries not to cling on too tight.  He doesn’t need to be clingy.  He needs to sleep this off and get more organized so his meetings run smooth.

“It’s okay,” Kinn encourages.  “You can hold me too.  You look like someone turned you upside down and shook you.  Do you want to talk about it?”

“Ha,” Porsche says weakly, “No.”  And then he shakes himself to sleep.

He doesn’t really feel better the next morning, but he does feel like he owes Kinn for spending forty minutes spooning him to sleep.  “You okay?” Kinn asks, bringing the breakfast tray into the bedroom.  “You were rough last night.”

“I dunno, my leg hurt,” Porsche lies.  “It’s okay now.  Are we both home tonight?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says.  “You need a night in?  You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Porsche agrees.  “Hey, you remember that thing you were saying about chasing me?  Do you want to try that tonight?”

Kinn’s face goes from tight with concern to tight with horniness.  “Fuck, yeah,” he says.  “I’ve got a dinner but I should be home by eight.  I’ll text you to prep?”

“Sure,” Porsche agrees.  What other fucking things in his life could go wrong?

Chapter Text

Porsche loses some time between scrambling away from Kinn and knocking on Big’s door.  He can’t stop coughing, which is a problem because he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this.  He needs to be very small and very quiet, and the coughing…

But the bigger problem is the guilt.  He took a swing at Kinn.  He can’t believe he’d do that.  He never thought he was the kind of person who’d hit his partner.

He knocks on Big’s door and waits.  His thoughts are racing.  He can’t get himself straight.  But he knows he needs to get out of here.  It isn’t safe.  Not for him, not for Kinn.

He knocks again, a little louder.  He’s right outside of Ken’s room and it’s giving him the heebie jeebies.  He didn’t have to see Ken’s fucking head in the cake box, but he definitely fucking heard about it, and it makes him feel…

He’s inside Big’s room now, and Big’s holding a shirt out to him.  Kinn ripped his open earlier, but that was part of the game.  They talked a couple weeks ago, when Kinn brought it up.  At the time, Porsche had mostly been thinking that he didn’t want to come second to Marsh.

Now, he doesn’t want Big getting the wrong idea about Kinn.  Porsche said yes.  Whatever marks are on his body are from him freaking out, he shouldn’t have…

It was fine one second, rolling around on the floor, having his shirt ripped open.  It was fun, like last time.  And then…

It’s like it’s all happening again as soon as he thinks about it.  He can’t get loose from the memory.

He’s on the floor and Kinn is grinning at him.  This part is fun.

He rolls back onto his feet and makes a break down the hallway for the bedroom.  They talked about this.  Kinn is going to…

Porsche slams into the wall so hard dust comes down from the ceiling.  

They talked about it like it was play fighting.  The ripped shirt was play fighting.  This is…

Porsche tries to breathe in and calm down.  But he’s winded. 

He can’t catch his breath.  He can’t collect his thoughts.  This doesn’t feel like fun anymore.

He should be able to fight his instincts and let Kinn do what he wants, but…

Kinn shoves him harder into the wall and kicks Porsche’s legs apart.  He’s pressing a little too hard, grinding Porsche’s face into the wall.

This is something that happens in Porsche’s nightmares.  For a second in his head, it’s not Kinn.  It’s someone from his nightmares, someone coming to… do stuff to him, and he can’t… 

He can’t think.  He can't breathe.  He can’t remember why Kinn is doing this to him.

Porsche is a trained fighter.  He was holding back for Kinn.  But he can see the door to the suite.  If he can just get out of here…

Everything was molasses-slow for a few choked breaths.  Now it speeds up to triple-time.  Porsche whistles through the next few seconds like an over-cranked music box.

He pushes free of the wall, and takes a wild swing, wheezing.  Seeing Kinn should make it better, but instead Porsche is just more scared.  He doesn’t want to hurt Kinn.  But he doesn’t want Kinn to hurt him either.

Kinn counters, his eyes flashing angrily.  Porsche is on fucking autopilot, even though it’s Kinn, his loving boyfriend, and he’s kind of starting to remember this is just sex.  His hands aren’t keeping up with his brain.  He takes another wild swing and…

Kinn shoves him back against the wall with one arm.  “Porsche, what the fuck?”

Porsche grabs for him, trying to break the hold.  If he can get a bit of distance, he can analyze what’s going wrong.  He needs…

Kinn shifts his grip, pushing Porsche hard against the wall again, this time by his throat.  “Porsche!” he shouts.  His hand gets tighter around Porsche’s windpipe.

Porsche goes fucking feral.  He claws out, scratching across Kinn’s chest.  If he could move his head enough, he’d bite.  

He has to get out.  He has to get out.

Kinn’s eyes go dark.  He slaps Porsche hard and Porsche doesn’t even have room to flinch away. 

It’s just like last time.  His ears are ringing.  His vision is starting to spot and go dark -

This is it, it’s just like last time.  Maybe he’ll wake up and maybe he won’t.  He’ll be defenseless and unconscious again.  He’ll -

And then Kinn drops his arm and takes two big steps back.  “Porsche!” he shouts.  “Stop it!”

Porsche’s legs give out and he slides down the wall.  His ears are ringing and he can’t breathe.  He can’t think, he can’t…

“What was that?” Kinn shouts at him.  Porsche can’t breathe.  “Porsche!”

“Sorry,” Porsche gasps, his brain catching up to his body.  Oh god, he just attacked his boyfriend, if he’d landed a punch he could have broken Kinn’s jaw or worse, oh fuck oh fuck ohfuckohfuckohfuckoh -

Kinn kneels down.  He’s trying to be gentle but his voice is still loud and angry.  “You okay?” he asks, and reaches out to touch Porsche’s cheek.

Porsche flinches back, curling up to protect his throat.  The idea of someone touching him -

“Do you want to borrow a shirt?” Big asks, and the memory breaks.

Porsche nods.  “Don’t look,” he says, feeling every mark, every scar like a burn on his body.  He’s never been this uncomfortable in his skin before, he can’t…

Big turns slowly, telegraphing every move like Porsche has a gun on him.  Porsche feels even guiltier for making Big scared, but also wants out of his ripped shirt.  He wants to hide the hickey on his chest and the triangular scar low on his hip, and…

He scrabbles into the shirt and then freezes again.  He can’t think.   He can’t -

“Can I turn around?” 

Porsche nods, and then realizes Big can’t see him.  “Yeah,” he says, his voice scraping out of him, and coughs.

Big turns back around, still slowly.  Porsche feels monstrous for having freaked him like this.  He shouldn’t have…

“Porsche,” Big says, quietly, and Porsche stops staring off into the distance.

Big doesn’t look scared.  His eyes linger on Porsche’s throat for a long second, and Porsche expects there to be jealousy.  But there isn’t.

“You want some water?” Big asks.  All Porsche hears is concern and he’s desperate for it.  “Do you need to go to medical?”

Porsche shakes his head.  “Let’s go,” he rasps.  "You don't need to fucking lecture me, let's..."

"It's not a lecture," Big says.  His eyes are so soft and gentle, the opposite of Kinn’s hard anger a few minutes ago.  "I just want to know you're safe.  You okay for transport?"

Porsche wasn’t expecting sympathy or understanding.  Big is Kinn’s man, and he puts up with Porsche waking him up in the middle of the night for Kinn’s sake.  He’s made that abundantly clear over the last few weeks of nastiness.

He wasn’t expecting someone else to actually care if he was safe or comfortable.  Feeling like someone is going to help him is almost worse than Kinn’s anger upstairs.  It makes Porsche feel like he’s going to crumble.

 "I'll be safe at the house," Porsche mumbles.  If he can get to his lonely bedroom there, he can regroup.  Get himself back in one piece.  "You'll take me?"

“Yeah,” Big says, and grabs his gun from the nightstand.  “Let’s go.”

Big’s a good fucking bodyguard as he smuggles Porsche down the fire stairs and into the freight elevator.  Porsche feels how he does out in the field with Big.  He can trust him.

“Let’s go plainclothes,” Big says, shuffling through the key cabinet.  “Are you okay if we don’t take a Maserati?”

Porsche feels so slow and dumb right now.  He doesn’t think he could turn his own scooter on, let alone decide about which car to take.  He hates feeling like this, because it usually means Chay has to jump in and take over, and Porsche is supposed to be the dad.

Big looks over his shoulder and gives Porsche a little smile.  He’s like six or seven years older than Porsche.  Most of the bodyguards are.  This doesn’t seem to be as stressful to him as it did to Porsche’s fifteen year-old brother last time Porsche screwed up huge.

Suddenly, Big’s face changes, and he goes for his gun.  Porsche turns and there’s Kinn.

He freezes again.  Kinn left for a second to get Porsche a glass of water, and Porsche ran.  Kinn doesn’t look happy about that.

He’s coming in too fast, and Porsche feels like he’s going to start swinging again.  It takes every fibre of his being not to take another shot at Kinn, or to turn and run.  He needs to…

Kinn grabs him, and Porsche can’t - he doesn’t -

Kinn turns him and slams him face-first against the parkade wall.  Porsche doesn’t want to hurt him, but the memories…

Kinn pressing him against the hotel window.  Kinn grabbing him and carrying him back through Vegas’ bathroom.  Kinn slamming him against the wall of their apartment - 

Everything goes white.  Kinn is shouting, and Big is shouting, and Porsche can’t hear over the ringing in his ears.

And then Kinn lets go.  Porsche sags to the floor, shaking.  He’s surprised he hasn’t pissed himself.  He can’t stop coughing.

Kinn’s still shouting at him, but Porsche can’t make the words out.  Everything is too-bright and blurry.  He looks up at Big, trying to find safety in a storm that he knows won’t be there, and…

And he finds it.

“Sir, what the fuck?” Big snaps, glaring at Kinn.  And then he kneels down and gently tilts Porsche’s chin up.

This is all Porsche has ever wanted.  Someone to be on his side when the world gets too confusing.  A little space to figure things out.

Porsche wants to crawl into Big’s lap, like he used to with his uncle when he was really small and he’d just come home from the hospital and nothing made sense.  But he doesn’t feel like he can move.  He’s still so scared.

“C’mon, let me see,” Big says, and Porsche tilts his head up to let Big gently put his hands on Porsche’s neck.  When Kinn touched him, it hurt.  But when Big does it, he feels like he can breathe again.  “You’re alright.  You’re okay, you’re safe.  I’ve got you.”

Porsche really wants someone to have him.  He doesn’t know if this will be here tomorrow, but in the moment, if Big will be nice to him…

“I’m sorry,” Kinn says and at least sounds sincere.  Porsche is still too ashamed to look at him.  “I’m really sorry, Porsche.”

Big coaxes Porsche back upstairs, which Porsche should not feel like he needs, but he does.  He feels so strange, like if Big stops touching him he’ll fall apart.

Kinn said sorry, but he’s got to be pissed off at Porsche.  Porsche is being crazy.  Porsche took a swing at him.  Porsche is the problem here.

He’s been grabbing onto Big in a weird way, and he makes himself stop when Big sloughs him off on the couch.  He still can’t look at Kinn, and instead folds himself into the smallest corner of the sectional, like if he’s unobtrusive enough, Kinn won’t throw him back out onto the streets.

Kinn was trying to touch him in the elevator, but Porsche really can’t handle that right now.  He feels so guilty, and at the same time even Kinn’s hand on his elbow had his brain screaming danger, danger, danger.   He kept flinching away.  Kinn is sitting in the armchair now, seemingly an ocean away.

Big pats his knee, and Porsche can’t help but lean back into him.  He’s shaking, he notices.  He feels…

“Do you want me to rub your back?” Big asks, gentle.

Porsche has never wanted anything more.  Big’s shorter than he is, so it’s a little awkward, but he folds in, feeling all arms and legs like he just hit a growth spurt.  He’s shaking even harder, and the only part of him that feels warm is where Big is touching him.

“You’re okay, you’re safe,” Big says, and for the first time in several months, Porsche actually believes it.

He feels like he’s dissolving.  He thinks he starts to cry.  There’s a quiet scrape as Kinn gets out of the armchair and goes away.

“Yeah,” Big says, and sounds sympathetic.  “That’s okay.  I got you, Porsche.”

Porsche can’t stop crying.  Kinn’s angry with him, obviously.  He hurt his boyfriend.   He woke Big up in the middle of the night.

And he’s so fucking scared.  He’s scared all day at work.  He was scared when he took a wild haymaker at Kinn.  And he’s scared now that Kinn won’t want him anymore.

He feels very stupid for crying about it, but Big is being nice to him without the edge of danger he feels with Kinn.  No one has been uncomplicatedly nice to Porsche since the last week he spent with Chay at home.

And Porsche can’t stop coughing, and the coughing reminds him of the choking, and…

“Deep breath,” Big says, and Porsche actually stops crying because it’s just… comforting.  To have someone try hard to comfort him.

Kinn comes back a few seconds later.  Porsche can’t think too hard about that.  He still feels really fuzzy.

“Porsche,” Kinn says, angry, and Porsche shrinks into Big, like Big is an anchor who can keep him in his safe, clean apartment.

“K’Kinn,” Big chides.  He takes a mug of tea from Kinn - there’s a kettle here? - and hands it to Porsche.

The hot tea feels good on his throat.  He finally manages to look at Kinn.

“I’m sorry,” Kinn says, and doesn’t look angry at Porsche.  He looks sad and confused, and that’s -

Porsche’s brain starts glitching again and - 

“What happened?” Big asks, looking between them, and Porsche’s head stops feeling like a skipping record.  That’s a fair question.  Porsche has probably said five sentences to him since knocking on his door with his shirt half ripped off.

He also can’t explain.  The memory of Kinn shoving him against the wall in the big boardroom that day wells up, and he can’t breathe again.  He curls up small against Big and puts his hands on his throat, like he can pull the ghost of Kinn’s fingers away from his windpipe.

“Ah,” Big says, because yeah, that was pretty big news around the compound when it happened.  It’s not exactly a secret that Kinn choked him out that one time.

“I’m sorry,” Kinn says again.  He sounds sorry, like maybe he’s put together that yeah, he fucking choked Porsche 90% of the way to death.   When Porsche looks at him through his lashes, he looks sorry.  Some of the pressure eases.

And anyway, Porsche doesn’t want him to be sorry.  Porsche said yes to all of this.  And Porsche was the one who freaked out.

“I couldn’t breathe,” Porsche says, because… yeah.  Kinn doesn’t usually pin him by his neck against a wall when they fuck.  Porsche doesn’t have any mental problems about the old thing.  That’s what was different.  “It was okay before this time, but…”

“I thought you liked it,” Kinn says.  “You never said no.”

Porsche shrugs.  And then he shakes his head.  If he thinks about it, and now he fucking has to, he does not like being choked.

There’s a long, awkward silence.  Porsche keeps staring down at the floor, waiting to hear if this is going to be a problem.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Big make eye contact with Kinn over his head.  They’re always doing that.  They get each other.  And somehow Porsche is the beneficiary of that understanding rather than it being a threat to his relationship.

“K'Porsche, is there anything you'd like to renegotiate with K’Kinn?” Big asks.  “While you're talking?”

Porsche feels like he’s going to cry again.  “I’m fucking everything up.”  He still doesn’t know why he took a swing at Kinn, but… that’s bad.

“Porsche,” Kinn says, and still doesn’t sound angry.  He should be angry, though.  Porsche doesn’t deserve his forgiveness.

“I know it's something you need,” Porsche says to his knees.  “But can't you do it with someone else?”

He isn't really thinking when he says it, not at all.  It's just… Porsche doesn't know, just words.

There’s another long moment of silence.  Porsche thinks back through what he just said.  Was that bad?  Oh fuck, maybe -

And then Big shifts slightly, giving himself more room for his dick.  Porsche thinks huh.  That would work.

An escort might talk, and the humiliation of other people knowing Porsche can't satisfy Kinn…  Porsche can't bear to think about it.

But this.   It's simple.  Big comes and goes already and no one would ask questions.  Kinn could get what he needs.  Porsche could take a fucking second and regroup.  And Big…

A few months ago, Porsche might have thought it was mean to dangle Kinn out in front of Big like this.  Porsche won the battle.  Porsche is the man Kinn loves.  Big is Kinn’s favourite bodyguard, but he’s still just a bodyguard.

But, well.  One, Porsche can't keep going like this.  And two…

Porsche is aware of Big's sexual proclivities.  Pete and Pol ran him through the pecking order in the dorms once he realized that oh, this was the gay mafia, like they were offering him a party platter of young men.  Big switches, but he leans subby bottom.  Porsche thinks Kinn would like him, actually.  He has that edge, but underneath he's sweet.

Whatever feelings Big has for Kinn, he puts them aside to take care of Porsche.  Porsche doesn’t want to hurt him either, but… maybe this would be good for him?  Maybe if he finally had a piece of Kinn, he could get it out of his system.  Maybe this gets Big what he needs to move on, and Porsche the time he needs to get his head on straight.

And Big is visibly hard in his track pants thinking about it.  Yeah.  This… this could work.

Porsche finally looks up at Kinn.  This is a good fucking idea.  It would fix everything.  It would…

“You want me to call an escort?” Kinn asks, and doesn't sound like he's happy about it.  That makes Porsche feel a bit better about this disaster of a night.  He doesn't want to share Kinn with Bangkok’s most elite fuckboys.

“No, someone trustworthy,” Porsche starts, excited, and looks obviously over at Big.  “Someone…”

“You do this,” Kinn realizes, staring at Big like he’s adding something up in his head.  “You, uh… I can tell after.  I just never thought about it before.”

Big squirms in place a little.  He's blushing.  He's cute.  

He's cute?

Well fuck, he is.  Maybe Porsche has been thinking that for a while and just not realizing it.  He kinda feels about Big how he first felt about Kinn, warmth in the pit of his stomach, longing for… something.  Maybe he's more bisexual than he thought.

There's another long awkward pause, and then… “I would be willing, sir.  I've read all your contracts and… yeah.”

“Huh,” Kinn says, his eyes going dark.  He shifts too, spreading his legs wider in the armchair.  Oh yeah, he's definitely into this.  Porsche is a genius.

“You can trust Big,” Porsche agrees, listing in against Big's shoulder.  He knows what Kinn will like.  “We can trust Big.”

Big swallows and stares straight up at Kinn.  But Kinn is looking up at Porsche, his eyes wide.  “And you'd be okay with this?” Kinn asks Porsche.  “Me getting my… urges out with someone else?”

“If it’s Big,” Porsche agrees, because he likes this plan.  He really can’t take anymore getting strangled in bed.  If Big wants that part of his relationship, he’s welcome to it.

Kinn sits back in his chair.  At least he’s not angry and hurt anymore.  At least this is making him happy.  “How would this work?”

“I dunno,” Porsche says.  He’s not sure why it needs to be complicated.

He’s been sitting pressed up close to Big, so he turns his head and runs his nose up Big’s cheek in a sniff-kiss.  Big shivers against him.

Porsche looks up at Kinn, checking that was what he meant.

Kinn leans forward in the chair.  Oh yeah, he likes what he’s seeing.  “Go ahead, I’m interested.”

Porsche didn’t really need permission, but maybe Big did.  He turns into Porsche, and…

And it’s a good kiss, warm and wet, and…

Big pulls back and looks at Kinn, like he’s asking for permission again.  “Kiss him properly,” Kinn tells Porsche.  He’s getting pretty hard watching.

Big takes control of the kiss this time, winding his hand in Porsche’s hair and tugging, and Porsche almost goes cross-eyed.  He tenses for a second, waiting to see if it’s going to turn into something he doesn’t want, but…

Big gives another friendly tug, and Porsche holds back a groan.  His whole body felt like grey static before, but now it’s like the feeling is coming back.  He likes this.  He’s hard too.

He tentatively grinds down against Big, waiting for any sign that he’s unwelcome, or Big doesn’t want him.  He wants to be…

Big rocks up to meet him and pulls his hair again.  Porsche shudders, and tilts further down into Big.  Everything is warm and wet, and…

And gentle and safe.  It feels to Porsche that Big is doing what he does with Kinn.  He's matching Porsche's movements, meeting his intensity but not going further.

Porsche really likes it.  He almost forgets Kinn is there watching him.  This feels like… enough without being too much.

Big has his hand on Porsche's hip, guiding him down.  Porsche has been weird about people touching him there, but it feels kind of good.  Porsche likes knowing the scar is safe, covered by Big's hand.  No one can see it.

“Are you done teasing me?” Kinn asks, and Porsche remembers that he's still there, watching.  He pulls back from Big and finds that he's panting.  “Can I come over there?”

Porsche looks back at Big.  Big's's flushed dark red and his hair is falling out of his ponytail.  Porsche didn't realize he was so hot until now.

Big's staring straight at Kinn.  Porsche would say he looks like he wants to eat him, but he thinks Big is the one who wants to be eaten.  He nods.

Kinn gets out of the armchair.  He's very hard in his slacks.  Porsche feels a thrill of pride in getting him off.

And then he sits down behind Porsche, a solid bulk behind him.  He's being gentle now.

Porsche really likes when Kinn is gentle.  And Big is leaning in to kiss him again.

He's dissolving but this time in a good way.  Big is fucking perfect at this in a way Porsche knows takes practice.  He's reading every tiny sign from Porsche's body and adjusting.  It's like falling into a perfectly warm bath (to jerk off furiously.)

And Kinn is following Big's lead in a way he almost never follows Porsche's.  He kisses up the back of Porsche's neck.  “I'm sorry I scared you,” he murmurs.  “Sorry I hurt you.”

“I'm sorry I panicked,” Porsche apologizes back.  This is at least 75% his fault, he should…

“Not your fault,” Kinn says, and turns Porsche back to Big.  “Here.”

And Big is just there, right where Porsche wants him to be.  Kinn’s hard against Porsche’s back.  Maybe Porsche should be jealous that his boyfriend is getting off watching Porsche with someone else, but…

But mostly it just feels warm and safe here.  Kinn is like a wall behind Porsche, safe and secure.  And Big seems to think he’s cute when Kinn takes him in hand and he makes a little bitten off whimper.  Finally, Porsche is in a place where he doesn’t have to think, or worry, or be in control.

Porsche feels a little guilty that Big and Kinn are taking care of him even more.  But also this is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.

Two sets of hands on his hips.  Two deep voices talking in his ear.  Two sets of lips on his body.

For the first time in a long time, Porsche feels like he’s only his body.  He doesn’t need to think.  He doesn’t need to worry.

He comes probably embarrassingly fast, and starts shaking again.  Big winds his arms back around Porsche and holds him again, and that’s… really good.  He just floats.

Eventually he feels like he’s going to fall asleep, and Big untangles himself.  Porsche thinks he mumbles goodnight but he’s really fuzzy.

“Do you want to shower before bed?” Kinn asks, and Porsche stumbles into the bathroom to clean up.

Kinn is still half-hard when they strip and get into the shower together.  “Oh,” Porsche says, and some of the guilt comes rushing back.  “I should…”

“I’m good,” Kinn says, and reaches for Porsche.  “... are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Porsche says.  He just came his fucking brains out, and Kinn can choke Big instead of Porsche.  All his problems are solved.

“I made you run away and then cry,” Kinn says, and squeezes Porsche close like they just escaped a gunfight or something.  “And you told me you wanted me to fuck my head bodyguard.”

“Well, not all the time,” Porsche says, not liking his plan being held up to the cold light of the bathroom.  “Just occasionally.”

“Is everything we’re doing good for you?” Kinn asks, and rubs his hand through Porsche’s hair.  “Like, um.  I wish you said you didn’t want me to choke you.”

“It was fine the other times,” Porsche says, and doesn’t really consider it a lie.  It didn’t cause him to run away and then collapse into the arms of his head bodyguard.  So it was fine.

“Sure,” Kinn says.  He pulls away and studies Porsche for a long minute.  “Sure, Porsche.  You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too,” Porsche says, and manages to convince Kinn to let him give a handjob before they get out of the shower.  He’s just given himself competition.

Chapter Text

Kinn is cuddly the next morning, and it feels like an apology to Porsche.  He doesn't need an apology, but he'll take the lazy time in bed.

“You were serious about last night?” Kinn asks, running his hand through Porsche's hair.

“Mmhmm,” Porsche says, pushing into Kinn's hand like a big cat.  He's a genius and this is a great idea.

“You're okay with… sharing?” Kinn asks, still scritching Porsche's scalp.  Porsche has to pull away before he melts into the pleasure of it.  It takes a minute for his brain to compute the words.

He frowns when they register.  “It's not really sharing,” he explains.  “You're not like, boyfriends, right?”

“No, of course not,” Kinn agrees, and kisses Porsche's forehead.  “I guess I'm just asking where the line is?  No one else but Big, but what else?”

Porsche didn't think that far.  He doesn't want Kinn to fall in love with Big and get rid of Porsche, but Big seems safe precisely because Kinn has had ten years to do that and it never happened.  If he's doing the escort stuff with Big and the nice stuff with Porsche…

But Porsche also doesn't want to be a dick to the guy who's helping him out.  He knows Big has feelings for Kinn.  “I mean, don't be an asshole to him,” Porsche says, thinking about Kinn and his whole not kissing the escorts thing.  That would kind of suck for Big.  “He's a good guy, you can let him hang out after if you want.”

“Let him hang out after?” Kinn asks.

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  Before he became gay himself, he was always a bit jealous of the homosexual community.  Fucking a dude meant you should have someone to play FIFA with after, right?  A built-in buddy.  “And you can kiss.”

“I don't kiss,” Kinn says, and kisses Porsche on the forehead again.

“That's your rule, not mine,” Porsche says.  “I dunno, anything else?”

“What about you?” Kinn asks, and waggles his eyebrows.  For a second Porsche doesn't get it, and then…

He blushes.  “I dunno,” he says.  He’s not sure how far Kinn will let him take this, but he is… curious.  He’s never been with another guy.

“Would you kiss him again?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Porsche says.  “I don't think he wants me, though.”

“Well, he seemed to last night,” Kinn says, and smiles, his eyes crinkling.  The faint beginnings of his smile lines are more prominent before he moisturizes in the morning.  “Should we keep it fair?  What I'm doing, you can do.”

“Okay,” Porsche says.  “And you won't…” His hand comes up to his throat while he's trying to think of the words.  His voice is still hoarse, even though last night feels like a hundred years ago.

“Baby, of course not,” Kinn says, his smile disappearing.  That’s not what Porsche was trying to do by bringing it up.  He just wanted a reassurance.  It makes him feel like shit again for overreacting but he doesn’t know how to apologize without making it a bigger thing than it already was.  “Not if you don't like it.  I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Porsche says, and really means it, and then it's time to get up for work.

It occurs to him in the elevator that maybe he should feel Big out on this again before assuming that he's like, into it into it.  As the floors drop, he starts to feel a bit awkward that he came on the guy's shirt.  Maybe Big was just pretending to enjoy it because Kinn -

“Good morning, Khun Porsche,” Big says, and wais politely, just like he does every morning.

“Good morning, Big,” Porsche responds, studying him for any minute sign of distress.

Big looks up from his wai and stares Porsche straight in the eye, a question all over his face.  Was that real?   He’s perfectly put together as always, but to Porsche’s eye, he also looks like he’s been yanked through time and space into the candy and puppies dimension and is having trouble coming to terms with it.

They're not alone in the lobby, but…

Porsche gives Big a quick grin.  Game on.

Big gives a flash of a smile back, flushing a little over his nose and cheeks.  Porsche doesn't need to be good at reading arousal to see that Big is still very into this (and he is good.) All his worries and anxiety from the elevator dissolve like snow in the Bangkok sun.  Yeah, this was a genius idea.  They can iron out the details in the car.

Porsche thinks it'll maybe be awkward or painful to know that Kinn is fucking someone upstairs while Porsche goes to the gym, but he's still so fucking relieved.  His days have just been so goddamn full recently and it's nice feeling like he doesn't have to pick between Kinn and a good workout.  He runs and takes his time with the machines.  And then he stops to see Chan in the security office.

“Do I have access to the cameras?” Porsche asks, trying not to feel like Chan is going to assign him pushups as he sidles into the office like a dog with something in its mouth.

“You can, if you want,” Chan says, raising his eyebrows.  “I can call Arm down and get you the app.  Any reason why you want access?”

Well, Porsche knows there's no camera in his bedroom, but he'd like access to the camera in his foyer so he can maaaaaybe run back upstairs and get his own kiss from Big when Kinn is finished with him.  But he's not going to tell Chan that.

There's also… the day of the coup, he came home after the action started.  He followed the sound of guns through the building not knowing what he was walking into, if he'd find Kinn dead or alive.

Suddenly the coppery smell of gym equipment from the training area outside smells too much like blood.  The bang of one of the newbies dropping a weight is a gunshot.  Porsche's heart starts to race and his vision blurs and -

“Breathe,” Chan instructs him, and shoves Porsche down to the floor and his head between his legs.  “Keep breathing.  You're good, you're okay.  Deep breath.”

With the comforting weight of Chan's hand on Porsche's neck, the memory evaporates as quickly as it swallowed Porsche.  “Sorry,” he says, squished by his own knees.  “That was weird.”

“Let's go upstairs and find Arm,” Chan suggests, turning Porsche so he isn't staring at the mats Big made him crawl across.  “He can get the app on your phone.”

“Thanks,” Porsche says, glad he's wearing dirty exercise clothes so it's hard to tell how much he just started sweating.

Arm gets the app on Porsche's phone just in time for him to observe Big putting his shoes on in the foyer and bound back up the fire stairs for a kiss goodnight.  Big's tough, tougher than Porsche, but Porsche wants to be sure he's okay after whatever Kinn did to him.  They're like, comrades in arms now.  Porsche has a duty.

Big stumbles out of the apartment mostly back together, except that Porsche can see he's still hard in his pants.  “Hey,” Porsche says, and grins.  “Did you have fun?”

“Yup,” Big responds, and falls into Porsche when he leans in for a kiss.

Porsche leans down for a friendly grope, and Big hisses and twists away.  “Do you want some help with that?” Porsche asks, starting to feel a bit like he made a mistake.  He didn't expect Kinn to be this selfish in bed, should he…

“K’Kinn told me not to,” Big says, dreamy and breathy, like he thinks this is hot for some reason.  “So.  Yeah.”

“Well, if it's what you want,” Porsche replies, still confused.  He leans in for another kiss.

“Yeah,” Big says, and all but melts into Porsche.

A melty version of Big isn't a familiar one to Porsche, but he doesn't dislike it.  It's like a mean cat suddenly coming over sweet and purring.  Porsche doesn't need to know why the change is happening to rub a belly for as long as he's allowed.

He tangles his hands in Big's hair and tugs playfully.  Maybe if he plays this right, Big will come back inside and -

Big makes a little grumble and nips Porsche's lip.  “Go shower, you stink,” he grouches, and disentangles himself.  “I'll see you tomorrow at 9:45, copy?”

“Copy, sweet dreams,” Porsche agrees, and lets Big pull away, only a little disappointed.  “God, Kinn's gonna be insufferable you let him leave you hanging.  You're perfect for him.”

He doesn’t know if that was mean or kind once the words have left his mouth.  He turns and runs back into the apartment without looking to see how they landed.  Maybe he can be a little selfish tonight, just in this small thing.

Kinn is in the shower when Porsche finds him.  “Hey, good workout?” he asks, like that's the interesting thing that just happened here and not Kinn fucking their mutual head bodyguard.  “You wanna join me?”

“Yeah, it was good,” Porsche agrees, and strips off to get in the shower.  “How was, um…”

After all the effort he went to today setting this up, he's suddenly tongue-tied.  Maybe he was a little nervous.  Maybe he's expecting to hear that he isn't good enough, that Kinn wants Big instead.  Maybe he was holding the lid on his simmering insecurities down tight from morning to evening.  Maybe he was never as cocksure as he thought he was.

“Not as good as you,” Kinn tells Porsche immediately, and gathers him close.  Porsche doesn't like to be too clingy, but his arms lock around Kinn's neck without his say-so.  “We should have talked about this before… how much should I tell you?”

“Whatever you want,” Porsche says, weakly.  “I… I don't mind.”

“He gave me a blowjob,” Kinn says, which takes away some of the tension in the pit of Porsche’s stomach.  He would have been hurt if Kinn jumped straight to fucking someone else.  Maybe he should have said that this morning.  “I liked it, you were sweet to give me that.  But I won't do it again if it made you uncomfortable, okay?  How are you?”

“I'm good,” Porsche says.  “Had a good workout, caught Big in the hallway.  He looked like he had fun.”

“It was very fun,” Kinn agrees, and leans in for a kiss.  “But not as good as it is with you, because I love you.”

“I love you too,” Porsche mumbles.  He lets Kinn spin him around and help him rinse the trails of sweat off his body.  Kinn's hands are gentle and sweet.  There's not that agonizing little weight of too much that Porsche has been feeling for the last few weeks now.  Whatever happens with Big, that's a relief.  “I - I'm okay with it.  I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

Kinn's hand wanders down.  He palms Porsche, and Porsche feels himself getting hard again.  It was kind of hot, kissing Big, thinking they were fucking, hearing that he's better.  And Kinn feels… tamed after an hour or so with Big.

“Can I give you a token of my appreciation?” Kinn asks, and rolls Porsche's package in his hand, sliding his fingers down to cup the balls.

“Yeah, if you want,” Porsche says, and his breath catches as Kinn sinks down to his knees.

He's a bit embarrassed about how fast blowjobs make him come.  There are scores of women who could attest to his ability to fuck all night, but somehow the feeling of Kinn's mouth, the expert way he handles Porsche's balls and plays with his prostate, get Porsche like nothing else.

Porsche throws his arm over his face when Kinn first takes him into his mouth.  To see Kinn's generous mouth wide and pink around Porsche's dick…

If he looks, he’s gonna come.  He always does, and he wants to enjoy this (and not shoot off after two minutes.)  He’s not going to look.  He’s going to keep his eyes shut.

He is, he really is this time.  It’s not going to be like the last five times.

Porsche can’t resist anymore.  He glances down.  Kinn’s mouth is stretched wide around him and…

Fuck, it's just as hot as it always is.  Porsche is suddenly right on edge.

“Gonna…” he manages, and Kinn makes an affirmative grunt around Porsche's cock.

Porsche feels his orgasm like it's coming up from his toes and down from the roots of his hair.  His legs start to shake and his vision narrows like it does when he’s going to pass out.  It feels like Kinn has sucked the life force out of him through his dick.

His knees buckle and he sinks down to the floor of the shower.  “Good?” Kinn says, laughter in his voice.  “You got hot thinking about me?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, not knowing how to say that it was more complicated than that.  He wraps his arms around Kinn's neck again like a stupid baby who doesn't know he's too big to be picked up.  Kinn doesn't say anymore, just indulges Porsche by holding him until his asscheek starts to go numb against the tile.

It's good over the next few weeks.  Kinn calls Big two, maybe three times a week, which is a good amount of gym time for Porsche.  (And a horrible insight into how Porsche was taking things too slow and too easy for someone like Kinn.  He knew he wasn’t enough.)  He likes getting Kinn's lazy fucked-out energy after.

Big always lets Porsche steal a couple kisses after, which is nice.  Porsche thinks he's cute, and he likes knowing Big is okay.  He still isn't sure what Big is getting out of this since half the time Kinn doesn't let him finish, but he seems really fucking into it.  Porsche is happy to be like, 2% of Big's fun at the end of the night.  It makes him feel like he's part of this somehow too.

It's a bit of a routine now.  Porsche will hint that he wants gym time, or Chay will ask to hang out.  Sometimes Kinn will mention he could use some stress relief.   And then Porsche takes an hour or so of free time around the compound and Big comes upstairs.

They're doing that tonight.  Kinn mentioned he'd arranged it this morning.  Porsche smiled and agreed, thinking of an hour in the gym and coming home to Kinn's lazy energy at the end of a stupidly long day.  It would be nice, he thought.  It would be good.

He gets home before Kinn, changes into his gym clothes, and heads to the family gym.  Today was kind of a bitch, and Porsche would like some cardio and some time on a heavy bag to work the tension out.  It'll be good to let go for a bit.

The gym is empty when he gets there.  Most of the lower level staff don't even have door access, and the only ones who work out here are the Theerapanyakun brothers, Porsche and theoretically Chay.  Tankhun doesn't do gym equipment, Kim doesn't live here and Kinn is otherwise engaged upstairs.  It's very private and quiet and it is pretty damn likely to stay that way.

Porsche gets himself a bottle of water and a cool towel.  He didn't shower before coming down here and he feels kind of grimy from the day.  He doesn't have many chances to be private and quiet around the compound.  He'd like to -

It's like the day bubbles up around Porsche.  One minute he's standing next to an elliptical.  The next -

“Rohypnol, Khun Porsche,” their supplier says, spilling pills all over the table.

Porsche was a bartender for many years.  He's kept an eye on girls’ drinks when some douchebag sidled up to the bar, borrowed cellphones to call big sisters and weeping best friends when that wasn’t enough.   He’s kicked the shit out of assholes for trying to dose some poor pretty girl.  He's a good guy.

He should be thinking I don't fuck with date rape drugs.   Instead his mind is in overdrive.  They didn't use this on me.  It was GHB.  I’m safe, I’m okay, I’m safe, I’m okay, I’m…

He should say something to stop this.  He’s the head of the minor family.  He could say no, right?  He could say don’t do that anymore?

He’s not sure.  He nods for their supplier to continue.  Big is behind him at least, so Porsche knows there will be someone for whom all this is more than white noise.

It’s all he can do to pay attention to Big, staring at the pills on the table like they’ll jump into his mouth from the table.  “One ninety-two,” he says, because that’s the number Big just whispered in his ear, and glares until the supplier acquiesces.

“Do you want a sample?” the man asks Porsche as he packs up.

“No,” Porsche says, wanting the pills gone, gone from the minor family residence, gone from the face of the earth and unable to hurt him anymore.  He feels sick.

The man bows himself out and Porsche takes a deep breath.  The air feels too thick, cloying, and -

Big puts his hand on Porsche’s shoulder.  “You okay, sir?” he asks quietly.  It’s enough that the white noise in Porsche’s brain clears and he can hear again, if not think.

“Yeah, of course,” Porsche says, and forcibly shoves all his thoughts deep down where he never has to think them again.

Except now he’s thinking them in the gym.  He tries never to think about the night of the diamond auction, either, except now he is.  Flashes of someone in the room with him.  Not knowing where he was and not caring.  Throwing up on the persian rug of an upscale hotel room.  Kinn -

The door beeps and Porsche startles violently, kicking out into the frame of the pull-up deck with a resounding clang.   When did he get down on the floor in the corner here?

“Khun Porsche?” Chan asks, and Porsche startles and kicks again, and then Chan is there inside the still-ringing frame of the machine.  Why is Chan here?  Is Porsche in trouble for something?

Chan kneels down, and Porsche fuzzily remembers that oh yeah, Chan also works out in here so he can ocassionally get five minutes of privacy from the junior guards.  That’s as much as his brain can do.  He just stares up at Chan like an idiot.

“You okay?” Chan asks.  “You want to come out of the corner?”

Porsche realizes he’s wedged himself into the smallest, most private part of the gym, and nods.  Chan extends his hand and helps Porsche pull upright.

“Are you hurt?” Chan asks and then tilts Porsche's chin down to check his pupil size.  “Did you fall?”

His warm, firm touch is enough to snap Porsche back to the present.  “No, I was just…” Saying he's fine doesn't seem believable so he forgoes the lie.  “... Thinking about that night.  Khun Gun.”

“Mm,” Chan says.  Porsche thinks that'll be it.  “You wouldn't be the only one struggling, you know.  And it wasn't personal for anyone else like it was for you.  My door's open if you need to talk.”

“Thanks,” Porsche says, feeling like he's getting away with something.

… Maybe he's not.  Chan keeps staring at him.  “Anything… personal on your mind?”

Uh.  Surely Chan isn't asking about that.   How could he know? 

Except that he somehow knows everything that goes on in the compound.  And Porsche hasn’t exactly been subtle, what with his hallway makeout sessions with Big and running through the bodyguard floor with his shirt half ripped open by Kinn.

But maybe…  Porsche is a good liar, right?  And there’s no way Chan watches the camera all the time.  Maybe…

“How’s Big working out?” Chan adds, and stares deep into Porsche’s soul.  Oh yeah, he knows.

“... it was my idea,” Porsche blurts out.  “Did Big say something to you?  Is he not happy?”

“It was your idea,” Chan repeats slowly.  “You decided Kinn and Big should fuck.”

“Yeah?” Porsche says, suddenly even more self-conscious than he already was.  “I mean…  It’s been good for both of them, right?  They seem happy?”

“Yes, they do,” Chan says, and waves Porsche over to one of the weight benches to sit down.  “You are having a panic attack in the gym.  Are you okay?”

“Kinn’s really happy,” Porsche says again, not sure why Chan is asking him this.  “He likes…”

“Kid, I want to talk about you,” Chan says.  “Are you sure this wasn’t Kinn's idea somehow?  You actually…”

“It’s just too much sometimes,” Porsche blurts out, not sure what is compelling him to speak.  “I don’t…  I’m not… I can’t, and then if Big’s there, it’s like…  I dunno, it’s okay?”

“Ah,” Chan says, and stops looking like he just sucked a lemon.  “Sure.  I think you should probably talk to Kinn more about this, but Big seems thrilled.  Were you going to work out?  I can spot you.”

“Uh, yeah,” Porsche says, head still spinning.  “I’m not getting in your way?”

“No,” Chan says, and puts his hand on Porsche’s back to steer him to the treadmill.  “Definitely not.  Let’s get you warmed up.”

Chapter Text

Porsche thought that he’d fixed everything pretty neatly, but two problems have now cropped up.  One is that for some reason Big has suddenly stopped eating.  He’s not being an asshole about it, at least not to Porsche, but he spent the big outdoor meals today and yesterday staring at the grilled squid and looking like he’s about to be sick.  Porsche isn’t sure what the problem is and he doesn’t want to ask, so he sets it aside.

The other problem is that Kinn wants to fuck more now.  And Porsche doesn’t mean fuck as in get off together.  He means fuck as in fuck.

In theory, Porsche is a twenty-three year-old man and he’s down for a trip to Pound Town anytime Kinn wants to take him there.

In practice, he’s only got one asshole and he’s also got to shit with it.  He likes fucking, he does.  He’s definitely into Kinn and it makes him feel like.  Like…

Like good?  Like he and Kinn are close, or something?  When they do it the nice way?

But he doesn’t need to feel close every night of the week and twice on Sunday.  There's a little bit of blood on the toilet paper when he shits more and more often.  He’s getting tired of feeling slippery in his underwear when Kinn decides they should do it in the morning.  And then his ass is sore, he doesn’t want to finger himself forever after to try to get it out.  He thought that by tagging Big in, there’d be less of this, not more.

And tonight, his stomach’s all weird.  He kind of wants to ask Big to take him back to the minor family house, but it’s rush hour and he doesn’t want to get stuck in traffic with his stomach off.  That definitely doesn’t fit the image of the minor family.

This is definitely not the first time he’s given himself mild food poisoning.  Porsche has eaten a lot of street meat in his time.  He just needs some gatorade and a lie down and he’ll be fine.

He strips down to his underwear and locks himself in the weird little toilet room to do what is necessary, rinses off to see if that’ll make him feel better (it doesn’t) and collapses into bed.  Uncle used to make him hot ginger tea when he’d done this again, but there is no Uncle and no Chay to check on him.  So Porsche just takes a liter of sparkling water from the minifridge in the study and curls up in bed to see if he’s going to be able to sleep or if his stomach is going to betray him again.

He wakes up when the bed rocks.  “Well, well,” Kinn says, and pulls the duvet down from Porsche’s bare shoulder, walking his fingers down Porsche’s arm.  “What’s waiting for me…”

Porsche groans and curls up around his stomach.  He is not in the mood.  He just wants to go back to sleep.  This is what the stand-in was supposed to be for.

The groan must come out sexier than intended, because Kinn follows the fingers with his mouth, and pulls Porsche close against him.  “Look what’s waiting for me in my bed.  Been thinking about you, baby, I…”

Porsche really needs to fucking fart, and he’s not totally sure what’s going to happen when that happens.  He does not have high confidence in his intestinal integrity right now.  “Lemme - Kinn, no, wait.”

“Porsche?” Kinn asks.

“I’m… I’ll go to the guest room,” Porsche says, not wanting to go into details.  Yok definitely wouldn’t approve of details.  She draws a veil of feminine mystery over all of her various processes, whatever those are.  Porsche should probably take her example and not contine to hot box Kinn with his farts.  He’s the head of a crime family now, not a bartender.

He levers himself up, feeling like there’s a bowling ball sitting in his guts, and heads to the guest room.  Was that what he was supposed to do if he wanted to be left alone?  That’s probably what married people do, right?  Porsche doesn’t know what the signal is supposed to be.

Kinn fucking follows him.  “What did I do?” he asks.  “Hey, Porsche, c’mon -”

“Nothing!” Porsche says, not sure why this is suddenly so fucking dramatic.  They’ve made it to the guestroom ensuite, but Kinn slips into the bathroom with Porsche and towers over him in the doorway.  Great, now Porsche feels claustrophobic and gassy.

“Why are you going to the guest room, then?” Kinn asks.

Porsche’s stomach gurgles loudly.  “I - go away, give me some privacy, for fuck’s sake.  Out.”

“Oh,” Kinn says, and lets Porsche shove him out of the bathroom.

Kinn’s sitting on the guestroom bed when Porsche finally staggers out of the bathroom a while later, feeling like he ate lava and not dubious street food.  “Don’t listen to me shit, you freak,” Porsche tells him.  “I’m not into that.”

“I went and changed,” Kinn says, and pats the mattress next to him.  “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Porsche says and collapses onto the bed next to Kinn.  He wishes he had his emotional support liter of water, but there’s always another one in the mini fridge.  “I can sleep in here if you want to call Big, I know you’re…” 

“I’m not going to fuck another man in our bed while you’re sick,” Kinn says, sounding like this offends him, and puts his arm around Porsche.  “Do you want some broth or something?  Gingerale?”

“... yeah,” Porsche admits.  He’ll live, but he’d also like to be taken care of.  Kinn puts his hand on the hot bowling ball part of Porsche’s stomach and gently rubs, and Porsche feels less awful, like a kiss better from his (well, Jom’s) mom.

“Both?” Kinn confirms.  “Sure thing, baby.  You know you can text me if you don’t feel good, right?”

“I’m fine,” Porsche mutters, and supports his stomach like a pregnant woman as he gets up.

“You look very fine,” Kinn says, and escorts Porsche back to the bedroom to wait for his cup of chicken broth and soda.

“I don’t fuck Big,” Kinn says, when Porsche is about halfway through his soda.  “What do you imagine we’re doing up here, anyway?  Fucking in our bed?”

“Where else would you fuck?” Porsche asks, turning and raising his eyebrows.  “The floor?”

“I haven’t gone further than a blowjob,” Kinn says, and kisses Porsche’s sweaty cheek.  “I want to keep some things just for you and me, I promise.”

Well, Porsche didn’t ask him to do that.  In fact, that is the opposite of what Porsche asked.  He wonders if it’s somehow related to Big’s feud with the grilled squid.

He’s also not sure how to delicately insinuate that he would prefer that Kinn expend some of his sexual energies on someone else’s asshole.  It kind of makes sense now, how much they’ve been doing it.  Kinn is working himself up with someone else and taking it home to Porsche, which is the exact opposite of what Porsche wants.

“I told you not to be an asshole to him,” is what comes out of Porsche’s mouth.  “What if he wants to get fucked?”

“What if he wants to get fucked,” Kinn says slowly, like something isn’t computing.

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  “I mean.  He probably does.  He’s pretty into you.  What if you’re like, insulting him by not fucking him?”

“I don’t think that’s how this works,” Kinn says slowly.  “It’s a.  Hmm.  It’s a different dynamic from you and me.”

A different dynamic that is chafing Porsche’s asshole, that’s for sure.  He doesn’t care what the dynamic is, and says as much.  “And I think you should fuck him.”

“And you don’t want something to stay special between us,” Kinn says, like something isn’t computing.

Porsche looks down at Kinn’s hand, where it’s laced with Porsche’s on the achy place in his stomach.  He looks at the half-full glass of gingerale on the nightstand and the empty mug of chicken broth, and then up at Kinn.  He hopes Kinn won’t make him say it, but isn’t this the special thing?  They’ve both fucked lots of other people.

Kinn grins at him.  “Yeah, you’re right,” he says.  “Can you sound him out for me?  Ask him if he wants to?”

“Okay,” Porsche says, and yawns.  Kinn takes the gingerale out of his hand and puts it on the nightstand.  “Might take me a couple days.”

“Sure,” Kinn says.  “Get some rest, Po.  And stop eating street meat.”

“It was shrimp, not meat,” Porsche yawns, as if admitting to eating questionable seafood is better, and starts to nod off.

Big is really off the next day.  Porsche’s first thought is street meat, but Big is categorically not a street meat kind of guy.  He watched Porsche eat the shrimp from the old lady’s cart with a horror most people reserve for multi-car motor vehicle accidents.

Porsche thinks Big eats lunch, because he often scurries off to nibble a protein bar around noon, but he isn’t 100%.  At first Porsche thought it was snobbery that kept him to protein bars and orange juice, but he’s since realized that Big is very bothered by the flies in the courtyard of the minor family house.  Porsche is more free spirited about bugs (especially bugs outdoors) but Porsche also spent a couple hours on the porcelain throne last night, so score one to Big.

Dinner tonight is inside, though, and there are no flies.  Big’s getting a little grouchy by dinnertime - not with Porsche but with Nop and the junior guards.  He’d feel better if he just ate, and the curry is a milder one with lots of lemongrass for Porsche’s stomach pain.  So Porsche serves him a huge portion.

… apparently that was the wrong move.  Big looks down at the plate, and then up at Porsche.  Porsche didn’t take care of Chay every time he was ever sick to miss such obvious signs.  Big is going to puke.

“Excuse me,” Big says, and hurtles out of the dining room.

Porsche follows him.  Vegas is at the other end of the dining table, and Porsche trusts him to hold things down for a few minutes.  He’ll just double-check Big is okay, and then…

Instead he spends ten minutes listening to the unmistakable sounds of Big retching into the toilet.  He just told Kinn off for listening to him shit.  He can recognize the hypocrisy but he doesn’t stop himself.

When Big comes out, Porsche expects to be told to fuck off, but Big just takes the water Porsche is holding out to him.  “Are you okay?” Porsche asks.

“I’m not sick,” Big says, but this is obviously related to the shrimp somehow.  Yes, Big didn’t eat any, but maybe there was a bad seafood miasma in the general area and that struck him down.

Big staggers over to the bed, and Porsche follows him.  Maybe it wasn’t the shrimp after all.  Maybe they both had the flu, or something.

Maybe Porsche shouldn’t, but he’s used to being the one to nurse Chay back to health after summer flus and rainy-season colds.  He reaches out and feels Big’s face and chest for fever, but he’s cool and clammy to the touch.

Well, then it’s a blood sugar thing.  Porsche is a good team player.  He can fix this like he would for a nong on the Taekwondo team.

“You're all red,” Porsche says, trying to figure out if Big is maybe diabetic?  No, he’d know that, Chan would have told him.  “Was it the spicy food?  I know you like plainer stuff, I'm sorry, I…”

“Yeah,” Big says, but he wouldn’t just say yeah if that was the problem.  “I’ll grab a protein bar.  I’m good.”

Big is conservatively 85% protein bar, from what Porsche can tell, and they’re not very nutritious and definitely not good if Big’s sick.  Porsche was just telling Kinn not to be an asshole to the guy, so he grabs the house phone and orders him some food he’ll actually eat.

Big flops down onto the bed like his strings have been cut, so Porsche assumes feeding him was the right thing to do.  He’s not sure what he’s feeling towards Kinn, but it’s definitely something negative, so he curls up next to Big on the bed to wait and keep an eye on him.  Porsche will have to take care of this guy if Kinn won’t do it properly.

Big only makes the most token of protests - two seconds of squirming and one “I’ll make you sick,” which Porsche ignores.  He’s proving some kind of point to himself (and Kinn.)  It’s totally possible to be normal with Big in bed for twenty minutes and not, what, fall in love with him?

Plus it feels nice to be near him.  He’s shorter and slimmer than Kinn but he still feels nice lying against Porsche’s side.  It’s the same feeling Porsche gets around Kinn, when they’re falling asleep together in bed.  Just something cozy.  Safe.  And Big smells kind of good, even though he just threw up.

Now would be a good time to sound him out about fucking, but it would also ruin the moment.  So Porsche doesn’t, and just waits for the food.  

He’s alone with Big in the car the next day, and it’s the perfect opportunity to double-triple confirm that Big wants to fuck Kinn.  Porsche doesn’t remember how the conversation starts, just the petal-pink flush over Big’s neck as Porsche pretends he doesn’t know that Big and Kinn aren’t fucking.  He’s shocked that Kinn has never given Big a blowjob.  That’s so rude!  And then - 

And then somehow it’s not about Big, it’s about him.  He doesn’t think he’s ever told Big that he freaked out because Kinn was choking him.  But maybe Kinn said something?

“Porsche,” Big says, still flushed but turning stern.  “Is he being safe with you?”

In the back of his mind, Porsche was kind of thinking about whether he found Big hot-hot or just aesthetically appealing, like a picture in a book.  Big's an interesting mix of dainty and masculine, a little ethereal and a little rough, and he smells good.  Is that why Porsche wants to kiss him so much?

The stern older brother tone goes straight through Porsche, electric from his head to his toes.  He imagines Big talking to him like that in bed, strict but caring and…

And he's starting to get hard.  He's not totally sure what he says in response, something about losing control.  His ears are ringing with Big's tone.

“Porsche,” Big says again.

“That’s not even what I’m trying to talk to you about,” Porsche says, and laughs, trying to play breezy when his cheeks are going hot with arousal.  The concern makes him brave and he says the real problem, or at least a little of it.  “I um… Do you want to fuck him?  I just, I could use some help with that, he’s uh.  Fucking insatiable.”

Big looks away from the road.  “What does that mean?”

“We’ve just… I thought if you were hooking up with him, he’d take some nights off, but we’ve been fucking a lot, and I’m getting kind of sore, and then I get tense and it’s worse and, uh…” Porsche rambles, battered by the feeling of safety spreading from his gut like a sailor clinging to a plank in the middle of the ocean.  “And just, I’d like some more recovery time, and…”

“Why don’t you talk to Kinn about it?”

Put like that, Porsche starts to wonder why he hasn’t.  He hasn’t seen a lot of Big and Kinn together, but just from the brief snatches they’ve given him about each other, he knows they do talk to each other.  Big’s never given an indication that he thinks Kinn will hurt him, which Porsche can’t quite wrap his head around.  Isn't the danger part of who Kinn is?

“No, it’s just, I know he would,” Porsche says, with a weird note in his voice.  “Just… you know, he’s got a certain standard, and I want to meet it.  Or uh, make sure it gets met.  It’s just he’s got a really big dick.”

“Fucking true,” Big says, and flashes Porsche a bit of a grin.  Porsche’s stomach swoops.  Is that the funniest thing anyone has ever said?  “I mean, I’m up for it.”

“I think it could be fun for both of us,” Porsche says, and they’re almost back at the tower.

He still has butterflies when he gets into the elevator to go upstairs to Kinn.  What is this feeling?  Porsche has fucked lots of girls, and he’s even liked some of them, but he hasn’t felt like this very much.  About Kinn, when they first met, and about P’Mark who was one of the older boys on his Taekwondo team, and…

His brain screeches back to the link between Kinn and P’Mark.  He remembers admiring how strong P’Mark was, and how nice to the nongs at practice.  He’d watch him intently to see if there was anything Porsche could learn from him to improve his form, and when P’Mark helped him adjust his footing or his arms, he’d tingle all over.

... oh god, he had a crush on P’Mark.  And that’s how he feels about Big.  Isn’t he too old for crushes?

It was a long day and it’s pretty late when he gets into the apartment.  “Kinn?” he calls.

“In here,” Kinn yells back.

Porsche finds him in the ensuite, doing his skincare routine.  “I talked to Big,” he reports, hopping up onto the bathroom counter.  Kinn reaches over and squeezes his hand in lieu of a kiss - it looks like he’s doing a peel right now and Porsche doesn't want it getting on him.  “He’s into it.”

“Who wouldn’t be,” Kinn says, and starts wetting a washcloth to take the peel off his face.  Porsche pulls one leg up on the counter and leans back against the sink’s half-wall to watch him.  If he sits long enough, Kinn will do his moisturizer for him, and he’s tired.

They’re quiet together while Kinn double-cleanses again.  Porsche doesn’t want to do all the steps every night himself, but he likes to sit and watch the foam come out of the little bottle, like magic, and go all over Kinn’s face like he’s spreading icing on a cake.  It’s a bit childish, but it reminds him of being small and watching his mom do her makeup.

Next is serum.  “You too,” Kinn says, and wets another washcloth to wash Porsche’s face.  Porsche sits up for it.  “Here, we’ll just do something moisturizing.”

“Okay,” Porsche agrees, and shucks out of his suit real quick.  Sometimes the serums drip.  He’s supposed to wear a bathrobe or nothing while they do this.

Kinn drip drip drips a few little wet dots onto Porsche’s face, and tilts his head back to massage them in.  His fingers sweep up Porsche’s chin - oh, how his jaw still aches - over his cheekbones and circle around his eyes.  Porsche yawns.

“Can you tell me why you really want me to fuck Big?” Kinn says, quiet and gentle.

Porsche is too relaxed to hold the truth in.  The facial serums are like his truth serum.  How dare Kinn question him at such a weak moment.  “It’s too big,” he blurts out.

Kinn’s eyebrow quirks as he thinks over what it is.  “My dick?” he asks, after a moment of silent struggle.

“I mean… yeah,” Porsche says, not understanding why this is even a question.  Of course he means Kinn’s third leg!  “What else?”

Kinn laughs.   Porsche was serious!  He’s uncomfortable!  He finally opened up about something, he didn’t want to get laughed at!

“I forgot to go to the gym,” he says stiffly, blushing and then blushing harder because he can feel himself blushing.  Why is Kinn always such an asshole about everything!  “I’m gonna -”

He hops down from the counter and heads for the door.  Fucking Kinn, he always -

Kinn picks him up from behind.  Porsche freezes, afraid that if he struggles they’ll end up taking swings at each other again.  Kinn carries him the three or four steps back to the vanity counter and sets him back down.

“I’m sorry I laughed,” he says, and kisses Porsche’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry.  You were serious?”

Porsche shrugs, the momentary freeze melting away.  He wasn’t really scared of Kinn, just of himself for a second.  “Whatever, I guess.  It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a big enough deal you’re asking me to fuck another man,” Kinn says.  “Am I hurting you?”

“Not really,” Porsche says, still hunching in on himself, trying to hide his face from Kinn’s in the mirror.  He’s still blushing really hard.  “It’s fine.”

“Not really meaning not no,” Kinn says, frowning.  “Can you talk to me?”

“I just feel sore after,” Porsche mumbles.  “Not a big deal.”

“I didn’t realize,” Kinn says, and kisses the back of Porsche’s neck again.  “What can I do, Po?  Talk to me.”

“I dunno,” Porsche says.  “I think I just have to get used to it.  I mean your escorts could fuck you eight nights a week, right?  So I…”

“Uh,” Kinn says, and laughs.  “Not usually.  The pricing somewhat reflected my size.  I think some of the boys took a day off after.”

Porsche doesn’t want to ask why he’s not getting a night off.  He isn’t an escort, after all.  It’s not the same (even if he doesn’t have a fucking titanium asshole either.)  It's not the same because it's always worse for him.  He doesn't even get the care a rented warm body would, he -

“I get it, I get it,” Kinn says, and Porsche stops thinking like that if it's so obvious over his face.  “You can say no to me, you know that, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Porsche lies.  “I just didn’t want your head to get all swelled up if I told you your dick was too big for me.”

“Yeah, I’m crushed to hear I’m hung like a horse,” Kinn says, and pushes Porsche back towards the counter, and Porsche lets that be the end of the conversation.  He can ask about scheduling Big in the morning.  “Serum should be sunk in now, let me grab your night cream.”

Chapter Text

Porsche has a physio appointment the next night, so Big and Kinn fuck while he’s getting needled downstairs in the spa.  Having someone stab his IT band really takes his mind off what’s happening up in his bedroom.  He'd like to say he booked the appointment at this time on purpose, but the universe just has it in for him like this.

“You’re doing good,” Chan says.  Porsche didn’t ask, but he’s back to sitting in on these appointments.  Porsche feels embarassed and guilty that Chan has clocked how poorly he handles this kind of professional, impersonal touch.  “Deep breath.”

Porsche takes a deep breath.  He’s not usually a wimp, but this is a lot.  He’s fine walking around in his underwear upstairs, but he feels a low-level worry about how high his basketball shorts are pulled up to show his thighs, and the needles hurt more than he thinks they should.  There’s something about having something in his body that he can’t control that makes it a little hard to breathe.

Chan moves, and Porsche swivels, trying to keep him in his line of sight.  He’d rather stare at Chan than the silver forest sprouting out of his leg.

Chan notices Porsche tracking him and drags a chair back to sit next to Porsche’s head.  “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Porsche says.  The physio has finished placing everything and stepped out to let Porsche “relax.”  It’s not that bad, but if Chan wasn’t here Porsche doesn’t know if he could stand it.  Ten minutes is a long time to be alone with his thoughts and it feels so fucking wrong to be punctured like this.

“Just a couple more minutes,” Chan says, and sits patiently by Porsche’s head while everything is removed again, right where Porsche can see him.

Porsche goes for a walk around the tower after his appointment.  He’s trying to give Big and Kinn some time without him.  He’s also trying to get his head on straight.

He feels unbalanced after the needles.  What he’d really like is to crawl straight into bed and let Kinn pet his hair until he falls asleep.  He's always been like this when he gets hurt.  It turns him into a sick dog trying to crawl under someone's patio to die.  He needs a lot of handholding to come out again and continue to live instead.

But that’s so fucking stupid.  He isn’t a child.  He didn’t do anything hard.  He shouldn’t need to be fucking coddled.

Still, he finishes his loop around the pool quickly and checks his watch.  It’s been about an hour and a half, surely they aren’t still fucking?  Porsche really wants to catch Big before he leaves, a little to check that he’s okay and a little because he’d like a kiss.  If he heads back upstairs now…

Big is buck-ass naked in the living room when Porsche gets upstairs, standing frozen on trembling legs like a newborn baby deer.  He looks like he had a good time with Kinn.  

He also looks like he should maybe come back to bed and hang out for another couple hours.  Fucking Kinn is kind of intense.  And Big looks very freshly fucked.  Porsche tries not to stare at his softening cock and the smear of lube on his hip, but he wants to.

Porsche grins at Big.  “You had fun,” he says.  “Are you like, gonna make it back downstairs?”

“I think so?” Big says, and blinks.  That’s not exactly a resounding yes, let me go back downstairs immediately.

“I think not,” Porsche says, and propels Big back into the bedroom.  There’s still a mess of lube and cum trailing down his right thigh.  Kinn at least owes him a shower for this (and Porsche is getting hard thinking about the things he wasn’t thinking about while he was downstairs getting poked full of needles.)

Kinn is sprawled out on the bed, looking like Big fucked all the thoughts right out of his head.  Porsche can basically hear elevator music playing out of his ears.  “Hey baby,” he says to Porsche, and grins.

“Kinn,” Porsche says, and shoves Big back on the bed.  “You can't kick him out while he's still got baby horse legs.  People are going to say you're bad in bed.”

Kinn slow-blinks and gives Big a satisfied little grin.  Porsche is no therapist, but sometimes he wonders if Kinn has anything at all going on in his head.  How did he not think to keep Big around for half an hour?  “Not Big.”

“Nosir,” Big agrees, and Porsche can’t stop to dwell on how weird it is that Kinn makes Big call him sir in bed.

Porsche climbs onto the bed after Big.  “And you hog him,” he complains.  “I never get a turn.”

“Oh, you want a turn,” Kinn says, and leans up on his elbow to give Porsche a kiss.  “You don't think maybe you should ask if he wants to fuck?  You were just complaining my cock was too big.”

Oh, Porsche didn’t mean fucking.  He meant like what happened the first night they were together, a slow lazy makeout while Kinn watched.  He’s not sure he really meant sex at all.

But… another more calculating part of his brain thinks that right now, this is safe.   Kinn has just fucked someone else.  Porsche can get off without having to put the work in to get Kinn off.  It feels like cheating.

“I have manners,” Porsche sniffs.  “I don’t want to fuck.”  He hesitates, still feeling like this isn’t actually allowed.  What if Big doesn’t want Porsche like that?  Will he actually say no, or will he just go along with it to please Kinn?  “I uh, a handjob?  Please, phi?”

“Oh, so I’m Ai’Kinn but he’s P’Big,” Kinn says, but he’s smiling softly.  He leans up for another kiss from Porsche.

“Well, he’s two years older than you,” Porsche snaps back.  “You should call him phi too.”

Kinn snorts and raises his eyebrow to Big, who is mostly looking amused at the exchange, thankfully.  Porsche really doesn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable.  He’s even more grateful that Kinn’s next question gives Big an out.  “Do you have enough energy for Nong Brat here, Big?”

“For Nong Porsche, I can manage a hand job,” Big agrees, and Porsche’s whole world lurches sideways.  Nong Porsche, Nong Porsche, Nong Porsche.   He imagines being on his back in bed and that voice speaking to him.  Be good, nong.  A little more, nong.  You can do it, nong…

Big laughs a little.  “You like that?”

Like it?  There are probably cartoon birds flying around Porsche’s head right now like an anvil bounced off his thick skull.  He’s so turned on he feels dizzy.

“I guess,” Porsche says, as if they can’t both tell that his deepest, darkest desire is that he’d like to be N’Po all day, every day.  “Just in bed though.”

“I’m not gonna do it in meetings,” Big snarks.  Porsche has to kiss him.  He all but tackles Big down to the mattress, and Big rolls him into the middle of the bed, between himself and Kinn.

And then Porsche is somehow caught in the middle of the two of them again, and all the attention is on him.  He’s used to being a supporting character during sex.  Other people use him to get off, he doesn’t…

Big starts lazily jerking him off, and Porsche shivers and groans.  Kinn laughs, a rumbly deep sound in his chest, and turns Porsche’s head for a kiss.  He traces a finger down Porsche’s body and circles his nipple.

Porsche gasps, and Kinn lets him go, nudging him back towards Big.  And Big meets him easily, kissing him like Porsche is a whole meal, like he didn’t have Kinn just twenty minutes ago.

It’s so much to be here like this.  Porsche tries not to squirm, but he almost has to wiggle away from how good he feels.  He can’t keep this much sensation in his body.

Kinn’s not even playing with his nipple anymore, just petting his side.  That’s almost too good.  Porsche can’t handle it, not after the needling earlier.  It feels like all of his skin has come off and Big and Kinn are pushing in under his flesh and into his bones, where Porsche isn’t supposed to allow anything to live.  This is exactly what he wanted, and he’s not allowed to have that.

But he doesn’t say stop.  He pulls away from Big’s mouth and stares up at the ceiling, panting as Big’s hand ratchets him up and up and up.  He feels like a car being torqued up, each stroke a steady lift towards the heavens.

“Is Nong Porsche enjoying his hand job?” Kinn asks.  Porsche goes dark red and nods.  “Phi’s better at it then your bar girls?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, his voice going a bit whimpery.  “Yeah, feels good.  Nice.”

“You gonna come for me, Nong?” Big asks.

Porsche doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to that.  He’s not used to sex being just about him.  Porsche getting off is usually an afterthought.

“Maybe,” he says, even though he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to say yeah, make me come or something.  He feels so good, and so vulnerable, and like he’s going to crack in half if he does anything to ruin the moment.  “It’s okay?”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Big says, and of course it would be okay for Porsche to come during the handjob he’s getting, but he’s so relieved to hear it.  “Did you get worked up thinking about me and Kinn?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, because that was about 10% of what’s got him falling apart here.

Big opens his mouth like he’s going to say more.  But Kinn leans down and starts to feather kisses down the side of Porsche’s neck, and…

Porsche jackknifes and shakes as he comes, and then watches Big lick Porsche’s spunk off his hand, which is so hot his brain totally shuts down.  He turns his face up for a kiss after, and Big gives him one, and then another and another.  Kinn keeps tracing a slow, lazy pattern over Porsche’s side and hip, the hip without the scar from Ken’s shoe.  It’s perfect.

“I’m gonna miss curfew,” Big laughs, the third time Porsche clings on when he tries to pull back.  “Lemme go.”

Porsche makes a long noise of complaint, but lets him.  If he just slept up here, they could give him a shower and he could cuddle Porsche right to sleep and that would be perfect.

“Tell Chan I kept you,” Kinn suggests.  

And then Big is gone and Porsche feels so grumpy about it.  He rolls over and hides his face in Kinn’s neck, feeling way too open to handle having his face exposed to the room.

Kinn hugs him close.  “You okay?” he asks, still rubbing Porsche’s back.  “You really didn’t mind that?”

“I got my leg needled,” Porsche mumbles.  Now that Big’s gone, he can still feel the PT wiggling the needle and the spike of electricity up and down his leg.  It really didn’t hurt that much, he doesn’t know why he’s being like this.

“Ah,” Kinn says.  “You wanna lie down on your back?”

“M fine,” Porsche grumbles, and holds on tighter.  “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, it was good,” Kinn says.  “I just want to make sure you’re alright.”  He wiggles his fingers in where Porsche is holding around his neck and gently loosens Porsche’s grip.  “Everything okay?”

Porsche didn’t realize how tight he was holding on.  That’s embarrassing.  “I should shower,” he mumbles, and pushes away from Kinn.  “Everything is fine.”

Kinn frowns, and Porsche feels it like a knife to the stomach.  “Can I scrub your back?” he asks, and reaches out like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch.

Porsche shrugs, which makes Kinn pull his hand back.  He’s starting to feel really out of sorts and he doesn’t know what to do.  Clinging to Kinn and embarrassing himself isn’t a good way of managing his feelings.  “Sure.”

They’re both naked, so Kinn simply follows Porsche into the shower.  “I forgot you had physio,” Kinn says, and grabs the bodywash.  Porsche turns away, hiding his face against the wall  “I thought you were just at the gym.  How was your treatment?”

“Okay,” Porsche mumbles, feeling increasingly like he’s about to lose his shit.  All he can think about is how much his leg is aching.  “Bit sore now.”

“Porsche, you can just tell me what’s wrong,” Kinn says, and puts his hands on Porsche’s hips.  Porsche flinches, wondering how close Kinn is to the scar he likes to hide.  “You were fine when you left, was it…”

“I’m not upset about Big,” Porsche says, trying to hide a quaver in his voice.  What the fuck is wrong with him suddenly?  “Everything was good with him.  I’m just, my leg hurts, don’t worry about me.”

“You’re clearly upset,” Kinn says.  “It’s not about me having sex with another man in our bed, really?  I knew that wouldn’t be good for you, I knew -”

“It’s not,” Porsche snaps.  “My leg hurts, Kinn!  It’s not about Big!”

“You were fine up until he left,” Kinn says, as if Porsche doesn’t know his own leg hurts.  “And now, suddenly -”

“It didn’t hurt while he was here!” Porsche protests.  “Everything was fine, it’s fine that you fucked!  I just don’t know why he had to leave so quickly, I wanted him to stay longer and…”

He snaps his mouth shut.  That was way more revealing than he meant it to be.  Wanting Big to lie around in bed with them means something, and he knows Kinn will know it.  What if Kinn’s mad?  He couldn’t have really meant that Porsche was allowed the same latitude with Big that he’s given Kinn, he couldn’t…

Kinn’s quiet for a long beat, and Porsche is going to lose it.  He’s going to lose his goddamn fucking mind if Kinn doesn’t say something soon.  He can’t fucking handle anymore today, it’s all been so much and -

“You like him,” Kinn says, and his voice is tender.  He’s not mad.  Porsche could cry with relief.  “You wanted him to stay?”

“It was nice,” Porsche says, not sure what he’s trying to say, and very much not sure how to explain what he can barely put into words.  This is mortifying.  He feels like he's fourteen again, except that he didn't feel this way when he was a teenager.  “... yeah?”

Kinn spins Porsche around and studies him for a second.  Porsche has no idea what he’s looking for, but he's reassured to see that Kinn doesn't look angry.  He's never sure when the hard, angry version of Kinn will come out.  

“You like Big,” Kinn says again, as if that means something.

“Of course I like him,” Porsche agrees, not sure what Kinn is saying.  “He’s nice to me and I trust him.”

“No, I mean,” Kinn’s face is very soft and open, like Porsche has done something cute.  Porsche doesn’t know what that could be, all he’s done tonight is orgasm and then complain about his leg hurting like a dumb baby.  “Do you have a bit of a crush on him?”

Porsche isn’t going to answer that, but he blushes so dark he thinks he bursts a blood vessel.  God, he wasn’t like this when he was fourteen.  He used to be able to play things cool.  Now he’s all fucked up over a fucking handjob, wanting it to mean something, who even is he?

“... I don’t know,” he finally responds, because Kinn is his boyfriend and maybe he does owe him some information, even if it makes his skin crawl to hear the crush word spoken out loud.  Is Kinn allowed to just say that?

“That’s fine,” Kinn says, smiling softly.  Why isn’t he mad?  He should be mad about this, Porsche is pretty sure.  “Okay, this makes more sense now.  You’re into him.”

“Maybe,” Porsche says, and after thinking for a second… “Yeah, I guess I am.”  Another terrible thought strikes him, what if Kinn thinks -  “Kinn, I didn’t make you sleep with him just because I wanted to sleep with him, I wouldn’t -”

“I know that,” Kinn says easily.  “I know you wouldn’t do that.  I trust you.”  Porsche doesn’t know why Kinn trusts him with this when they’ve fought about pretty much every other aspect of his life, including his continued friendship with Pete.  “... are you jealous of me?”

“No!” Porsche protests.  “I don’t want to do what you do.  I just didn’t want him to leave yet.”  He shrugs.  “And my leg does hurt, you know.”

“I think you should fool around with him,” Kinn says, with a gleam in his eye.  “Fair’s fair, right?”

"I don't want to make it complicated," Porsche protests, and steps out of Kinn's hold to stand properly under the spray.  This is crazy talk, Porsche doesn't need more than he's getting from this arrangement.  He can make do with what this is.  "It's good with you and him.  I don't need to make a mess of things."

"I think if you want him, you should have him too," Kinn says, and rubs his hand down Porsche's abs.  Porsche shivers.  "I don't want us to be like Tay and Time, you know?  If we're both fucking the same guy, that feels different, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, sure," Porsche says.  "It's different."

"And you want him too."

Porsche takes a deep breath, not sure why this is terrifying for him to admit.  But it is.  It feels huge to tell Kinn that he wants something more than everything that Kinn already gives him.  But...

"Yeah, I do."

"So go get him," Kinn says, and leans in for a kiss.  "You should have what you want, Po."

Porsche has no idea how Kinn expects him to just go and seduce their mutual head bodyguard.  He’s not some playboy like Kinn who can get men to hop into his bed with a wink and 50,000 baht.  (It was usually the other way around for Porsche, albeit with considerably fewer baht for his services.)  He’s not just going to…

It’s the end of another very long day.  They were at the minor family house til late and they have an early meeting, so they’re staying over.  Big left the library when the last of the guests left their meetings, but Porsche stayed downstairs to have a drink and recap with Vegas.

He’s outside of his room now.  He sleeps in a whole different wing from Vegas, Macau and Pete, in what used to be guest quarters.  The room he stayed in on his mission with Pete and Arm is like four doors down.  And Big has been given the room next to him, in case one of the cooks decides to off Porsche in the night (highly unlikely - old ladies love Porsche.)

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob.  He could go lie down, but there’s no way he’ll be able to sleep right away, not after that gauntlet of meetings.  So…

He taps on Big’s door, hopefully quietly enough that he won’t wake up if he’s asleep.  It’s enough that he’s with the guy all day, he doesn’t need to bother him at night too.  But he wants Big’s company enough that he begins to understand how moths incinerate themselves on open flames.

“Porsche?” Big asks through the door.  “Come in.”

Chapter Text

The day after giving Big a blowjob, Porsche feels… strange.  He’s not sure why, he didn’t even take himself out of his pants.  He thought framing it as “practice” would be cute, a way of not making things too serious, but…

Holy fuck, he was so into that.  

He has an early meeting, but he daydreams the whole way about Big smoothing a hand through his hair and calling him a good, sweet nong.  He can't focus very well when he sits down to negotiate, but Big is right there to whisper in Porsche's ear.  It's everything he's ever wanted, minus Kinn not being there too.

“I'm going to work from the tower,” Porsche tells Big on his way out of his long, early meeting.  It's already past lunch.  He's tired.

“Of course, sir,” Big says, the epitome of professionalism.  Porsche gets into the back of the car and imagines him saying tired, Nong? Take a nap  over and over on a loop.

P’Chan is downstairs when Porsche rolls in, as he often is when Kinn is upstairs working in his office.  Porsche knows Chan was Korn's guy behind the chair, but he doesn't spend much time playing chess with Kinn.  It's more obvious they both have work to do.

“Is Kinn's afternoon busy?” Porsche asks Chan.  Big is parking the car, so Porsche has a few minutes to be snoopy and make an exit before he gets back.

“No meetings,” Chan reports.  “Should I call up and let him know you're coming?”

“Sure,” Porsche says, and heads to the other bank of elevators that lead to the office space.

Kinn seems surprised to see him.  “I thought coming up meant to the apartment,” he says, standing up as Porsche comes into his office.  “You're home early.”

“I'm going to make a couple calls from the study,” Porsche says, and it comes out like he's asking for permission.  “And I just wanted to say hi and…”

Kinn pulls him into a big hug and Porsche shudders with relief.  “Are you good?” Kinn asks.  “Big got you off?”

“Mmhmm,” Porsche says, to the first part.  Kinn doesn't need to know he didn't get off.  He didn't want to.  “You're okay too?”

Kinn pushes him back and studies him.  “Yeah, of course,” he says, and looks like he means it.  “I told you to fuck him, were you worried I'd be mad?”

“No,” Porsche lies, unconvincingly.  Kinn’s eyebrows start to beetle together.  “I didn’t think you were lying, I just thought maybe, after we actually did it, you know…”  Kinn is still waiting, frowning.  “You might feel differently about me with another man?”

Kinn’s face lightens.  “Do you want me to pretend to be jealous?” he asks.

It’s not an unappealing idea.  “Maybe later,” Porsche says.  “We’re good?”

“I’m not jealous of Big,” Kinn reassures Porsche.  “Roll calls from the conference room, if you want?  I’m not too busy today, we could head out for a late lunch.”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, because he’d very much like to play the part of the adored boyfriend for a while.  “That sounds good.”

They fuck after their late lunch/early dinner, in missionary, Kinn holding Porsche close.  It helps with the feeling that Porsche did something wrong.  But somehow it’s still not enough.

“Do you love me?” Porsche asks, when he’s close, holding on tight around Kinn’s shoulders.  The feeling that Kinn is covering him is really good tonight.  Porsche wishes he could fold up and disappear into him, just for a little while.

“Of course I love you,” Kinn says into his ear, and pulls him in for a kiss.  “Love you, Po, love you.  You gonna come for me?”

Porsche almost says can I, but he’s been insecure enough for one day.  “Yeah,” he agrees, and Kinn jacks him off until he finishes, and then pulls out.  He jerks himself, adding to the mess on Porsche’s belly, and then flops down next to him, like a big satisfied cat.

Porsche wants to cuddle but he’s dirty and sticky.  “Gonna clean up,” he says, and rolls out of bed.  His legs are really shaky.

Kinn yawns and stretches.  “I’ll come too,” he says.  “I made half the mess.”

He wants to kiss and touch Porsche in the shower, and Porsche can’t help himself.  He holds onto Kinn tight again, keeping him close.  Maybe it was okay.  Maybe it can go on like this forever, somehow.

It all seems to settle into an equilibrium and Porsche should be happy with that.  Kinn and Porsche fuck, obviously, because Kinn is Porsche’s boyfriend.  Kinn and Big continue to fuck while Porsche is at the gym or a physio appointment or visiting his mom or Chay.  And now Big and Porsche play Blowjob School most nights they end up stuck at the minor family house, and Porsche gets to sleep over.

It actually seems… good.  Stable.  Kinn doesn’t seem to resent splitting his attentions between Big and Porsche.  Big doesn’t seem to resent that Porsche has kept all the good, safe parts of the relationship for himself.  Porsche should be happy with that.  It should feel like enough.

It still feels like too much.  It can’t be okay that Porsche handed Kinn off to Big.  Kinn must secretly resent him for not being enough.

And it can’t be okay that Porsche is this into Big.  The more they fool around, the worse his horrible crush gets, and he can tell that Big’s fond of him, but he’s pretty sure that’s it.  The person he loves is Kinn, not Porsche.

Porsche wishes things could be not so hard, for once.  And the more some parts of some things go smoothly, the more he wishes everything could be easy.  It’s greedy.

Today is another normal day.  Kinn wakes him up a little early, before his meetings, and fucking makes love to Porsche.  It’s all whispers of I love you, and are you close, and is this good for you too?  It’s fucking romantic, and Porsche is dizzy with how much he likes it.

In the evening, he knocks on Big’s door.  “Come in!” Big calls, like he always does.  Porsche slips inside.

“Can I blow you?” he asks.

Big is playing with his phone, but he smiles and sets it down.  “Sure,” he says, and throws a pillow onto the floor for Porsche’s knees.  “Or do you want to come up on the bed?”

“Floor’s good,” Porsche says, and gets settled between Big’s legs.  

It’s easy.  Big is the first person Porsche has ever really enjoyed going down on.  He tries to be a good partner, but he mostly associates oral with desperation, licking at some girl until his jaw hurts and Yok is all shirty with him for disappearing for half an hour to try to save a tip.  Kinn is so big that Porsche feels like he either sucks at it, or he’s about to puke.

Big is just… nice.  Porsche likes the weight of him in his mouth, and it doesn’t make his jaw so sore.  He doesn’t feel like he needs Big’s cock to be halfway down his throat to be doing a reasonable job at his task.

He pulls Big out of his sweats and licks over the head of his cock.  Big sighs, gratifyingly.  Porsche smiles and takes him into his mouth.

They haven’t done this thousands of times, but Big’s a little noisier than he usually is.  It’s doing something to Porsche.  He slides his hand into his pants and palms himself.

“You wanna 69?” Big asks.

Porsche considers, and pulls off enough he can give a tiny headshake.  “‘M good.”

“Sure,” Big says, and starts to smooth his hand through Porsche’s hair.  This part is easy too.  Big doesn’t say why not.   He doesn’t say let me see you.   He doesn’t say what’s wrong?   

He just lets Porsche stay on the floor between his legs where the smell of him is strongest.  He lets Porsche keep idly teasing him with his tongue and working him shallowly until his jaw is tired.  “You wanna come?” Porsche asks.

“Not tonight,” Big says.  Porsche is still suspicious of his arrangement with Kinn and all the rules it involves, but Big seems pretty content.  “Do you?”

“Nah,” Porsche says, in solidarity, and crawls up on the bed.  He meant it, too, but the hair petting really got him down bad.  He can’t be still and they need to get to sleep before tomorrow’s early meeting.  Also his hand is still shoved down the front of his pants.  “... can I jerk off?”

“You want help?” Big asks, and reaches out to keep petting his hair.

“Not really,” Porsche says.  “Just this?”

“Sure,” Big says.  “C’mere.”

Porsche crawls up Big’s body and hides his face in Big’s chest.  He doesn’t know why he gets so shy about this, but he does.  He’s also pretty sure this isn’t allowed - he can’t just cuddle and touch himself, can he?  That’s so weird, Big’s gonna -

“Nong makes the cutest little noises,” Big says, setting his chin on Porsche’s head, and Porsche’s mind goes blank except for his voice.  “Were you close?”

Porsche has to wet his lips twice before he can speak.  “Kinda,” he says.  “I dunno, I -”

He pulls his hand back, self-conscious.  He’s taking too long.  He’s being so fucking strange about this.  He -

“Do you want some lotion?” Big asks, like that’s the reason Porsche stopped.

“Yeah, okay,” Porsche says, and Big squirts some into his hand.  “Thanks.”

“Better?” Big asks, and it does feel better, so Porsche lets out a reedy little uh-huh.   “Yeah?  Tell me how your hand feels.”

“Good,” Porsche mumbles, because it feels so good.  “Um.  Really good.  I -”  He lets out a shaky breath, starting to feel overcome.

“Did you like sucking my dick?” Big asks, and Porsche lets out another breathy little uh-huh.   “Yeah?  You’re so fucking cute down there, you have no idea.”

I’m not cute, Porsche grumpily protests in the privacy of his own mind, and comes in his underwear.

Big makes him get out of bed for a sink bath and a change of briefs after, but that’s more manageable than when it was sexual.  “These look clean,” he says, holding up Porsche’s pants, and kicks Porsche’s y-fronts into his hamper.  Porsche obligingly steps back into a big pair of sweatpants he took from Kinn.  “Tired?”

“Yeah,” Porsche yawns, and barely makes it back to Big’s bed.

The hard parts are these.

The next morning, Porsche gets up and meets the rohypnol supplier.  It isn’t easier this time, but he makes himself hang onto more of the details.  He leaves the meeting feeling like he could sleep for two weeks and goes upstairs to talk it over with Vegas.

“Oh, that guy,” Vegas says.  He’s on the couch today, which means Porsche can’t go lie in bed with him.  “Keep an eye on him.”

“Vegas,” Pete says, warningly, from the far side of the room.  He’s polishing a large selection of knives.  Porsche doesn’t know if they’re sex knives or stabbing knives, and he doesn’t want to ask.  Other people’s sexual experiences really don’t make a lot of sense to him right now.

“What?” Porsche asks, at the same time that Vegas tells Pete: “It’s better if he knows, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Pete says, angry, and then sighs.  “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“You don’t have to stay,” Vegas offers.

Pete gives him a mutinous look and then applies himself to knife polishing with great vigor.  “I’ll stay.”

Vegas turns back to Porsche.  He’s as nonchalant as Pete is furious.  “I used to fuck the roofie guy.”

“Like, on purpose?” Porsche says, and then tries to unpick what he means by that.  (What he means was did he roofie you, but he’s not sure he wants to know that.  He’s barely handling the meetings as it is.)

“It was for business, but I wasn’t sampling the wares,” Vegas says, a little arch, and looks over at Pete.  “So yes, it was on purpose.  It was a… concession.”

Porsche can’t disguise the look of horror he’s now wearing, nor the full-body chill that sweeps down his body.  Pete puts his knife down and gives Vegas a look like well now you’ve gone and upset the apple cart.   Pete is the sort of person who would say a grannyish thing like that.  He turns back into a country boy when he gets cranky.

“Porsche,” Pete says gently, the anger tucked away somewhere.  “No one expects you to fuck for discounted merchandise.”

“Kinn wouldn’t want to share you,” Vegas says, sardonic.  “Oh shit, Porsche, I didn’t mean it like that.”

But it's too late.  Porsche pictures really fucking up.  Maybe Kinn would share him -

(... the smell of cologne, the stiffness of hair gel, the room blurry, hand on his hip, cologne, hair gel, blurry, hands, colognehairgelblurryhandsblurryhands -)

“I’m gonna be sick,” Porsche manages, and Pete kicks the garbage can across the polished wood floor with a tremendous screeeeeech just in time for Porsche to throw up into it.

Vegas is the one who stands up and comes to groaningly kneel down next to him, shoving Porsche’s face deeper into the bag of vomit and rusty rags as he braces on his shoulder.  Porsche gags again, and more comes up.  His stomach hurts.

“Done?” Vegas asks, tremendously gently.  He doesn’t say sorry but Porsche knows.  “Here, rinse your mouth.  Spit into the garbage, it’s okay.”

“Sorry, I must have eaten something -” Porsche starts.  

Vegas hushes him and pulls the big duvet off the back of the couch.  “You wanna wrap up?”

Porsche does.  He’s shaking pretty hard.  He must be cold.  It starts to subside when he’s hidden under the blanket, where no one can see him and want him.  He’s so fucking exposed all the time, no wonder he’s always freezing.

Vegas grunts as he transitions from his knees down to his ass on the floor next to Porsche.

“How are you getting up from there again?” Pete mutters, but puts the knife down and comes to take the garbage can of puke away.  Porsche would offer to do it but he doesn’t know where it goes.  “Be right back.”

“I’m not telling you because I think you should,” Vegas says, and smooths his hand through Porsche’s gelled hair.  Sometimes touching the crunchy pieces makes Porsche recoil from himself - he doesn’t know how Vegas can stand to lay a hand on him.  “I’m telling you so you can be careful.  You watch your drink in there, right?  You keep that grumpy asshole close?”

Porsche nods.  “Big’s always with me in meetings,” he confirms and feels a little better having said it.

“Kay, good,” Vegas says, and reaches out to hug Porsche.  He’s boney even through the duvet.  Porsche scrunches down to put his head on Vegas’ shoulder.  “He’s not going to touch what’s Kinn’s.”  There’s a conspicuous pause.  “And you’re the family head.  No one would dare.”

Porsche would like to think that the long pause was Vegas choking down resentment, but it sounded more like he just forgot.  “I guess,” Porsche mumbles.  “Did you get a good discount?”

Vegas laughs.  “No, not really,” he says, and sounds a lot less hollow about it than Porsche feels.  He can't help how his heart aches for Vegas.  “But I had to try whatever I could try.”

Pete comes back and sets the garbage can down out of the way.  “Things are different now.  Right, Porsche?” he asks, and sits down on Porsche’s other side.

“Yeah, of course,” Porsche agrees, and tastes the sour taste of his own mouth.

Another hard part is this:

Chay has been trying to stick to seeing him once a week, and Porsche appreciates that.  Their meetings are stilted and awful, and Chay is so angry still, but anything is better than not seeing him.  Porsche will put up with a lot for proof of life.

Except as soon as he sees Chay, proof of life isn't enough.  Porsche wants things to be normal between them so bad.  He can only function during the day by never thinking about how wrong this is.

They’re hanging around in Chay’s room because the compound actually doesn’t have much to do, besides work out and recover from working out.  There isn’t like, a games room, or anything, and Kinn and Big are fucking upstairs at Kinn’s place, where there also isn’t anything to do.  Would it be weird to ask Tankhun to hang out?  At least he has Jenga.

“You could come over to the minor family house, they have a couple consoles,” Porsche says, to fill the silence between him and Chay.

Chay sighs.  They’re on the small couch in Chay’s guest suite, watching some chat show.  Porsche isn’t sure what Chay has been doing, but the desk is covered with notepaper and pens and what Porsche thinks might be pastels?  

But he doesn’t dare ask.  Chay is already acting like he’s an interloper without Porsche snooping into his private business.  If he wanted to say, he would say.  He was always showing Porsche the pictures for his WiK shrine, narrating his attempts to cut perfectly straight around flyaway hairs to preserve them.

“Or not,” Porsche says, into the silence that continues to smother him.

“You want me to go to your murder palace with you?” Chay asks, raising his eyebrows.  He continues to act like it’s completely insane that Porsche has decided to run the mafia because of his new boyfriend.  He is also the only person to have phrased it as you joined the mafia because you were dickmatized, last time while shouting at Porsche for getting shot at. 

Put like that, Porsche doesn’t seem like the ‘together’ one any more.  When he looks at himself through Chay’s eyes, maybe this wasn’t a good idea.  Maybe he should have given up on the house, and moved them somewhere safe and not let Kinn find him.  

Maybe Chay would be happy.  Maybe their uncle would still be alive.  Maybe Porsche wouldn’t have to live with the weight of knowing his mother cooked her brain trying to kill herself.

“It’s not a murder palace,” Porsche protests weakly.  He wouldn’t let Chay into the white room, and it’s not like Vegas pulls people’s ears apart in the front parlour.  “The aunties are really good cooks and they have some arcade games.  My friend Vegas has a brother your age, and he’s staying there.”

“The Vegas who kidnapped me?” Chay asks, his doe-brown eyes lazering holes into Porsche’s insides.

“It was his ex-boyfriend,” Porsche protests, weakly.  “Vegas just showed up in the middle.”

Chay just looks at him.  Porsche hasn’t seen him like this since the first time he came home from a fight with his face all busted up.  He can hear Chay’s voice in his head from that night.  Hia, this is fucking stupid, I don’t need to be at an international school, don’t…

But Chay knows how arguing goes.  Porsche kept going out to get his face kicked in.  Chay stayed at the international school.  And when he let that slide, Porsche joined the mob.

“I’ll come, I guess,” Chay says, after a long moment of icy silence.

“Really?” Porsche asks.

“Yeah,” Chay says, and sounds like a housewife whose clean floors have just been ruined by some naughty boys.  When did he get so fucking grown up?  “I’d like to meet this friend of yours.”

“Oh,” Porsche says.  “Um.  Sure?”  Vegas kills people and used to fuck the roofie guy for price concessions.  Surely he can handle Chay being Big Mad for a couple hours?

“Good,” Chay says, darkly, and pretends to yawn.  

Porsche hasn’t been wanted this whole evening, but he can recognize when he’s really not wanted.  “Well, goodnight,” he says.

“Goodnight,” Chay agrees, and doesn’t get off the couch to walk him out.  Doesn’t hug him goodbye.

That’s fine, Porsche thinks, and wanders towards the private gym.  He’s not going to make Chay hug him, obviously.  If Chay is mad, Porsche respects that.

And then he gets into the gym and tucks himself into a corner he’s figured out is invisible to the cameras, and it is not fine.

Chay is the one safe person in Porsche’s life.  He gives Porsche shit whenever he does something stupid, but he’s also the one who makes Porsche smoothies and soup when his face is all swollen, who keeps the house clean when Porsche is working an 18 hour day, who held Porsche’s arm together until it stopped bleeding when he ripped it open on a chain link fence running from the cops.  He’s the one who convinced Porsche to get a tetanus shot the next day.

Even if he’s angry, he would never actually hurt Porsche, not physically.  But to have Chay not even hug him goodbye…

Porsche shakes, tucked up on the furthest corner of the stretching mat.  God, it fucking hurts.  He did this for Chay.  He did this to save their house.  It was the best he could do, for Chay and for Mama, and no one fucking cares.

And he’s not wrong to love Kinn!  Kinn’s good.  He’s smart and funny.  He’s a fantastic lay.  But most of all, Kinn offers them safety and protection.  And all Porsche has to do for him in return is… this.

For a few minutes, Porsche sits in the corner and listens to the blood pounding in his ears.  He can’t stop feeling it, the rage, the queasy sense of injustice.  He can’t stop resenting his little brother.  He can’t stop the dark thoughts about what he might have to fuck up to end up in Vegas’ former position, under Somsak the roofie dealer.

Gradually, it drains away and he just feels exhausted again.  He half-expected Chan to follow him up here and check why he wasn’t visible on the cameras, but maybe the spot worked.

He pushes to his feet, shakes himself out and heads back upstairs.

Big is dressed again when Porsche gets back, plus or minus a few shirt buttons.  Porsche has seen him fully naked a couple of times now, but he can’t stop his eye from wandering downwards, or his mind from wondering what he’d find underneath Big’s starched white shirt.  He knows people think the same of him when he unbuttons almost to the navel, and hopes Big doesn’t find the interest unwanted.

He doesn’t seem to.  He meets Porsche’s eye and gives him a little smile.  “Good evening, K’Porsche.”

“Hey, baby,” Kinn says.  He’s sprawled on the couch with a glass of whiskey.  Big is next to him, just finishing his own drink.

“Hey,” Porsche says, and makes himself smile.  Act normal.  “Did you guys have fun?”

“Always,” Big says, and drains his glass before standing.  “But I’m heading out, I need some sleep.”

He leans in for a kiss from Porsche when he passes, and gives Kinn a lazy salute.  Porsche isn’t sure how Kinn will react -

Kinn laughs.  “Go on, fuck off,” he says.  “Sweet dreams.”

“You too, sir,” Big says, and the door snicks shut behind him a couple seconds later.

“Was it good?” Porsche asks.  He doesn’t know if he can handle details right now.  Either it was good and he’ll beat himself up for not wanting something perfectly nice, or it wasn’t good and he’ll freak out over the position he’s put Big in.

“Yeah, sure,” Kinn says.  He’s watching Porsche closely.  “You okay?  Weird day?”

Oh right, Porsche thinks, since Kinn is being all calm and reasonable and boyfriendly.  He does love Kinn.  He loves Kinn very much.  Kinn isn’t going to give him away to a drug dealer to fuck.  That’s just the end of a nightmare working its way out into the daylight.  It doesn't make any sense to think like that, not here in their living room with Kinn in a pair of linen pajama pants on their couch.

Porsche sits down on the couch, and Kinn makes space for him to curl into the hollows of Kinn’s body.  Big is interesting to Porsche right now, but Kinn is very big and strong and safe, especially when he hugs Porsche like this.  There is no replacement in the entire world for being held like this.

“It didn’t go great with Chay again,” Porsche mumbles.  Kinn’s heard this before, before his dad died.  Porsche doesn’t need to come over all waah waah my brother won’t hug me when Kinn won’t even talk about his father.  Porsche should be strong, too.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kinn asks.  His voice is all low and rumbly in his chest.  Porsche slides down so he can hear Kinn’s heart beating and shakes his head.  Right here, like this, joining the mafia for this man makes so much sense.

“Not really,” he mumbles.  “How were things with Big?”

“The usual,” Kinn says.  “I um.  I wanted to talk to you about something with that.”

“Uh huh,” Porsche says, and suddenly this isn’t easy either.  He takes one more deep breath and waits for Kinn to say that he doesn’t love Porsche anymore, that Porsche wasn’t enough.  Maybe it won’t be so hard if Porsche can listen to his heartbeat while he does it. 

Chapter Text

Of course, what Kinn wants is nothing that bad.  Kinn wants to hit Big, which Porsche can grudgingly acknowledge Big is for some reason into.  And then he wants Big to stay the night.

“Yeah, sure,” Porsche says, because he’s already suggested that Big doesn’t leave after he and Kinn fool around, weeks ago.  He likes Big.  He wouldn’t mind a sleepover.  “Whatever you need, Kinn.”

There’s a brief clouding-over of Kinn’s face, and Porsche’s heart starts to race.  He doesn’t want to have done something wrong.  He doesn’t want -

“Thanks, baby,” Kinn says, and the threatening storm cloud lifts like it was never there.  “You sure you don’t want to talk about Chay?  I could…”

“Just this,” Porsche mumbles, and Kinn makes an affirming noise and cuddles him harder.

Porsche doesn’t really think more about Kinn wanting to hit Big (and Big wanting to get hit.)  He really doesn’t understand the pair of them, or what they get out of having sex this way.  But they both seem happy with whatever is happening between them, and Porsche doesn’t have to get involved.

He’s preoccupied with visiting Chay tonight, and forgets that Kinn even brought up extra after the last time he and Big hung out.  The visit doesn’t go well again, although Porsche really can’t say why.  Chay is whole and healthy, and he’s past the point of haranguing Porsche to quit his job.  Porsche should make peace with Chay giving some of his time when he’s clearly very busy with his project, and -

He opens the door to the suite.  “Honey, I’m home,” he calls, but soft.  Sometimes Kinn is already asleep when he comes back upstairs.  Hopefully not tonight.  He’d really like a hug, he -

He opens the bedroom door and -

Oh shit, that was tonight.   Big’s ass is red.   Porsche told himself he didn’t care, but his mind starts running on a loop is he hurt?  Is he hurt?  Is he hurt?

And under that, there’s something else.

He kind of wishes he hadn’t walked in on Big buck-ass naked, in Kinn’s arms, not tonight.  He’s not really sure how to put his feelings into words.  It’s not that he’s mad that Kinn likes Big.  If anything, he’s kind of rooting for the other guy.

And it would be silly to be jealous that he wasn’t a part of Kinn hitting Big.  He doesn’t want to be.  The sight of Big’s red ass still makes him worry.

It’s not even that he’s upset Big is there.  He had a shit day, and Big’s very presence makes him feel soothed.  Safe.

He just…  Whatever.  He forces himself to smile.  “Don’t let me interrupt.  Damn, your ass is red.”

“Yeah, uh,” Kinn says.  “Can he hang out for a bit?”

The feeling Porsche can’t articulate goes away a bit as he helps Big get ready for bed.  It feels better in his head if he’s around after Kinn and Big do… whatever they did, and Porsche can help.  He likes knowing everyone is safe.

(He’d like to know he’s safe too.  He’d like to come home and have the two men he’s sleeping with turn their focus to him.  He’d like to hear how was it, Po? And he’d like to answer honestly, and…)

“Shoo, go get into bed,” he tells Big, and gets in the shower to try to wash the day away.  This is good.  It’ll be a nice sleepover.

Except when he comes out, Big is curled up against Kinn’s side, asleep.  That’s cute.  What’s not cute is that he’s on Porsche’s side of the bed, in the divot Porsche’s body has just started making in the mattress.  

That’s.  Uh.

Bad.

Porsche doesn’t know why he’s so damn territorial about his bed.  It’s not like he was homeless or something, growing up.  He slept in the same twin until his uncle moved out when he was seventeen, and then he slept in the same bed his mom and dad probably conceived him in (with the same almost-legal mattress.)

But now that he’s moved into the compound, he really likes that he gets to share with Kinn.  He actually liked rooming with Pete, but there’s something about sleeping in the sub-penthouse, with his cufflinks on the trinket tray in the bedside table, and his t-shirts folded next to Kinn’s…  It’s fucking heaven.

Porsche isn’t even jealous that Big is getting Kinn’s attention.  (And it’s not like Big’s actively receiving it - Kinn has also dozed off.)  Porsche’s happy.  He wants Kinn not to be such a dick to Big.

He’s just…  Where does Porsche go, if Big is in his spot?  Does he even belong here, if…

Big rolls his head, cracks one eye, and all but jumps out of bed.  “Hey, are you okay?  Having second thoughts?  I’m not going to sleep here, I’m going back to my room.”

That’s not what Porsche wants either, but he can’t really articulate hey, I get distracted in meetings thinking about the time I jerked myself off and we cuddled.   It is more than okay with him if Big stays.  It’s just…  He doesn’t know how to say I need my spot.   It’s so childish, Porsche should grow up and tell him it’s fine, but…

Big is still talking, and Porsche isn’t saying enough, and Big’s got his pants on and -

Kinn blinks awake and rolls halfway out of bed to drag Big back under the covers with him on the far side of the bed, shutting him up.  Porsche crawls in on his side, and Kinn pulls him close too.  Porsche knows Kinn thinks he’s too warm when they sleep like this, but for the moment it’s really nice.  

He puts his head down on Kinn’s shoulder and tries to quiet his racing heart.  If he just gets this for a little while, just a minute, he’ll stop feeling so…  Well, so nothing.  Porsche is fine.  He’s not upset.  He’s not jealous.  There’s no reason to be, he’s fine.

“M’up,” Kinn mumbles.  “How was Chay?”

Something in Porsche’s chest releases a little.  He tries not to show how much it’s been hurting him that he and Chay are fighting, but it’s a lot.   He doesn’t want to let Kinn into how devastated he is, but it would also really hurt him if Kinn didn’t at least ask.  He just wants this, the little ritual of not answering Kinn’s question, maybe a hug and a kiss goodnight.

“Still pissed at me,” he mumbles.  “Whatever.  You were… it was fun?”

Kinn turns and grins at Big.  “It was great, thanks.”

Big smiles back at him like the sun is coming up.  Porsche has never seen him look so… not grumpy.  It changes his whole face.  Holy fuck he’s gorgeous.

“You want a thank you handjob for lending me your boyfriend?” Big asks, still looking so soft and open and… touchable.  Porsche feels like a smelly old shoe after the tense time he had with Chay.  He can’t believe Kinn wants to hug him when there’s someone good and happy right on the other side of the bed.

Still, he wouldn’t say he’s jealous of Big.  He’s so happy Big’s staying over, finally.  He just wishes he could be good like Big.  He wishes he didn’t make everything so difficult.

“Maybe just a kiss goodnight?” he asks, even though he’s scared even just a kiss will somehow stain Big.  He shouldn’t risk it.  “I’m kind of tired.”

Kinn tries to smash them together like dolls, which Porsche resents.  He can move his own head, thank you.  He doesn’t need someone else deciding how he kisses.  (He ignores the sour milk feeling in his stomach at Kinn not letting him control his own body.  Didn’t Kinn say it was different now?  Isn’t Porsche safe now, isn’t he-)

But he’s not going to make something of it, even though it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.  And then Big’s there, and they’re kissing goodnight, and it’s so fucking nice that Porsche forgets that he was feeling kind of… something.

Kinn is right there too, and Porsche doesn’t hate that he’s watching.  He likes the attention.  He pulls back and…

And Big’s eyes lock with Kinn’s.  They’re drawn together not like two magnets but softly, softly and -

Their lips brush together.  Big’s mouth opens to Kinn’s.  Someone makes a soft breathy noise, and they -

They pull apart.  “Ha,” Big says, staring at Kinn’s lips, transfixed.  Kinn doesn’t look any less bewitched.

For a second it just hangs there.  Porsche wonders if now he’ll feel jealous, but he doesn’t.  Big is somehow still safe.  Porsche liked watching.

No, it’s something different that upset Porsche.  “I thought it was fucking weird you didn’t kiss,” he says, to cover the suddenly souring atmosphere.  Big leans in and gives Porsche another kiss, and another, and that helps.  “I like you with your ponytail down.”

“Me too,” Kinn says and cups Big’s head as he turns to give Porsche a kiss goodnight.  “Me too.”

Porsche feels sad and jealous over the next few days, and it doesn’t make sense to him why.   He’s not upset Kinn kissed Big.  He liked watching them.  And he’s not upset Big slept over.  He enjoyed that.

It’s something different, and he really can’t articulate what.  His thoughts keep swirling around.  He thinks of every different thing, of Big’s red ass, and Kinn making love to Porsche last week, of that night at the pier when Kinn kissed him.  And then, for some reason, as much as he tries not to, he thinks of it, the night when everything went wrong.

There’s just something about Kinn’s soft face, and Big’s shining eyes.  Porsche was like that once.  Everything was sweet and perfect and -

And now it’s not, and that’s whatever.  Porsche is a grown-up.  He doesn’t need to be up his own ass like this.

It all keeps mixing around in his head.  In his sleep, Kinn is kissing him on the pier, and then Porsche is spinning out of control in an anonymous hotel room.  And then it’s not Kinn, it’s debt collectors and Porsche’s ribs are being caved in, but the other thing is happening too and -

Porsche wakes up gasping.  He has no idea how Kinn sleeps through him levitating up to sitting, but he does.

Porsche gets up and goes to shower.  He’s drenched with sweat.  He needs to get clean.  He needs to wash the dream away.

He isn’t jealous that Big got a kiss and he didn’t.  He’s jealous that Big isn’t dirty, that his first time with Kinn wasn’t on horse tranquilizers, that his memories of Kinn don’t give him nightmares.  He’s so fucking jealous that it’s easy between Kinn and Big, and everything’s hard for him right now.

They have events - they always fucking have events.  Porsche does his best to be a good partner to Kinn, to be arm candy, to charm the wives and girlfriends.  But his best tonight isn’t very good.  He’s exhausted.

There’s a silent auction being announced, and a dessert buffet, and a table full of politicians and their wives.  Porsche should go schmooze, he-

Kinn leans in.  “Do you wanna go home?” he whispers.  Porsche takes a second to analyze whether Kinn is resentfully asking, but Kinn’s voice is genuine, caring.

“Yeah,” Porsche whispers back.  “I didn’t sleep good, I can just…”

“I’ll come,” Kinn murmurs, and extracts them with a sunny statement about getting this one home to bed that makes all the older ladies coo.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” Kinn asks, when they’re finally home away from the bodyguards.  Porsche is so fucking happy to be out of his tuxedo.  It’s raining outside, and he’s put on a full fucking sweatsuit that Kinn bought for a trip to Canada and is cozying himself up on the couch.

Porsche shrugs.  “Just couldn’t,” he says.  “I dunno.”

“You’re okay that Big spent the night?” Kinn asks.  “You weren’t… I dunno.”

“Yeah, it was fine,” Porsche says.  “I said it would be, didn’t I?”

“Sure, sure,” Kinn agrees.  “But if that changed -”

“Well, it didn’t,” Porsche says, and they sit in silence for a few minutes.

“Do you want to pick a movie?” Kinn asks.  “We could unwind for a bit before bed.”

Porsche flips through the menu and picks some random documentary about animals.  He doesn’t give a fuck what they watch.  It’s basically the first thing he clicks over.

Kinn opens his arms and Porsche cuddles down against him.  The title sequence plays through, and there’s a kangaroo on screen.  Porsche doesn’t care about kangaroos, except this one is cute and cuddly looking.  Pettable.  He could -

He squirms, trying to get comfortable.  There, that’s better.  Except…

He wiggles in place again.  This couch is so hard, but also too soft.  Porsche’s back is -

“Are you bored?” Kinn asks, gently.  “We can change it.”

“Can you rub my shoulders?” Porsche asks, and then wonders if that’s allowed.  It’s very demanding to ask for a backrub, isn’t it?  Maybe Kinn doesn’t want to.

“Should I call the spa?” Kinn asks.  “It’s not that late, I could get someone…”

Being touched by someone who isn’t Kinn is the very last thing Porsche wants.  “No, that’s okay,” he starts, trying to figure out a way that Kinn doesn’t make him get a massage from the aunties.  Fuck, he shouldn’t have asked, he’s so touched out from physio and that fucking weird dream last night, and…  “I’m.  I don’t need that.”

“... ah,” Kinn says.  “Uh.  Sure, if you want.  How should we do this?”

“Whatever,” Porsche says, and half-turns.  “Like this is fine.”

Kinn puts his hands on Porsche’s traps and firmly kneads, and Porsche stifles a yelp.  Everything is tender today, and he doesn’t know why.  Maybe this was a bad idea.  Maybe he should have…

“Too much,” Kinn says, and adjusts his pressure so it feels less like a Vulcan nerve pinch.  “Better?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  “Um, down a little bit?  More?  Left?  Uh… ah!”

Kinn pulls back for a second.  “That’s really tender,” he says.  “I can feel the knot, you want me to go hard or go gentle?”

“Sure, yeah, go hard,” Porsche says.  “That’s fine.”

Kinn’s thumb presses in and Porsche bites down on his lip.  He gets knots in this one spot under his shoulder and he’s spent years having his uncle’s elbow or Chay’s whole forearm shoved into his back.  It shouldn’t be weird that tonight it’s Kinn’s thumb.

But it is.  Porsche has been ignoring his body all day, but now he can feel it.  This hurts.

“God,” Kinn says, faintly admiring.  “Here, lie down.”

There's a moment of relief as they shift, and then Kinn's using his elbow, leaning his whole weight on the single frustrating point in Porsche's back.  Porsche feels like all the air gets squished out of him, like he's being pressed flat.  He doesn't know if he can stand the relief from the pain.  He doesn't know -

The knot gives.  Porsche's shoulder fizzes with static, sparkling down to his finger tips.  Kinn slides, crunching Porsche's bones, and then pulls away.

“Better?” he asks, and doesn't wait for an answer.  “No wonder you couldn't sleep.  Poor thing.  Anywhere else?”

“That was the bad one,” Porsche says and expects the massage to end.  

Kinn keeps going.  He's vaguely professional about it in a way Uncle Thee could never have pretended to be, and he has strong hands.

Porsche feels like he's going liquid on the couch.  This is so nice.  He wishes Kinn could be the only one to touch him like this (except maybe Big, but he'd never pester the guy for that.)

Kinn's fingers sweep down his lower back, and Porsche groans.  He has asked the massage aunties to keep their hands off the area and he isn't ready to lift that order yet.  It feels so nice when Kinn does it, though.

(... except for the building worry that Porsche might need to fuck to pay Kinn back for this.  But it's too nice to stop for that.  He hurts so much.)

“All done,” Kinn says, an indeterminate amount of time later.  Porsche is dozing off.  “Feels better?”

“Mm,” Porsche mumbles.  “Thanks.”

He sits up again, and flops back into Kinn's arms.  Kinn kisses him a couple times, his temple and the top of his head, and squeezes him tight.  “I thought you were upset with me, but your back hurt?”

“Mm, yeah,” Porsche says.  “I'm sorry we had to leave early, I could have handled it better, I should have…”

Kinn hushes him.  “It's fine.  I wanted to actually spend some time with you, this was nice.  I've been missing you, lately.”

“Me too,” Porsche says, and they watch the rest of the animal documentary.

Big comes to talk to him the next night, and somehow that's easy.  With Kinn, the closest Porsche can come to saying what he wants is to ask for a backrub.  With Big, suddenly he's describing being the filling in a Kinn/Big sandwich.

“You'll talk to Kinn about it?” Big asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Porsche says, and then he gives Big a blowjob.

It takes Porsche an hour or two to pluck up his courage to talk to Kinn the next night.  But he knows Big is waiting for an answer and so he does it.  “What do you think about a threesome?” he asks Kinn, just as they’re getting into bed.

“With Big?” Kinn asks.  Porsche nods.  “I mean, sure, I’m into it.  What are you thinking?”

Porsche doesn’t know why it’s different.  With Big, he felt like he was talking about a fantasy.  To Kinn, he feels like he’s describing blocking for a film.  There’s a lump in his throat that makes it so difficult for him to say the emotional content out loud.  Kinn doesn’t want to hear I want to be so good for you, phi, I want you to take care of me,  does he?

Still, Kinn’s eyes are going dark listening.  He licks his lips, like Porsche is something delicious he can’t wait to taste.  Porsche likes the feeling.  He likes knowing he’s getting Kinn’s attention.

“That’s not going to be too much for you?” Kinn asks, watching Porsche as carefully as he does when Porsche and Big kiss in front of him.  “We could start with something smaller.  You and Big could fool around and I could watch.”

And direct, Porsche hears, and hates the idea.  “No, I want this,” he says.  “What I said.  I’m good for it, you think this is my first rodeo?”

“You were having a lot of threesomes in the alley outside the bar?” Kinn asks, and gives Porsche a lazy grin.  “I should have known, a handsome guy like you.”

A slut, Porsche hears, in his own voice, and brushes the thought away.  “You don’t know all my secrets,” he says airily, because the 'threesome' was actually at a high school party on a porch when he was fourteen, two older girls giggling and ignoring Porsche’s person for his penis.  “Is the idea doing something for you, or not?”

“Oh, I can show you how much it’s doing it for me,” Kinn says, and pulls Porsche in for a long, sweet kiss that makes some of the bad thoughts fly right out of his head.  “I’ll show you all night, baby, you just wait -”

Chapter Text

So they’re gonna have a threesome.  Porsche is excited, in a shivery kind of way, but he’s also on pins and needles about it.  He doesn’t know why but having sex with both Kinn and Big at the same time makes him very nervous.

It might be because the time they gave him a handjob when he wandered in at the end of them boning was legitimately the hottest thing that has ever happened to him.  He was even sober enough to fully remember it, which has not exactly been a feature of his sexual exploits.  He’s not always wasted, but he worked in a bar and he sampled cocktails all night.  A lot of his memories of sex are a little hazy.

The vulnerability of it makes his skin feel thinner than usual, which might be why he gets into a fight with Kinn on the way home from a gala.

Kinn barely paid any attention to him all night, and now he’s on his phone.  Of course it’s for work, but Porsche feels ignored.  I’m gonna fuck you and your bodyguard, and you won’t even pay attention to me for a car ride, he sulks to himself.

“What?” Kinn asks, not looking up from his phone.

“I didn’t say anything,” Porsche says, and turns to stare out the window.  He sighs.

“Porsche.  What?” Kinn asks, and this time does look up from his phone.  But now he’s annoyed.

Porsche shrinks back into himself at the sound of anger in Kinn’s voice, which flicks some kind of switch in him.  If he’s going down, he’s going to be twice as much an asshole about it.

“Don’t say thank you or anything,” he snarks.

“Thank you for buying you a tuxedo and taking you to a party,” Kinn says, sounding even more annoyed.  “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Porsche takes a few deep breaths, his blood pounding in his ears.  The fuck is wrong with him?   He’ll -

“K’Kinn, K’Porsche has been awake since two am,” Big reports, which is true but not relevant to this fight.  “We had a very early meeting.”

“Ah,” Kinn says, and softens, which is worse.  This has nothing to do with Porsche being tired!  Kinn is being an asshole!

Kinn reaches for his hand but Porsche pulls away.  Kinn sighs and shakes his head and goes back to his phone.

This is not what Porsche wants, although he also didn’t want Kinn trying to hold his hand.  He crosses his arms and shoves himself against the window.

Kinn is exasperated, if not actually angry, by the time they get back upstairs.  “What do you want, Porsche?”

What Porsche wanted was to take a bath and then cuddle in bed but now even if Kinn will do it, it’s ruined.  “Forget it,” he snaps.  “Let’s just go to bed.”

“What is wrong with you?” Kinn asks, and the exasperation is starting to teeter back to anger.  “Just let me -”

Porsche flinches back.  “I have an early meeting!” he all but shouts.  He does, but that’s not why he’s mad.  “I can’t sleep if you’re emailing!  I’m going back to the house!”

Kinn throws his hands up.  “Fucking - fine!  Be that way!  Next time take your own fucking car!”

“I will!” Porsche snarls, and stomps to the elevator to find Big.

It’s not even really a fight, but he still can’t sleep.  He feels sick.  Kinn probably hates him now.

He does have an early meeting, and then a lot of other meetings.  He’s surly through all of them, which doesn’t seem to register for anyone but Big and Nop.  Maybe the head of the minor family is supposed to be surly, and Porsche just needs to have everyone he loves mad at him all the time to play the part properly.

“We’re near a market, sir,” Nop says, as they exit the meeting.  “Would you like to grab lunch?”

Porsche’s street food excursions are usually tolerated by the bodyguards, not encouraged.  His mood must be pretty obvious, and he is hungry.

“Yeah,” he says, trying not to snap it.  “Can you find me a place that does skewers?”

“Of course,” Nop says, and is extra vigilant about pushing pedestrians out of Porsche’s personal space.  Normally Porsche doesn’t like that, but right now the whole world seems to be grinding on him.  People are too close, the market is too loud, the food too smelly…  He’s kind of pathetically grateful for Nop and Big making sure no one shoves into him.  He really needs to eat.

“Do you want some more?” Big asks him, from where he’s perched next to Porsche on an overturned milk carton.  Porsche nods, shamefully.  He wolfed down the first serving.  “Be right back.”

The food helps, but what Porsche really needs is rest, and he doesn’t have time for that.  When his meetings are finally finished, he skips dinner and heads to the training ring at the minor family house.  He wants some time with a heavy bag, and he doesn’t want an audience.  The minor family doesn’t have two fully equipped gyms like the tower does, so if he wants to really train he needs to either dramatically banish all the bodyguards from the gym or go when everyone’s eating.

Even whaling on the bag isn’t as satisfying as it usually is.  Porsche keeps thinking of his old coach, a kind old man who believed strongly in using power to help people.  That wasn’t at all what Porsche was doing today.  Suddenly practicing his Taekwondo just makes him feel more shitty about himself, so he doubles down on beating up the bag.

He’s out of breath but the funk and bad mood is nowhere near gone.  He growls and kicks the bag again, and knocks himself over in the process.  The wind rushes out of him.

“Fuck!” he shouts to the empty gym.  Well, it would be a shout if he had enough breath.  It’s more of an angry croak.

“What’d the punching bag do to you?” someone drawls, behind him.  It’s fucking Macau.  Porsche cannot even with this kid right now.  He’s going to -  “You want to come see hia?”

“Yeah, sure,” Porsche wheezes, and Macau offers him a hand up.  This rankles too.  Macau and Porsche are mortal enemies as much as it’s stupid that Porsche’s mortal enemy is a high school senior.  He shouldn’t need Macau’s intervention.

Vegas doesn’t do anything special.  He just sits and listens while Porsche talks to him about all his meetings.  Porsche wasn’t really sure what he wanted last night, but maybe it was this.  He feels better because he’s finally getting the feedback he wanted but even more upset Kinn wouldn’t listen at the same time.

“Sounds good,” Vegas says, and takes another small bite of his dinner.  He asked the aunties to bring food for him and Porsche.  “What was the price on the AK-47s?”

“I need to ask Big,” Porsche says, and cringes at the thought of the coming lecture.  Everyone’s been on him about math, and he just can’t get the numbers to stick.  Vegas is gonna -

“Sure, in the morning,” Vegas says, and gently punches him in the arm.  “You feel a little better?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, because at least some of his work stress is off his mind.  “I’m gonna shower, thanks for listening.”

“Of course,” Vegas says, his voice gentle like it was when he was teasing Macau about bringing Porsche home like a half-dead mouse.  “Sleep well.”

Porsche would really like to, but he can’t.  He hasn’t heard from Kinn all day.  Kinn’s obviously furious.  How can Porsche just go to sleep when -

His phone buzzes.  U home tonight? His screen reads.  It’s Kinn.

No, early meeting, Porsche answers, heart in his throat.  He’s obviously in shit, he’s obviously getting chewed out, he’s obviously -

Sure, sweet dreams, his phone buzzes.  Ilu.

Porsche doesn’t know what to make of that.   Doesn’t Kinn know they’re fighting?  Is this a trap, somehow?  What does it mean?

U too, he texts back, but that seems unbearably cold, so he adds a heart emoji.  Kinn hearts the heart.  What does that mean?

The next day is equally miserable.  Everything bothers him, from the light to the traffic noise to the spice in the food.  Porsche keeps thinking Kinn must be mad, Kinn must be mad.   He can barely sleep the next night, choked on the injustice of it all.  He didn’t even do anything!  Kinn was the one who wouldn’t get off his phone!  Why is he so mad at Porsche!

They have a dinner to attend his third night away from Kinn, and Porsche is dreading it.  At least if they’re in public, they can’t fight right away, but at the same time, Porsche wants to just get it over with.  It’s going to be torture to sit next to Kinn all evening and know they’re going to shout later.

The car pulls up to the hotel.  Big opens Porsche’s door and then steps to the second vehicle and pulls out a garment bag.  “We have a room so you can change, sir,” he says, and a member of Kinn’s detail is coming towards them, ushering them inside.  “This way.”

Porsche’s skin prickles as they get into the hotel elevator.  It’s a different hotel from the diamond auction, but when he blinks, he still sees flashes of that night behind his eyelids - being shoved towards the elevators, the bag dropping over his head, his disorientation that the floor was moving underneath him, the panic, the -

Stop that, he tells himself.  You can’t have a fucking phobia of hotels.  Are you three goddamn years old?

And then he looks behind him, checking that Big’s still with him.  Big gives him a little eyebrow quirk, like alright?   That helps more than mentally beating himself up.  Big’s here.  Nothing bad is happening.

Porsche nods, and the elevator door is opening, and some of the unease goes away.

Kinn’s guard opens the door to the room with a gold keycard.  Porsche steps inside, Big close on his heels with the garment bag.  “What time is this thing?” Porsche asks Big, and then recoils violently when he realizes Kinn is waiting on the sofa in his tux.  He trips over his own feet and Big drops the garment bag to shove him back upright.

“What?” Kinn asks, and stands up to also steady Porsche.  “Didn’t Jim tell you I was here?”

“No, I thought you were downstairs at the happy hour,” Porsche manages, feeling foolish and even more sulky than he already did.  Big stoops to grab the tux and turns to take it to the bathroom, smoothing the fabric of the bag straight again.  Porsche wishes he wouldn’t do that, he wishes…

Kinn leans in and hugs him, no trace of malice in his embrace.  Porsche could almost cry with relief.  Are they not fighting?  Is Kinn not mad?

“Busy last few days?” Kinn asks him, as Porsche hugs him back as hard as he can.  “How are you?”

“Yeah, busy,” Porsche agrees, clinging on.  “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Kinn says, and leans in for a kiss.  Porsche is so fucking relieved that they aren’t fighting.  God, he’s such an idiot for thinking Kinn has been mad these whole last three days.  “You wanna have a drink up here before we go down?  Catch me up?”

“Sure,” Porsche agrees, and turns to catch Big before he can slip out of the room.  “Um, stay?  I might need you for some of the details.”

“Of course,” Big says, and turns to start making their drinks.  Something in Porsche quiets knowing he’s here.  Big can always diffuse everything, somehow.  Kinn will stay in a good mood if Big’s here, and that’s -

Kinn kisses Porsche’s cheek, and then his lips.  “Hey, handsome,” he says.  “There’s a silent auction, keep an eye on the jewelry.  I think you need a new watch.”

“I’ll make sure he bids,” Big says, and hands Kinn a gin and tonic.  “The Patek Phillipe from the catalogue was nice, right, K’Kinn?”

Porsche’s shitty mood evaporates, like he didn’t spend the last three nights stewing and miserable.  If Big and Kinn are gonna conspire to get him jewelry, he can be sweet for the evening.  Threesome, his dick starts to think again.  Threesome?

The window comes not too long after.  Porsche is so fucking excited, for sex but also a little bit just to have a day off.  Even at the bar he usually had Sundays off to catch up on sleep and try to salvage his homework.  He’s been running pretty much 24/7 since he put the ring on, and it’s been months.

He knows he’s got the day off.  But he doesn’t realize Kinn does too until he wakes up that morning.  Kinn’s still in bed, drinking coffee and reading a very Kinn book on leadership and management.

“Morning,” he says, when Porsche stirs awake.  He smiles, and Porsche can see the very faint beginnings of his smile lines around his eyes.  It’s sexy.

“Morning,” Porsche says, and leans in for a kiss.  Kinn puts the book aside and lets Porsche steal some of his coffee along with the kisses.  “Are you off today?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says, and walks his fingers up Porsche’s side.  It makes Porsche go molten hot inside.  “And if you’re off, and I’m off, it means Big is off too.  I mean, if you want to get him off.”  He smirks.  He’s so fucking cheesy.

Porsche already has morning wood, but his dick twitches interestedly.  “Today?”

“If you want,” Kinn says.  “You up for it?”

Porsche grabs his hand and pulls it down to his dick, and they get so carried away they almost don’t need a threesome.

Big looks eager too, when Porsche meets him at the door.  They’re gonna fuck, Porsche thinks, remembering how hot it was when Kinn jerked him off against Big’s stomach.  And this is going to be even hotter,  this is going to be -

“Should we talk first?” Big asks, around Porsche’s determined attempts to lick into his mouth.  His hand settles on the small of Porsche’s back, reassuring.

Porsche doesn’t want to talk.  He hates talking.  He’s already done so much talking, and it never seems to get him anywhere, never seems to make him more understood.  “You know what I want,” he tries.  “And…”

Big turns him and propels him into the living room.  “I think I know what you want, and Kinn thinks he knows what you want, but let’s make sure that’s the same thing.”

And so they talk.  Somehow, with Big there, Porsche feels like Kinn understands.  When they talked about it before, he felt like he was talking about blocking a porno. I’ll put his dick in my mouth, and you put your fingers up my ass and -

This feels like the part he can never make understood, the part that’s inside him.  He doesn’t think he could be brave enough to say all of this without Big here.  The questions make him feel so shy, and he can barely stand to answer.  “A little… maybe a little slow, if that’s okay.”

He barely dares look over at Kinn.  God, he’s so fucking stupid, he’s like a little baby.  Kinn doesn’t want to have to take this slow with him, like he’s some stupid virgin.  He knows that Kinn still wants more and Porsche shouldn’t…

“And is there anything you don’t want me to call you?” Big asks.  “Names, or…”

“Um,” Porsche says, and laughs.  It comes out way more nervously than he wanted it to, but he doesn’t know what they want him to say.   “I dunno, what do you want to call me?”

“I mean, do you want me to call you a slut or say you’re easy, or…”

Porsche feels sick to his stomach imagining that.  Easy little slut, rings in his ears.  He knows that’s what he is, but they don’t need to remind him, he…

He looks up, and Big is right there, looking calm and patient and only a tiny bit grumpy.  It arrests Porsche’s spiral.

He narrows his vision to just Big, his patient phi, and pretends Kinn isn’t here to listen to all this embarrassing emotional crap.  “No, just… I like how we usually are, that’s good, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Big says, and smiles at Porsche, just a little flicker, but Porsche feels so much more settled seeing it.  “I’m just asking if you want it to go differently.  It’s your idea, right?”

“Yeah, just like…” Porsche can barely get the words out.  This is so embarrassing, he can’t believe he’s going to say it out loud.  “Can you call me nong and say I’m doing a good job?”

Kinn surges back into Porsche’s field of vision.  “Me too?  I can finally call you nong in bed?”

Porsche doesn’t have words to say how hot that would be.  It’s going to weird Kinn out if he gives a hint of how much he’d like that.  “Yeah, if that’s…”

“Okay, we talked,” Big says, and he’s smiling when Porsche looks up.  He extends his hand, and Porsche takes it.

They’re both on him the second they get to the bedroom.  Porsche could not have imagined how hot it would be in his wildest dreams.

He’s a man of the world, and he always expected that a threesome, an actual threesome, would involve a certain amount of fumbling.  Three bodies, mapping a new constellation, there were bound to be some awkward moments.

There is no awkwardness between Kinn and Big.  They move together like a machine.  A very sexy machine which is going to make Porsche come way too fast.

Big’s unbuttoning his shirt.  Kinn is thumbing his pants open and working them down his hips.  Big’s mouth is on his, devouring, and then four hands are spinning him and pressing him into Kinn.

Porsche can’t catch his breath.  It’s so much attention.  He doesn’t know if he can stand it.

“Are you going to be a good nong for your phis?” Big asks, and Porsche is suddenly so hard he doesn’t know if there’s enough blood left in the rest of his body to answer the question.  He wants to be good so bad that he can’t say the words out loud.

“Answer P’Big, Porsche,” Kinn orders him, and the words unlock.

“I’m gonna be good,” Porsche pants.  “I’m gonna -”

Fuck, he’d already beg them and no one’s even undressed yet.  He doesn’t know if he can handle how hot this is.  He wants it too fucking bad.

“Say I’m gonna be a good nong,” Kinn continues, pulling Porsche’s briefs down his ass.

Porsche flushes, head to toe.  He wants that so much.   He doesn’t know how Kinn can just say his deepest, wildest desire.  “Kinn,” he protests, a whine creeping into his voice.

“Porsche,” Kinn retorts, grinning.

“You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to,” Big tells him, his voice cutting through some of the embarrassment.  “But you are gonna be a good nong for us, right?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, and gets the courage to stutter through the sentence.  “I’m gonna be your good nong.”

“Fuck,” Kinn swears, as though that’s done something to him.  Porsche doesn’t get why he’s so into this, but he doesn’t have a lot of time (or blood) for thinking.

Big shoves Porsche’s pants the rest of the way down, and palms his cock where it’s still caught in his underwear, before hooking his thumb under the elastic and letting Porsche’s cockhead pop free.

Porsche barely restrains a whine.  “Don’t tease me,” he begs.  He’s not sure how long he can last like this.  Didn’t he say slow before?  “I’m…”  Big squeezes again and close is lost to a quick indrawn breath.

“You’re gonna be good,” Big reminds him, and Porsche has to suck in a little more oxygen.  He’s already lightheaded.

Big mercifully takes his hand away from Porsche’s cock, but then trails his fingers ever so lightly up Porsche’s thighs.  The tease is -

He follows it up with his nails, and Porsche shakes, his knees going weak.  He might make a noise, he might not.

Kinn turns towards them, the lube in his hands.  “Do you want to use a condom?” he asks.  Sometimes they do.

“No, I’m good today,” Porsche says, and lets Kinn push him down to the bed and knock his knees open.  He wasn’t sure how long he could stay standing, anyway.

Kinn climbs onto the bed with Porsche, his fingers already wet with lube.  Porsche takes a deep breath, getting mentally prepared for something in him, and -

“Ah!”  Oh, that’s two fingers.  That’s a lot.  More than Porsche was ready for.

Kinn curls them, and it feels good inside, but also really fast.  Some of Porsche’s nerves are coming back.  He wants to be good, but this is so much.  He can’t catch his breath.

Big breaks in.  “Is this good, or do you want hands and knees?”

Maybe it’ll be less overwhelming if he isn’t flat on his back with all eyes on him.  “Hands and knees,” Porsche stutters, and the fingers go away.  He feels like he can breathe again.

Kinn pulls his fingers out and the wet pop makes Porsche shudder.  He can’t catch his breath, he can’t think, he -

“Can I eat him out?” Big asks Kinn.  Porsche’s mind is still circling, but he manages to form a coherent thought.  Is Big going to eat his ass?   That’s…

“Fuck, yeah,” Kinn says, and his hand is on Porsche’s side, urging him to roll over.

Porsche isn’t sure about this.  A tongue there?   Isn’t that gross?   Shouldn’t Porsche…

“Nong?” Big asks, and he doesn’t sound like this is going to be a chore.  It isn’t an indulgent question, as it often is when he and Porsche fool around.  It sounds like he’s into it.

“Okay,” Porsche says, and tries to settle in on his hands and knees.  He’s still blushing under the heat of both Kinn and Big’s attention.  He still feels like he can’t catch his breath.  He…

Big settles in behind him, and wraps one arm around Porsche’s thigh, using the other hand to pull him open.  The touch feels good, grounding.

Porsche tries to anticipate what it’ll feel like to have someone’s tongue touch him there.   He can’t.  He had like, half a blowjob before he started dating Kinn, he doesn’t know…

Big licks him, and he jumps.  “It’s wet!” he exclaims, and laughs.

“It’s a tongue,” Big says, dry, but Porsche can hear a bit of a smile.  “Relax, relax.”

“I am,” Porsche says, and tries not to jump away from the next brush of Big’s tongue.  Kinn’s hand settles in his hair, and he starts to calm down.  This is better, this is slow enough, this is -

Big licks again, and pulls away and blows on Porsche’s wet hole.  Why does that feel like so much?   Porsche can’t stifle a groan.

He falls forward on his elbows and shoves his face into the blankets.  Kinn shifts and sits down next to him.  Porsche shifts away from him, trying to keep Kinn’s hand off his dick, but then actually has to use words.  “Not yet,” he says, “I want to last.”

“Suit yourself,” Kinn says, and his hand slides up to pinch Porsche’s nipple.  That’s still a lot, but Porsche doesn’t think he can come from nipple stuff?  So he lets it continue.

Big hums a satisfied note, and spreads Porsche wider.  He’s good at this.  He varies what he’s doing enough that Porsche doesn’t get bored, but when he finds something Porsche likes, he lets Porsche enjoy it for a few minutes.  It doesn’t feel like he’s in a hurry.

Porsche finally relaxes into the attention.  He doesn’t feel so jittery anymore, just warm and good.  Kinn and Big both seem into this, into him.  Maybe it’s okay to enjoy it.

When Big finally pulls away, Porsche’s whole body feels liquidy.  He feels dazed, unable to concentrate on how Big and Kinn are touching him.  He can’t think about anything but Big and Kinn, and for once that feels like a good thing.

“More?” Big asks, gently stroking Porsche’s cheek where he’s still holding him open.

Porsche kind of does want more, but he’s starting to feel loose and empty.  He wants to say yes, please, because that’s what a good nong would say.  But it isn’t very Porsche.

“Is -” he’s got a mouthful of the duvet he has to spit out.  “Is that all you’ve got?”

Kinn moves, and Porsche hears the sound of him shifting onto his knees.  He feels so loose and open, totally relaxed.  It’s going to feel really good to get fucked.

“Nong Brat is back,” Kinn says, and slaps Porsche’s ass.  It’s not hard, but it makes Porsche’s whole body zing with electricity.

“Is that all you -”

Kinn unzips, the loudest sound Porsche has ever heard.  All he can think about is how much he wants Kinn in him, how good he’s going to feel.

There’s a second of shifting around on the bed, and then Kinn’s cock is pressing against Porsche’s hole.  He’s so fucking huge, and the stretch is always…

Big’s hand fists in his hair, and he pulls Porsche’s head up out of the blankets.  “Relax, relax,” he murmurs, and Porsche didn’t realize he was getting tense again.  “Breathe out, push out.”

He doesn’t need to be coached through getting fucked, Porsche tries to think, but it helps.  Kinn is really big and Porsche can’t quite relax into it.  He needs…

Kinn pauses and leans forward over Porsche, kissing his shoulders.  “Good boy,” he murmurs, “Good boy.”

Porsche takes a long breath and feels Kinn sink in a little deeper.  This feels…

He turns his head, and Kinn is right there, giving him a soft, sweet kiss.  Big’s hand in his hair is going gentle, too.  Porsche feels… precious.  Taken care of.

They’re both waiting for him.  “I’m good,” he murmurs.  He feels like he’s made of cotton wool, suddenly.  His head is empty.

Kinn starts to fuck him in earnest, sharp little thrusts of his hips angled against Porsche’s prostate.  Porsche’s eyes cross and his head drops down.  His neck feels like limp spaghetti.

“Is nong going to show me how good he sucks cock now?” Big asks.

Porsche trembles for it.  “Yeah, uh…”  Kinn reaches down and gives his hair a sharp tug, and Porsche remembers who he’s supposed to be.  Who he is.   “Yes, phi.  Yes, phi.”

“Don’t bite me,” Big warns, and then he’s feeding Porsche his dick.

Porsche isn’t going to bite.  He wants to be good.  He wants to be so good.  He braces against the bed and does his very best to remember everything Big likes.

Big lets out a muffled groan as Porsche licks over the head of his cock.  Kinn fucks in a little harder, and Porsche can’t think of anything except how good he’s being.  He lets his mouth fall open a little wider, and Big pushes in further, to the edge of what Porsche can tolerate.  His hand is carefully guarding Porsche from having to take him too deep.

Everything is getting hazier.  Big has Kinn’s rhythm, or Kinn has Big’s, and they’re fucking him back and forth between them like they’re a well-oiled machine.  It’s easy, everything done for Porsche.  There’s nothing he needs to think about, except Big.

And then they start to talk to him.  Porsche can’t quite parse the sentences, but the words are there.  Good nong, perfect, good boy.   He floats back and forth on the words as much as he does the way his body feels.

Maybe Big warns him he’s going to come, and maybe he doesn’t.  Porsche doesn’t know if he’d hear it.  He just knows that suddenly his mouth is salty and bitter and too full.

He should swallow, but instead he coughs it out over the bedspread.  Big falls away from him and Porsche feels cold without him.

Kinn’s had his hand in Porsche’s hair the whole time, and now it tightens, pushing him down.  “Lick it up,” he says.  But Porsche doesn’t want that.  It’s not what happens when he’s good.  Is it?  “Don’t you want to be good?”

He thought he was being good?  Isn’t he?  The idea that he’s not starts to sour in the pit of his stomach.  He wants…

Big comes back.  “You’re good, you’re doing good.  C’mere, I want a kiss.”

Porsche wants that too.  He can’t quite get coordinated to find Big’s mouth.  Kinn stills inside him, and the three of them get him on his knees, held against Kinn’s chest.

Porsche is…  Porsche is…

“Hey,” Big says, and pushes his hair off his forehead.  “Kiss me.”

That sounds good.  Porsche is kissing Big.

Big presses close as Kinn starts to fuck up into him again, another pillar of support to keep Porsche’s body upright.  It feels good here, sandwiched between him and Kinn.  Safe.

“Taking me so good,” Kinn says, and Porsche thrills inside.  That’s what he wants.  He’s good, he’s good.  “You want me to come inside?”

“Yeah,” Porsche moans.  “Kinn…”  He reaches down for Kinn’s hand on his hip.  Kinn catches his fingers and squeezes.

And then Kinn fucks in deep and must come, because he’s pulling out, trailing moisture down Porsche’s taint.  

Porsche hangs his head and tries to breathe. 

That was a lot, holy fuck, that was…

Kinn’s hand closes around Porsche’s cock.  

Porsche squirms.  He’s not ready for that yet.  He’s not even sure that all of the parts of his body are in the right place.  He feels like a badly-assembled Mr. Potato Head right now.

But he’s also so fucking on edge.  No, he almost says, but that’s not… can he say that?  “Kinn, Kinn -”

Big is frowning, but it’s too late.  Porsche is coming, so hard he thinks he hits the ceiling.  Everything is jangling weirdly, Kinn’s chest against his back, someone’s hand on his cheek, lips on his neck.  He feels sore now, his ass and the corners of his lips and his nipples, and…

He doesn’t think he can stay upright anymore.  He falls forward, and Big catches him and holds him tight.  Only the pressure feels good.

This is embarrassing, he thinks, starting to shake.  Not good, not good.

“Porsche?” Kinn asks.  “What’s wrong?”

Porsche doesn’t know.  He folds up tiny and tries to explain.  “I… fuck.”

“You’re okay, I’ve got you,” Big says, calmly.  That’s what Porsche really needs to hear right now.  He wants to know he did a good job so bad.  “I’ve got you.  K’Kinn, can you grab him a blanket or a robe?  Porsche, you did so good, my favourite nong, you were amazing.”

Porsche curls in on himself.  He’s cold, and he wants to hear more favourite nong and amazing.   From Big is good, but he also really wants it from Kinn.  He really needs to know he was good, he’s so embarrassed he let himself go like this.

Kinn goes away, but he doesn’t say anything.  Porsche is going to shatter, he’s going to…

Something lands on him, warm.  That’s a little better.  If Kinn just…

“What’s wrong?” Kinn asks, and the concern is good, Porsche would just like to hear - “That was too much?”

He can’t.  He can’t be here if Kinn’s not happy with him. 

This was so much.  He’s gonna lose it.  He can’t let Kinn see, it’s not safe, it’s not safe.

He pushes up and makes a run to the bathroom.  “K’Kinn,” Big says reproachfully, and just makes it in after Porsche before he locks the bathroom door.

Chapter Text

Porsche heads straight to the shower and jerks the water on to boiling hot.  Everything feels dialed up to a hundred, the twinge of his abused nipples, how raw his hole feels, and the cum crusting on the corners of his mouth and down his ballsack.  If he doesn’t wash off, he’s going to jump out of his own skin.

Big followed him into the bathroom, and Porsche almost tells him to go away.  Big doesn’t need to see him like this again.   It’s bad enough Porsche cried on him the first time they hooked up.  He doesn’t need to do this every fucking time.

“Porsche,” Big says, and wraps around Porsche’s back.  “Hey, I’ve got you.”

You shouldn’t need to have me, Porsche almost tells him, but the weight of another person’s body is so comforting, even if Porsche wants it to be Kinn’s.  He doesn’t have the heart to shake Big off and tell him to go.

“Of course that was a lot, you did such a good job.”

Porsche presses his lips together to keep from sobbing.  It hurts to hear that almost as much as Kinn just hurt him.  It cuts straight through to the part of him that’s so desperate to hear it.

“Can I get in the shower with you?” Big asks.

Porsche really should say no.  But he can’t.  He nods.  “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he tries to say.  He’s being so stupid, he…

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Big says, and squeezes Porsche around his waist.  “Let’s clean up.”

Porsche really doesn’t deserve this, but he lets himself be gently shoved into the shower.  Big is rummaging around with the million little bottles like he somehow knows what they are.  Porsche stands shivering under the stream of hot water, desperately hoping it’ll loosen the mess on his skin.

He doesn’t understand why but sometimes having cum on him makes him feel fucking insane.  Today is definitely one of those days.  If Big wasn’t here he’d be clawing his own skin to get it off.  He scratched himself pretty badly down there once, and it was embarrassing to tell Kinn to back off and let it heal.

Big pushes him onto the shower bench and wafts Kinn’s body wash under his nose.  “Okay?”

Porsche can’t handle smelling that much like Kinn if Kinn is going to yell at him after this.  “The other one?” he asks.  He should stop being such a little baby about this and just wash himself off, but he’s frozen, scared to touch himself.

“Sure,” Big agrees, and grabs Porsche’s body wash.  Kinn picked it out for him and it smells kind of like oranges.  The citrus smell helps, makes him feel less shell shocked.

Big starts with his stomach.  Porsche doesn’t know why his own cum feels like it’s boiling his skin off, but it does.  He feels the same way about touching it he would about plunging his hand into shit, which makes no sense.  It’s his own semen.

Big doesn’t seem to be worried about it.  He rinses and lathers his hands, and keeps working the mess out of all of the little hairs of Porsche’s treasure trail and his pubes.  “All cleaned up there,” he says, and rewets his fingers to dab at the corner of Porsche’s mouth, and his chin.

He’s frowning a little, but it’s only at the difficulty of getting Porsche’s stubbled chin clean.  Porsche finds himself matching Big’s calmer breathing.  It becomes a little easier to believe that he hasn’t fucked up everything for the rest of his life by running into the shower.

Big’s fingers slide down to Porsche’s neck, and his touch goes featherlight, almost ticklish.  I’m okay, you don’t need to be careful, Porsche almost says, but he can’t handle anyone squeezing him there right now.  He’ll start crying again.  (He’s still crying but he’s not going to admit that, even to himself.)

“Almost got it,” Big tells him, like he can somehow tell that Porsche is losing his fucking mind over the idea of someone touching his neck too hard.

“Sorry, sorry,” Porsche says again, and his voice is still wobbling.

“I’ve got you,” Big says, firm and confident, and Porsche drips out a few more tears.  Why can’t Kinn ever have him like this?

Big cups his hands to collect shower water, and sluices it down Porsche’s neck.  And then frowns, focused, and does it again.  And then he kneels down between Porsche’s legs.

“Is it okay to touch here?”

Porsche has to think about it for what feels like a very long time.  Sometimes Kinn fingers him after and it hurts, but Porsche doesn’t want to say no and make him mad.  But Big almost never gets pissed off at him, and has not, in recent memory, done anything to hurt him.  He can maybe… If he says…

“Can you, um,” he starts, and has to stop to take a deep breath and work up some courage.  “Not inside?”

“Sure,” Big agrees, and kisses Porsche’s knee.  “You sore?”

Porsche is, actually.  Kinn fucked him pretty hard, and they went for a long time, and his ass aches, and he feels pretty sorry for himself.  “Yeah, a bit,” he says, and feels his face crumple again.  This is why he doesn’t deserve Kinn being nice to him, he’s such a whiny little bitch.  “Sorry.”

Big reaches up, and Porsche slides down onto the floor of the shower with him.  He doesn’t know why, because he also doesn’t like people towering over him, but Big on the floor between his legs makes him feel like he did that day.   He remembers Dr. Suva rolling a stool up to the edge of the exam bed, putting a metal thing cold on his leg, and then pushing it inside him, and it hurt, and…

“Sorry, sorry,” Porsche says, because he’s crying harder again now.  Why is he thinking about that?  Everything's fine as long as he doesn't think about it.

He hunches in toward Big, hoping for a distraction.  Big pulls him in for a hug and a kiss, and then another one when Porsche still doesn’t calm down.

“You’re okay,” Big says, and Porsche doesn’t feel okay.  He feels stupid and scared.  “You did good.”

He gently pushes Porsche to lean back, and Porsche closes his eyes and spreads his legs.  He feels hollow inside.  Big will probably forget and something will slip inside and…

Big very carefully puts his hand on Porsche’s inner thigh, and then slides it between his legs.  “You okay?” he asks.  “That doesn’t hurt you?”

Porsche nods and squeezes his eyes shut.  It does feel better to have the mix of cum and lube rinsed away.  And Big is making absolutely no attempt to finger him.

“We could probably ice that,” Big says, and Porsche has to open his eyes to check if he’s serious.  He just got fucked hard, he isn’t like, injured.  He doesn’t need…  “A cool cloth anyway.”

Porsche isn’t sure how to reply.  Surely Big is joking, bullshitting him, which is kind of mean. Porsche knew that no one would actually be…

“You okay?” Big asks, and no, apparently he’s serious.  He’s staring down at Porsche’s asshole like it’s a sprained ankle.  Maybe he really would call down for ice if Porsche asked him to.

“I’ll live,” Porsche manages.  

He thinks they’re gonna be done, but Big reaches up and grabs his shampoo, and identifies it apparently by smell.  Does Big know what he smells like?  That’s…

“Lean back,” Big says.  “I’ll wash your hair.”

I don’t need that, Porsche should say, and get up and go shoot something, because that’s what the head of the minor family is supposed to do when he’s upset, not cry in the shower because his stupid little feelings got hurt.  But instead he leans back and lets Big massage shampoo and conditioner through his hair, and scrub down his neck.

For a couple minutes, at least, he stops thinking.  Doesn’t worry about Kinn outside the bathroom door.  Doesn’t think about sad or bad things.  Just comes back into his body and enjoys the sensation of Big firmly rubbing his ears clean.

“A little better?” Big asks, rinsing the conditioner out of his hair.  Porsche nods.  “You wanna go lie down?”

“I dunno,” Porsche says, as if there’s an option to begin a new life here in the shower.  He doesn’t want to get yelled at by Kinn.

“If Kinn’s an asshole, I’ll take you back to the house,” Big promises, and Porsche agrees to leave the bathroom.

Kinn’s fine, and Big hangs out for most of the rest of the day, and it’s okay.  Porsche recovered some equilibrium in the shower.  Even if it didn’t go perfectly, the threesome was mostly fun.

Big goes, eventually, and Porsche is left alone with Kinn.  That’s fine.  Kinn’s obviously not mad, and Porsche is tired even after napping most of the afternoon.  They can just go to sleep.

Kinn already apologized, and Porsche already said it was fine.  So the matter is closed now.  

… which is what Porsche wants, obviously.  They don’t need to be constantly bringing things up.

He just also doesn’t exactly feel fine about it.  His stupid little baby nose is still out of joint over the comment.  So he decides that the best thing to do is sleep it off, even though it’s still pretty early.

He gets out of bed, where they were watching TV together, and heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth.  “Hey,” Kinn calls after him.  “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Porsche says, and doesn’t mean for there to be such a tone to it.  He feels like the wife on a sitcom, fighting with her husband about forgetting her anniversary.  If the bedroom was a soundstage, the invisible audience looking on would think he was the punchline.

“You don’t sound fine,” Kinn says, and gets out of bed to follow him.  Fuck.  Porsche doesn’t want to talk about this tonight (or ever.)  He just wants to wake up in the morning and have everything be better.  “C’mon, talk to me.  It was one bad joke.”

“Okay,” Porsche says, his voice tight.  “Sure.”

“Porsche,” Kinn says.  “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.  Can we please talk?”

Porsche is not going to talk.  He keeps going into the bathroom.  If he’s fast, he can hang out in the toilet for fifteen minutes or so and Kinn will probably give up.  It’s not the most mature strategy but…

He has his hand on the doorknob to the toilet room when Kinn barrels into him and grabs him around the waist.  This is not Porsche’s favourite thing.  It usually makes him freeze up for a couple of seconds, long enough for Kinn to drag him back to wherever he’s supposed to be.

Today, it scares him more than usual.  He shrieks, like the bodyguards will run in from the hall to save him if he just makes a pathetic enough noise.  He could hear Kinn behind him and should have expected the grab, but…

But he’s suddenly cold with terror.  He’s surprised he didn’t piss himself.  He can’t take anything more today.

Kinn, to his credit, immediately sets Porsche back down.  This might be because he needs to rub the hearing back into his ear.  “What was that?” he asks, glaring at Porsche.  “The hell?”

“You startled me!” Porsche says, his voice shaking.  He’s flattened himself against the door to the toilet room, and his hand is inching towards the knob.  “Don’t sneak up on me!”

“You knew I was behind you!”  Kinn must catch how Porsche’s hand is inching out to safety.  “Porsche,” he snaps.  “Stop that.”

Porsche stops everything.  Stops reaching for the bathroom door, sure.  But also stops breathing.  Stops standing up.  Stops thinking, except for…

A man in a mask behind him holding a hood.  A bearhug, until his feet come off the ground.  A stranger sucking a hickey into his neck.

And when he was next aware of what was happening, the danger had been Kinn.  Oh…

He’s sitting on the bathroom floor now, curled into his knees, his arms over his head.  Kinn is kneeling beside him.  When Porsche looks up, his lips are pressed thin.  Porsche doesn’t know what that means.

“Sorry,” he says too quickly, because he probably owes Kinn that much.  Maybe an apology can be enough to stop what comes next.  “Sorry.  I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Kinn says, his lips pressing whiter and his brow furrowing harder.  That’s not good, Porsche needs to get that to stop or -  “... you don’t like it when I grab you, do you?”

Oh.  Maybe the anger isn’t for Porsche for being stupid.  Maybe Kinn’s mad at himself.

Porsche shrugs instead of saying no, obviously not.   He stares down at the floor.

“I thought it was, y’know, cute,” Kinn continues.  “Fun.”

Porsche looks away from the floor.  Is Kinn fucking shitting him?  But apparently he’s not.

There’s still this huge rush of memories trying to crowd into Porsche’s head.  Being carried into the service elevator the night of the diamond auction.  Kinn dragging him around the hotel suite after.  That night in the minor family house bathroom, and how sure he was Kinn was going to rape him and then shoot him.

He picks the one that doesn’t make Kinn the bad guy.  “Yeah, it’s so fun to remember the time someone threw a bag over my head and kidnapped me,” he mumbles, and wipes the sweat off his face.  “It’s great.”

“... oh,” Kinn says.  “I’m.  You’ll never fucking talk to me.  I didn’t know.”

“You make fun of me,” Porsche counters, and this morning still hurts so much.  He feels like he’s going to start crying again, so he tries to push up to his feet.  His knees are still jelly though so he gets halfway up and splots back down.  He can’t even fucking stand right, fuck’s sake.

“I said I was sorry,” Kinn says, his voice turning plaintive.  “Porsche.  I am sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Okay, then it’s fine,” Porsche says, and pulls his knees back up to his chest.  “We don’t have to fucking talk about it!”

“It’s obviously not fine!” Kinn all but shouts, and Porsche shoves himself back hard against the door and covers his face again.  Kinn is quiet for a minute.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says again, his tone getting less… loud.  “Have you… I mean, do you talk to Big about this, or…”

“I don’t talk shit about you to Big,” Porsche says to his knees, stung that Kinn is accusing him of disloyalty, even if it is to Big.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Kinn says, and puts his hand on Porsche’s arm.  Porsche decides it’s not worth shoving it off.  “I just meant like…  Did you tell him what happened?  With us?”

“No!” Porsche says, and pulls his head out of his knees.  They haven’t mentioned this since that night in the forest.  Porsche honestly wasn’t sure Kinn even remembered.  “I don’t even think about it.”  If I can avoid it playing on a loop in my head.   “You said sorry, it’s over.  Right?”

“Right,” Kinn says, and stops looking quite so abjectly distressed about the whole thing.  “Does Big… know?”

Porsche weighs it all up in his head.  Pete was a good bro and pretended he wasn’t standing outside for the whole thing, and the only reason Porsche knows that Arm is aware of what happened is that he covered for Porsche to Tankhun way more than he needed to the week after.  While Big was kicking him around the gym, Porsche had been sure he’d known, but now…

“I don’t think so,” he says.  “He’s never said anything about it, and I think he would.”

“I could talk to him,” Kinn says.  “Maybe he needs to know -”

“No,” Porsche says, emphatically.  “It’s in the past, I don’t even think about it anymore.”  Kinn doesn’t look quite as convinced as Porsche wants him to, so he goes on.  “I don’t want him to know.”

“Oh,” Kinn says, and can’t come up with any argument to that.  “I mean…  I guess it’s up to you.”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, and extends a hand so Kinn will lever him off the floor.  “Guess it is.  Are you gonna do skincare before bed?”

That’s not a question.  Kinn is religious about his routine.  “Yeah,” Kinn says.  “Can I do yours?”

“Sure,” Porsche says, because that’s a much better apology than talking about it.

For the rest of the week, Porsche is fine, obviously.  He said he was fine.  And he is.

He and Kinn go out for dinner with Tay and Time two nights after the whole threesome thing.  Porsche should be more into it.  He likes hanging out with Kinn’s friends, and he especially likes Tay.  He tries to get hype but he’s been feeling really weird, a stupid mix of too sluggish and too jumpy.

It might be because Big isn't on the detail.  He and Chan alternate taking point on security when Kinn and Porsche go out together for the evening.  Porsche doesn't mind having Chan around, and he doesn't begrudge Big getting some rest.  But he would feel better with his bodyguard standing behind them as they enter the restaurant.

“Porsche!” Tay says, and stands up to kiss both him and Kinn on both cheeks.  “You sit with me, honey.”

Kinn slides into the booth on the same side as Time, and a waiter immediately materializes to take their drink order.  “Old-fashioned,” Kinn says, already starting some kind of bullshit about the stock market with Time.

The waiter turns to Porsche.  Despite being a bartender for most of his adult life, he suddenly can’t remember the name of a single drink, wine varietal or brand of beer.  He’s about ten seconds away from saying one human alcohol beer, please, and never hearing the end of it from fucking Time.

“They make this great drink with white tea and rum,” Tay says, and squeezes Porsche’s hand under the table.  “You should try it.”

Porsche smiles, as much as he can with how slow he’s feeling.  “Sure,” he agrees.  “That sounds great.”

Tay waits until the waiter leaves and then puts his hand on Porsche’s knee.  “How are you, Po?  You sound tired.”

“I’m alright,” Porsche says, and Tay starts questioning him - is he eating, is he sleeping, is Kinn making him work too hard?  Porsche doesn’t completely understand what Tay sees in him, but he does seem genuinely fond of Porsche, and so Porsche doesn’t mind the interrogation.

“How’s Vegas?” Tay asks, and Porsche turns sharply to make sure Kinn hasn’t pulled out a gun or something.  They don't speak that name in front of him at the compound and there's a reason.

Kinn hasn’t pulled out his gun, but he’s giving Tay the dirtiest look Porsche has ever seen him give someone, including people who were later taken out to be shot.  He looks like he just stepped in dogshit.  Has Kinn ever stepped in dogshit?  He's not out on the sidewalk a lot, probably -  “Tay.”

“You can’t command me to forget your cousin exists,” Tay says, and rolls his eyes.  “I spent every Songkran and every Lunar New Year with him too.  I can ask if he’s okay.”

Kinn doesn’t say anything, and Tay squeezes Porsche’s knee.  Oh, apparently that means Kinn isn’t going to kill us for speaking the forbidden name, go on.

It takes Porsche a second to even think of what to say about Vegas.  “Um, he’s getting better,” he says, looking down at the table.  He doesn’t want to see what Kinn thinks about this.  Porsche likes that Vegas is getting better, and you know what, he’s happy Tay does too.  “He doesn’t have to use the walker anymore and he hasn’t been sleeping as much.  He and Pete seem pretty happy together.  Uh.  I’ll tell him you said hi?”

“He was using a walker?” Kinn asks, his brows furrowing together.

“Just to get to the bathroom and stuff,” Porsche says.  Doesn’t Kinn have someone spying on Vegas at the minor family house?  Porsche kind of assumed Big was talking to him about Vegas’ status during his secret 7/11 runs, but maybe Kinn’s actually trusting Porsche to handle things.  That would be shocking.  “He hasn’t needed it for a couple of months now.”

“Oh,” Kinn says, still looking weirdly upset about the walker.  Porsche doesn’t know why, Kinn must know Vegas is down half a lung, right?  The walker was the least of his problems.  “That’s good.”

There is a silence after, and Porsche decides he should take some responsibility for moving the conversation forward and fills it.  “Did you spend the holidays with Kinn’s family?” he asks Tay.  He’s kind of aware that the Lettravinots and the Theerapanyakuns are tight, tight enough that Tankhun has a picture of him and Kinn and Tay as little kids in matching holiday pjs on his dresser, and that Time’s dad is more of a business acquaintance, and that’s definitely not why he brings it up.  He would never purposefully antagonize Time like that.

“Mm, yes,” Tay says.  “Kinn’s mom would throw these huge parties, and my mom would bring me up to the nursery to hang out with Kinn and Tankhun, and eventually Vegas and Macau and Kim came along too.”  He looks up at Kinn and smiles.  “It was fun.  How’s Kimmy?”

“Do you think he calls me?” Kinn asks Tay, with fond exasperation.  “He’s out being a rockstar, or whatever he does.”

“Probably up to his neck in ass,” Time adds, sounding a bit jealous.  Porsche is suddenly imagining Kim Theerapanyakun, who he's only met for like five minutes ever, literally up to his neck in a pile of disembodied ass cheeks.  He hopes Kim is not up to his neck in ass because it is a disturbing mental picture.

“My inside source tells me he’s been coming around more,” Tay continues.  “He doesn’t stop to see you?”

“You know he comes home to see Khun,” Kinn chides Tay.  “I’ve run into him a couple times, but he hasn’t actually had a conversation with me since…”  He stops and looks around for waitstaff.  “That whole thing with you know who.”

“He did call you when that went down,” Tay points out, and Kinn beetles his eyebrows and opens his mouth like he’s going to respond, but a whole army of waiters show up with all the food Tay ordered for them.

Porsche almost gets distracted by the food.  The plates are small, which he knows is fancy but doesn’t always love.  But when Tay orders, it’s always the whole menu, basically, and the variety is kind of a luxury.  Porsche spent a lot of years finishing off whatever was going bad in the back of the fridge so Chay could have food that wasn’t ten minutes away from molding.

So he eats.  There’s nuts, and cheese, and meats and some really nice cauliflower, and it’s all good, and all fresh.  The funk he’s been in all day starts to lift.  Maybe he was just hungry.

And then he thinks about you know what with you know who.   Tay said that Kim called Kinn.  Porsche had always assumed that it was the other way around.  Somehow Kinn had known there was a problem at Porsche’s house - maybe he’d bugged it or something - and Kim had been nearby with Big and come to lend a hand.

But if Kim called Kinn to say there was a problem…  That doesn’t make any sense.  Even if Kinn had someone watching their house, it wouldn’t have been his rockstar brother he hadn’t spoken to for years.

Does Kim Theerapanyakun know Chay somehow?  And what the hell does that mean?

Chapter Text

Porsche is still wondering about Kim Theerapanyakun when Chay comes for dinner the next night.  His guards ferry him over to the minor family house, but wait in the car.  It's still not home, but at least they have options to hang out beyond Chay's bedroom and the shooting range.

Porsche is full of nervous anticipation for the visit.  He wants to ask about Kim.  Maybe this is somehow the key to unlocking what's wrong with Chay.

He takes Chay to the games room while Big is finishing up a call back to headquarters.  “How are you?” he asks, like he always does.  “Getting enough to eat?”

It's a stupid question in the tower but it helps.  Chay rolls his eyes like usual, but he doesn't sound so angry when he answers.  “Of course, hia,” he agrees.  Porsche flatters himself that there's even a fond note in his voice.

“Do you ever see Tankhun?” Porsche asks.  This is his backdoor into the Kim question.  He's sneaky.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Chay says.  “We're watching a series together.  Why?”

“I dunno,” Porsche says.  “Have you ever met the other brother?  Kim?  One of Kinn's friends says he's at the house more now.”

Porsche isn't sure what to make of the expression that crosses Chay's face.  “Yeah, actually,” Chay finally says.  “He came around my school before I figured out where you were working.  I think he was trying to snoop on us.  I didn't like him much.  He seemed spoiled.”

“He probably is,” Porsche agrees.  That’s not enough of an answer, but he doesn’t have the courage to press on.  Chay met Kim, he didn’t like him.  That has to be enough.

He’s exhausted all through dinner, for some reason.  He’s running on less and less sleep and even the day and a half off didn’t make him feel more rested.  He turns in almost before Chay goes home and drops straight to bed.

With all the atrocities he’s committing, it feels like it should be harder for him to fall asleep.  But he’s passed out almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

He dreams.  He dreams about people he’s killed, which is standard now.  He always knew the colour of blood but there’s more to it now.  He knows how people look on the inside, and his brain works it over at night.

He dreams about that night, all the colours from the lights smearing together.  He dreams about Kinn’s hot hands, and nausea in the pit of his stomach.  He dreams about the cold of the windows from the air conditioning.

And then it’s not Kinn, it’s someone else.  There are hands on him, multiple.  He’s helpless, too weak to move.  He can’t shove them off.

Bodies aren’t supposed to remember pain, but Porsche always remembers the queasy first stretch that night, like nothing he’d felt before.  He remembers the feeling of his guts being rearranged.  And how his body forgot to fight because it was Kinn.

But now it’s not Kinn touching him.  It’s someone else.  Porsche tries to thrash, at least to show that he doesn’t want it, but…

But he’s a child again, sitting in a straightjacket.  He’s been restrained because he won’t stop clawing the walls.  His fingers are bleeding.  He has to get to Chay.

A doctor is sitting next to him.  “Porsche, honey, I know it feels like your fault, but it wasn’t.  Your father shouldn’t have let you distract him.  Your mother shouldn’t have wanted to take you out in the rain.  Your mind is coming up with these bad dreams because you feel guilty, honey, but -”

Porsche is six.  He can see the men with guns in his mind’s eye.  He is holding very quiet and very still.  But her words make sense - not that it wasn’t his fault, but that he did something bad and he’s dreamed up the bad men to hide from himself.

He fights against the straightjacket one more time, but it doesn’t give.  “I wanted ice cream,” he says, because that feels familiar.  Pa will always take him for something sweet, and they drive over the scary big bridge.  That must have been where it happened.  It’s Porsche’s fault, that’s what she’s saying, and he starts to believe it.  “I wanted ice cream.”

“Honey, you didn’t -”

Porsche thrashes one more time, fighting fabric, and -

And rolls out of bed onto the floor and finally wakes up.  He scrambles up to sitting and shoves himself into the corner, panting.

He can still feel it all - hands on his skin, the smell of the hospital, the taste of blood and sick in his mouth.  He’s not totally sure he’s awake.

There’s only one thing he understands about all of it.  He wasn’t good.  He didn’t do good.  And it’s his fault.

He feels a familiar sickness in the pit of his stomach.  It’s his fault.  It’s his fault, no matter that they say it wasn’t.  He…

He can’t remember exactly what he’s in trouble for, just that he is, and that something terrible always happens when he’s been bad.  His hands are shaking hard and he can smell the stench of his stress sweat from here.  He’s only vaguely conscious of where he is, but he knows he needs to shower that off.  Chay doesn’t need to smell Porsche’s fear.

He pushes himself to his feet and goes to the hall.  He’ll shower in Big’s room, because it’s too terrifying to take his clothes off by himself in the bathroom.  He knocks, and…

And hears the scrape of Big’s gun on the nightstand.  The sound of another person makes his panic fade a little bit.  “It’s me,” he says, now embarrassed that he’s doing this.

“Come in,” Big calls, and so Porsche comes in.

He can’t really see Big in the dark, but he tries to explain.  “I think I’m sick,” he says, because his stomach hurts and he’s so cold.

Big turns the light on, and Porsche can finally see that he’s real.  Nothing feels real, in the dark, least of all Porsche.  Big says something but Porsche can’t follow it, but he pats the bed.

Porsche sits down next to him.  “Are you cold?” Big asks, and lifts the corner of the blanket so Porsche can get in bed with him.

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  He’s shivering hard.  

They’ve always fooled around when Porsche slept over before, except for that once.  He thinks about offering a handjob.  Big’s going to get tired of Porsche barging into his room and now his bed, and…

“C’mere,” Big says, and wraps his arms around Porsche’s middle, pressing close against Porsche’s back.  Porsche has never felt anything as good as the heat of his body.  “You’re okay.  You’re okay, nong.”

It’s the nong that undoes Porsche.  He wanted to be someone’s good, sweet baby brother so badly, and he didn’t do it right, and now Kinn hates him and so does Chay.

It hurts so much he can’t keep it inside anymore.  He sobs.  He never does anything right, and that’s why his mother is gone.  That’s why he can feel phantom hands all over his body.  That’s why Kinn doesn’t think he’s enough.

He sobs again, and Big shushes him and squeezes him tighter.  Porsche doesn’t want to cry, but it feels like the tears are being squeezed out of him.  He’s toothpaste left to crust on the side of the sink.  He’s bad.

As undeserving as he is, the tears feel like some of the internal pressure is being released.  Coming in here, he felt like he might explode all over the hallway, like he was a rusty sewage pipe with a lot of weak spots.  The way Big is holding him feels like he’s bracing Porsche’s dicey structural integrity.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Porsche sobs, because he’s not sure why he decided it was okay to melt down in Big’s bed in the middle of the night.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Big murmurs back.  “I got you.”

He doesn’t sound secretly annoyed, like Porsche’s uncle used to.  It’s not like Kinn, where Porsche dreads another contributions to failure conversation if he shows that he’s upset.  And it’s not like crying on Chay and feeling like a monster of an older brother.

Porsche kind of believes that Big does have him.  It makes him cry harder.  He hasn’t felt like he actually had a safe place since his pa died.

And then Big shifts and Porsche thinks he’s pulling away.  He should let Big go, but he can’t.  He needs this too much.

“Don’t go, please don’t go,” he begs, and clutches for Big’s hand.  He can’t stand to be alone tonight.  He thinks he’ll come apart.  He’s spent so fucking long alone.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Big answer, and drags the pillow down into a better position.  “I just don’t want you to hurt your neck.  Here.”

He lies back down and pulls Porsche close again.  “Sorry,” Porsche hiccups.  “Sorry.”

“It’s okay if you cry,” Big tells him, and squeezes him.  “Nong had a rough week, huh?”

“Mmhmm,” Porsche blubbers, and dissolves into tears again.  Kinn’s obviously mad at him for being such a bitch all week.  Chay hates him.  And in his meeting with the roofie guy, Chai, the man kept eyeing him like he was a piece of meat, and there were bags of that, and Porsche had to sit and drink a whiskey, and…

He was so scared.   He still feels like he can feel the man’s eyes on him.  Chai was one of the men in the dream, touching him while he couldn’t move.

He turns his face into the pillow and sobs with the horrible memory of his dream.  It’s all mixed up inside him - Kinn, Chai, the car accident, his brother.  He can’t stand it anymore.

He thinks he cries for a long time because when he finally starts to calm down, the pillow is soaked.  He wants to stop embarrassing himself but he can’t stop shivering.

The dream really got to him.  He knows he has a meeting with Chai next week, how is he supposed to feel competent when he has a vivid dream memory of the man inside him?  

How is he supposed to feel safe in the world knowing that Kinn, who loves him, only needed one moment of weakness to hurt him?  

How is he supposed to be strong around the rest of the fucking criminals, who would slit his fucking throat and so much worse, if he ever lets his guard down again?

“I don’t know why this is happening,” he tells Big, because he’s trying to tense tight and stop the shaking.  Big is safe, and Big won’t hurt him.  But Porsche also needs to stop and get this under control before Big realizes he’s gone insane.  “I’m trying to stop, I’m not doing it on purpose, I -”

“I have you,” Big says again, and he sounds a little sleepy but not angry.  “Just let it come out.”

That doesn’t make sense, Porsche thinks, and stops trying to fight the feeling of terror choking him as he figures out what Big means.  That doesn’t…

He cuddles up closer to Big and stops trying to squeeze every muscle.  Big rubs his belly over his pajamas.  It’s not something someone angry with Porsche would do.  Maybe he’s really not bothered.  Even if Porsche shakes all night - 

He’s not shaking as hard now.  He feels fucking exhausted, but not like he’s going to burst out of his own skin.  Maybe he’s okay now.

“Fuck, sorry,” he says to Big, and sounds like himself.  “I woke you.”

“It’s okay,” Big says, and shifts up on his elbow so he can see Porsche’s face.  “... is this maybe a little bit about the threesome?  I want to be here for you after we…”

It isn’t not about the threesome.  Porsche is aware that he’s overreacting, but he still feels like Kinn was disappointed in him after, and that’s not fair.  “I was such an asshole to Kinn after,” he says, because he has been all week, he knows it.  He’s been mean and snippy and not himself at all, but deep inside he feels wounded.  How could Kinn say that to him?  “I just…”

“You can tell me,” Big encourages.  “It hit you the wrong way, huh?”

Porsche nods.  It really, really did.  It was one sentence, and it ripped something inside him.  He hasn’t felt like this since it happened.

He wipes his face and rolls onto his back.  He was right when he told Kinn they should just leave this in the past, but…  

But he wants to try to explain.  “Have you ever had something bad happen to you?”

“In bed?” Big asks, and smooths the hair away from Porsche’s sweaty forehead.

Porsche… he shouldn’t.  He’s Big’s boss, he doesn’t have the right to demand this information.  “It’s none of my business,” he says, because this is uncomfortably close to the truth.  “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Yeah,” Big says, and Porsche thinks for a minute he means, yeah, I don’t have to tell you, you nosy little sonofabitch.   “When I was seventeen…”

His hand stays gentle in Porsche’s hair while he tells the story.  He sounds so composed about it.  Porsche doesn’t know how.

He’s never had to tell anyone what happened.  Kinn knows.  Chan knew, and so did the doctors.  He can’t imagine saying to someone he split my lip, it hurt to shit.   Big makes it sound like it doesn’t mean anything to him, like it wasn’t a life-defining moment.

Porsche traces the bow of his lip, looking for a scar there.  Big smiles, and kisses his finger.  “Did you have to work with him after?” Porsche asks.

“No,” Big says.  “P’Chan was livid.  I never saw him again.”

Maybe that’s how he can sound so composed.  There’s no world where Chan takes Kinn out for hurting a nobody like Porsche.  There’s no one who will ever take Porsche’s side against Kinn.

But that’s no way to think.  “Were you okay?” Porsche asks.  “Were you…”

“I was fucked up over it,” Big says, and then something about matthayom courses.  “Did something bad happen to you?”

Porsche could be like haha, nah.   Or he could tell the truth and say Kinn raped me against a window while I was roofied.

He finds a third way.  He knows that technically what he’s saying isn’t true.  But it also isn’t a lie.

Some guy at a bar, he says.  It barely hurt.

He can’t imagine himself without this huge thing that happened.  It’s like a part of him now, like a weird scar or a boil on the ass.  He can't imagine the old him, who wasn't scared like this all the time.

But this is what he wishes happened.  He wishes it wasn’t Kinn he was afraid of.  And that makes it true, at least in this dark quiet bedroom.

Big listens carefully.  He doesn’t say any of the things that Porsche’s inside voice says.  There’s no you stupid fuckup.   No you deserved it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and means it.  And then…  “Do you want me to try to find the guy for you?”

“No!” Porsche says, probably too vehemently.  The guy isn’t hard to find.  He’s twenty minutes away in Porsche’s bed, hopefully peacefully asleep.  “No, ah…”

God, what has he done?  What if Big makes a thing of it?  He’s not going to be promising vengeance once he finds out it was Kinn, that’s for sure.  This is all going to blow up in Porsche’s face, oh fuck, oh -

“Sure, just asking,” Big says, placatingly.  Maybe Porsche should be suspicious that he’s just giving it up, but he’s really fucking drained.  He shifts, getting comfortable, and Big shifts too, letting Porsche settle in along his side.

He still doesn’t think he can sleep.  “I’m sorry I woke you,” he mumbles, because deep down, he wants Big to stay up with him.  He wants to be the first to fall asleep.  “I just…”

“I get it,” Big agrees.  “The first few times I scened with Arm and Pol I went kind of crazy afterwards.  Arm made Pol lie on me for like an hour once.  This is part of it, too.”

Porsche is so fucking tender that even that hurts.  “Oh,” he says.  “You’re just being responsible.”

That should be good, shouldn’t it?  He should want to have sex with someone responsible.  It’s sure not Kinn.

He’s well aware that this is just a convenience thing for Big.  He’s probably even aware that he, Porsche, the boss, is putting Big in uncomfortable situations.  No wonder Big is trying to be responsible with him, if Porsche is going to crawl into bed with him at the ass crack of dawn because he had a bad dream.  He -

“I mean, I like you,” Big says, stiffly.  “Also.”

Something warm blooms through Porsche’s guts, burning away the last vestiges of the bad dream.  “You l-i-i-ike me,” he crows.

Big’s face goes soft for a second, and then he scowls to cover it.  “Don’t push your luck, brat,” he says, and gently shoves Porsche’s shoulder.

“I like you too, you know,” Porsche tells him, because it’s easy to say now that Big said it first.  Aren’t they something like friends?  Big sure helps him a lot.  “You’re my favourite bodyguard.”

“Wow, so glad you rate me higher than Nop,” Big says, but his face is twitching into a smile.  “The power of handjobs.”

“You give a great handjob,” Porsche mumbles, finally feeling tired again.  He tucks his head in close to Big’s so he can feel Big breathing on him.  “The, uh, Picasso of handjobs.”

Big is saying something else, but Porsche is falling asleep.

He wakes up the next day and feels kind of warm inside.  Everything seems a little more doable.  Big is with him and Porsche is someone that he likes.  And he was nice about the thing.

They go to a gala one night, and Tay’s birthday party the next.  Porsche has been drinking passed drinks at events.  He hasn’t wanted to admit how hard it is for him to know that his stem of champagne has been all over the room with an unknown waiter.  It’s been like an itch at every party he’s been to as Kinn’s boyfriend.

“Can you get me something from the bar?” he whispers to Big, and that finally feels safe.  It’s the first time in months he does more than hold a half-empty glass of warm champagne.  And the freedom to cut loose feels like something he forgot he wanted.

The next morning, he takes Big to see his mother.  Big likes him, and nobody else does right now.  And Mae’s been another thing hanging over him.

Chay doesn’t like to visit her, and Porsche understands.  The nurses tell him Chay comes less frequently than Porsche does, but brings his guitar.  They don’t know whether she enjoys the music or not.

And Kinn came the first few times, but he doesn’t get it.  Porsche knows what he must be thinking - he remembers his own giddy happiness the first few weeks he could see Mae and touch her hands and kiss her.  It felt like they were going to be a family again.

Kinn doesn’t get that they aren’t.  This isn’t Porsche’s mother.  It may still be Naemphung Kittisawat, because he can see traces of her in the paintings, in the dresses, in the way she walks and sits.  But she’s never going to be his mother again, and it’s insensitive to mourn that when Kinn just actually lost his dad.

Big looks almost angry when he realizes who this person is.  “Does it suck?” Big asks, in the hall after.

It does, is the thing, and Porsche has wanted to say that for a long time.  She doesn’t recognize him.  She’s not coming back.  It's terrible.   It feels good someone else sees that.

Something lifts.  The rest of the day goes smoother.  It hurts less that he can’t visit Chay.  Physio is easier.  Kinn seems less hypercritical.

Big likes him.  And he understands.  Maybe Porsche can do this.

“You’re in a better mood,” Kinn says, after a few days of this.  “Things are going good?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, and lets Kinn pull him down onto the sofa.  They were out for dinner, but it was very much a work thing.  Porsche spent the evening entertaining two wives of Kinn’s important car import business partners.  Maybe he should feel like it’s not really his job to do that on top of being a crime lord, but he likes people.  It was fun flirting with two older ladies and making them laugh.  “Sorry I was so horrible last week, I was just…”

“Do you want a drink?” Kinn asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer.  “Il cuore di Kinn?”

“A scotch is fine,” Porsche says, because Kinn’s heart is apparently mostly limoncello.  “Whatever you’re having.”

Kinn pours it for him and brings it to him on the sofa, which is nice.  Porsche is usually the one who gets them drinks, probably a holdover from having been Kinn’s servant for however many months.

“You weren’t horrible,” Kinn says.  “And thanks for tonight.  I think it went well.”

“I’m glad,” Porsche says.  The thanks is new.  When Porsche first started coming with Kinn to business dinners, he’d come home to a performance review.  You used the wrong fork.  She wasn’t Khun Chat’s wife, don’t call her Mrs.  Don't you know it's red wine with red meat?  C'mon, Porsche.

He tried not to mind, because he was learning, but it was tiring.  Wasn’t it enough that all of Kinn’s business acquaintances had a nice time?  Did Porsche have to get picked at after every dinner?  Even now he’s waiting for a but.

“Chan brought it to my attention I can be kind of hard on you after these things,” Kinn says.  “I know I was sort of ridiculous about you calling Mrs. Wang jee.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t realize I was doing that on purpose,” Porsche says, and takes a sip of the scotch.  It’s on the mellower end, perfect to relax on the couch with.  “Did you think I couldn't tell she’s old enough to be my grandmother?”

“Papa would always, you know, he’d have feedback for me,” Kinn says, all in a rush.  Porsche can imagine.  He was starting to get those little dear Porsche lectures when Korn died.  “But you’re not my son, you’re my partner.  So.  I’m gonna try not to do it anymore.”

“Sure,” Porsche says, pretending like that isn’t a big weight off.  “I was fine with it.”

“Hmm,” Kinn says, like he doesn’t exactly agree.  But he doesn’t start trying to pick at that, like he has before.  You’re so sensitive, this is feedback for growth, waa waa waa.   So Porsche doesn’t pick back.

“I like the scotch,” he says, instead.  “Thanks.”

Kinn brightens.  “It’s one of my favourites,” he says.  “I like something with a little more weight to it when it’s raining, but on a nice night like tonight…”

“Yeah,” Porsche agrees, secretly charmed that Kinn is pairing his scotches to the weather.  “It’s perfect for tonight.”

Kinn pulls Porsche’s foot into his lap and starts to massage his instep.  It’s probably the most comfortable things have felt between them in weeks.  Porsche relaxes into the sofa and closes his eyes.

“How are things with Big?” Kinn asks, into the silence.  “Good?”

“Yeah,” Porsche asks, not sure how to talk to his boyfriend about their mutual… whatever Big is.  He’s not sure what Kinn wants to know - he’s surprisingly blase about sexual details.  Porsche doesn't know what else there is for him to know.  “I um.  I had a bad nightmare last week, and he’s been letting me sleep with him when I stay over at the minor family house.”

“Were you okay?” Kinn asks.  “You can always call me if you’re having a bad night, you know.”

Porsche shrugs.  “I didn’t want to wake you,” he says, because that’s at least a little bit true.  “He’s right next door.”  And then he pauses.  “Is it okay if I do that?”

“Yeah, of course,” Kinn says, and squeezes Porsche’s foot.  “I just didn’t know you had a nightmare.  About your mom?”

That was a lot of it, so Porsche nods.  “And Chay,” he mumbles.  “He was nice about it.”

Kinn raises his eyebrow.  “I very rarely hear Big described as nice,” he says, and smiles at Porsche so that Porsche knows this isn't a criticism.  Maybe things are still a bit tender between them.

“Yeah, well,” Porsche says, and closes his eyes to enjoy the memory of Big hugging him while he cried.  “He was.”

“I think he likes you,” Kinn says, and smirks at Porsche.  “He’s never nice.”

Porsche squirms.  “Kinn,” he protests, remembering Big’s gruff admission.  “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not,” Kinn says.  “Why, did something happen?”

Porsche feels like a twelve year-old girl admitting this, but he also would like to say it out loud.  It’s not like he has friends to tell these things, he hasn’t seen Jom for months.  If he talks, it has to be to Kinn.  “... he said he liked me,” he admits, with the gravitas of a girl admitting a crush to her friends on the swingset.  God, isn’t he way too old for this?  “It was.  Good.”

He’s got a swooping feeling in his stomach as he says it, the memory of the words mixing with nervousness that this will be too far for Kinn.

But Kinn just laughs.  “That’s sweet,” he tells Porsche.  “You’re cute.  You invited him up for a drink after Tay’s birthday, didn’t you?”

“Mm.”

“You wanna have him around more?  He used to eat with me upstairs if I didn’t have company.  We could go back to doing that.”

This is the first one of Kinn’s little propositions that hasn’t made Porsche’s skin crawl.  He likes having Big around.  It makes things smoother with Kinn.  He would like to have Big around more.

It feels weird that they’re making this decision without him, but isn’t that their right as the established couple?  Big seems cool about letting Porsche make decisions.  (Although that’s also kind of his job…)

“If you’d like to,” Porsche says, veering away from the weird ethical territory.  Big says no to him often enough that maybe he doesn’t have to worry about that (at least not tonight.)  “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Then it’s settled,” Kinn says.  “I have a couple things to try with him I’d like to run by you, if you’re in the mood.”

“Sure,” Porsche says, and closes his eyes to imagine Big holding him and kissing his shoulders while Kinn talks about tying him up and spanking him.

Chapter Text

True to his word, Kinn finds opportunities to keep Big around both of them over the next couple of weeks.  He asks Big to stay for meals, keeps him lingering after they hook up, and makes up excuses to call him upstairs.  

At first, Porsche is worried that he’s going to feel like second best.  Things are still a lot easier between Big and Kinn than they are between him and Kinn, and he still feels kind of tender from The Comment.

But he doesn’t.  Big and Kinn’s relationship is easy, yes, but Big also kind of feels like Tay in some ways.  His comfort with Kinn is partly because of long history, and he seems to like that Porsche is with Kinn, even if Porsche doesn’t really understand why.  And Big is great at toeing the line between being really good company and making Porsche feel like the third wheel in his own apartment.

That line is apparently staying over.  Big's in bed with them while Porsche falls asleep a couple times, but if Porsche wakes up in the middle of the night, it's just him and Kinn.  That's fine, of course.  Big probably wants his own space.  Porsche spends enough nights in bed with him in the minor family house.

Tonight, Kinn and Porsche are staying in and Big brought their dinner up for them.  “Join us?” Kinn suggests, and so Big serves them, and then himself, a plate and sits down at the table with them.

Porsche was in the middle of recounting his meetings for the day when the food arrived, which always feels like giving a report at school to his least favorite teacher.  Big sits down on his side of the table, and it immediately feels a little less dire.

He gets a little further into his explanation of the meetings and starts to stumble over a number.  The digits are right but he can't remember where the decimal place is.  Their products switch units of measurement on him and he can never remember whether they buy by the kilo or a hundred grams or what.

“Porsche,” Kinn says, and sighs.  They've talked about this.  He's supposed to be getting better with the numbers.  Just no one has any advice for doing that beyond get better with the numbers.   “How are they going to take you seriously if you can't remember it’s by the kilo, let alone the unit price?”

“I'm working on it,” Porsche mumbles.  He is, to the extent that he can work on just knowing the unit and price and scaled pricing of everything they buy.  It’s just that there’s a lot of different grades and units and different drugs, and the guns and -

Big hooks his ankle around Porsche’s under the table.  “Don't give him a hard time, K’Kinn.  You don't see him in meetings.”

“Really,” Kinn says, flat.  Porsche doesn't blame him for his skepticism.  He is not making an impressive display up here at dinner.

“He's really good at watching people and knowing if they're bullshitting him,” Big says.  “And honestly, sir, it took me years to remember all the pricing.  Most of it I just know because I've heard it so many times.”

Kinn rubs his hand over his face and then looks between Big and Porsche.  Something in his face softens.  “I'll stop harping on it,” he agrees.  “That's fair enough.”

Big knocks his ankle into Porsche’s and turns back to Kinn.  “How was your meeting with the mall people, sir?”

“God, don't ask,” Kinn groans, and then actually talks about his day, which makes his reaction to the math fumbling make a little more sense.  Big hums along and pokes at him to get him to keep talking.

Porsche didn’t know that the mall people were frustrating.  If Kinn doesn’t want to talk about his day, how can Porsche press?  But while Big doesn’t exactly bulldoze Kinn, he’ll definitely poke at him if he thinks there’s more to say.  Porsche feels the same way he would about poking a tiger, but Big doesn’t seem worried about going too far.

That's probably the biggest revelation.  Big doesn't seem to be scared of Kinn, and Porsche...  forgot that was an option?  Most people are a little bit scared of Kinn.  He’s a terrifying man.

But the more Big is normal about it, the more Porsche remembers that terror is not obligatory, at least not for him.  

They keep eating, and Kinn stops grilling Porsche for details on his meetings.  He gives Porsche some hot gossip on an influencer instead.  Porsche starts to relax and makes a couple of jokes, and then Kinn relaxes and makes a couple jokes and…

It's a nice evening.  Kinn wanders into the study for a call with a group of American investors, and Big and Porsche hang out on the couch.  “I wish we had dessert,” Porsche says.

Big gives him a look that definitely means, oh, nong.   “What do you want?” he asks, and grabs the house phone.

… oh yeah.  Porsche keeps forgetting he can do that now.  He’s not sure, so Big just asks the kitchen to send up whatever they’ve got that’s sweet and ready to go, and another tray comes with a scoop of ice cream, some fruit, and a small slice of cake.

“Do you want a bite?” Porsche asks Big, because this is a lot of dessert.

“Sure,” Big says, but there’s only one spoon, so Porsche has to feed him a bite of vanilla ice cream.

“You’ve got a drip,” Porsche says, which wasn’t intended to be sexy, but…

Big smiles at him, and Porsche leans in to kiss the smile away.  Big kisses him back, winding his hands in Porsche’s hair, and tugging just a little.  Porsche sighs.

He pulls Big on top of him, and Big goes easily.  His hands sneak up Porsche’s shirt without trying to take it off - they uh, talked about that.  “This good?” he asks, and Porsche nods, and shivers as Big finds his nipples and starts to twist and tease.  “Can I get you off?”

Are they allowed?   All of their fooling around so far has been at the minor family house.  Maybe Kinn won’t…

Kinn appears in the doorway of the study, still on the phone.  “One sec,” he says, smiling, and mutes the call.  “You still can’t come,” he tells Big, and then winks at Porsche.  “Have fun, Po.”

“I know the rules,” Big grumbles.  “Porsche?”

“Yeah, okay,” Porsche says, because it does feel kind of hot (and safe) to have Kinn lean against the doorframe and watch Big blow him until he comes.  It’s like having a tiger watch him through the slats of a cage, somehow.

Big grabs a napkin from the tray and cleans Porsche up after, and then tucks him back into his pants.  He leans his arms on Porsche’s knees and smiles up at him.

“You want some more ice cream?” Porsche offers, because while he likes blowjobs, he isn’t a huge fan of the musky taste of semen.  It seems polite to offer.

“Sure,” Big says, and lets Porsche feed it to him bite by bite until the little dish is empty.

Kinn is still watching, still on the phone.  “Mmhmm, mmhmm,” he says, a slight edge of impatience creeping into his voice.  “I see.  Well, this has been enlightening, my team can circle back in the morning, gentlemen.  Good night.”

He snaps the phone shut.  Big’s face goes from open and kind of sweet, staring up at Porsche, to a wicked grin.  He turns, still on his knees on the floor.

“Anything I can help you with, sir?” he asks Kinn.

Porsche watches carefully.  He hasn’t really seen them together, except in the threesome.  He would like to know what it is Kinn does to Big, when they’re alone.

“Get over here,” Kinn says, his voice rough.  “You know what you’re doing to me, you fucking tease.”

Porsche almost recoils, but…

Big is still grinning.  He definitely did that on purpose.  There was a certain sexual element to the ice cream eating that was threatening to get Porsche hard again three seconds after a pretty great orgasm.

Big knee-walks over to Kinn, and Kinn pulls himself out of his slacks.  Porsche waits for something mean or rude or awful, but…

Kinn slaps Big, except it isn’t a slap, more of an affectionate cuff across the cheek.  Porsche thought he was rougher than this, but he guesses they’re all sleeping together, and he’d notice if Big was like, coming to work with a black eye every day, or covered in whip marks whenever he undressed.  Maybe he should have trusted Kinn more to know Big's limits.

Big sits up on his heels, and opens his mouth.  “Something you want?” Kinn asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer.  He pushes the head of his cock between Big’s lips, and Big smiles as he takes it all the way down.

Kinn cups the back of Big’s head as he thrusts in, holding him in place.  Porsche sits up, watching intently.  This is…

Big gags, but stays in place.  His eyes flutter shut.  He folds his arms neatly behind himself.  His face is going slack.

This is hot?  Fuck, it is, for Big and for Porsche.  Porsche can see Big is hard in his sweatpants, and that it’s taking some effort for him to not thrust his hips.  His dick is valiantly struggling to join the party again, and Big -

Oh, Porsche thinks.  He’s really into this.

He doesn’t know why that’s a surprise.  Big’s never given him any indication that he wasn’t fully on board with whatever was happening with him and Kinn.  It’s just that this isn’t what Porsche expected fully on board to look like.  He thought Big must hate parts of it, because…  

Porsche feels like something should connect here, but he’s not firing on all cylinders.  There are too many sexy things happening right in front of his salad.

Kinn’s face is wrinkling into a grimace.  His hips are thrusting harder, and Porsche can hear Big’s harsh breathing and loud gags as he tries to adjust to the punishing pace.

Kinn comes, and holds his cock deep in Big’s throat for a few seconds.  Big gags one more time, and coughs hard as Kinn pulls out, and…

And smiles up at Kinn.  Kinn smiles back.

“All good?” he asks Big, and Big nods, still coughing.  Kinn helps him up and hugs him for a minute.  His eyes flicker over to Porsche before he gives Big a kiss on the forehead.  “You were so fucking good for me.”

Big doesn’t respond in words, but he wraps his arms around Kinn’s waist and holds on for a few seconds.  Porsche can still see a little slice of his face, and he looks pleased, relaxed.

Big likes Kinn, Porsche thinks, and again is not sure why that’s a surprise.  Porsche loves Kinn, that’s for sure, but he maybe has forgotten to like him recently.  That’s… something.  He’ll think about that later.  Or not.

“You wanna stay for a bit?” Kinn asks Big.  “Po can feed you more ice cream.”

Big laughs and pulls away from Kinn’s shoulder.  “I’m good,” he says, and his voice is all scratchy.  Porsche shivers.  “I have to get up early for training, I don’t want to wake you.”

“I could excuse you,” Kinn offers.  “Business emergency.  In my shower.”

“I’m trying to get my V02 max back where it was,” Big says, and sways forward.  Kinn reels him in and gives him a kiss.  “Can’t train without going to training.”

“See you tomorrow, then,” Kinn says.  Big smiles.  Kinn smiles too.

Big comes back to the couch and leans down to give Porsche a kiss.  “Be good,” he admonishes, and Porsche pouts until he gets another kiss goodbye.  “Sleep well.”

And then Big is gone.  Kinn is smiling fondly after him.  Porsche marvels at how easily Big just said no to him.  And Kinn didn’t make a big deal of it at all!

There's something there, and it is that...

It must be nice to be Big.  People are so uniquely reasonable in their treatment of him.  Porsche could never.

Kinn turns to Porsche.  “Tease,” he says, and grins.  “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, thinking that it’s… nice? of Kinn to worry about that.  It’s actually pretty generous of Kinn to invite Porsche’s other boyfriend to come hang out with the two of them for a blowjob party.

Porsche is satisfied with that thought for a second.  He picks up the sliced mango and dragonfruit for a snack, and then something itches at him.

Porsche’s other boyfriend, he thinks, hysterically, and nearly chokes to death on a piece of dragonfruit.

Big keeps coming, and they keep hooking up, and he keeps leaving.   And then finally, Porsche walks in on Kinn spanking him, and he stays.

It’s… not what Porsche thought it was.  He still thought Kinn was like some kind of god-emperor in bed with Big and Big was just really into that.  

But Big’s obviously involved in calling the shots.  He says how many hits he’d like, and tells Kinn where he’d like them.  He agrees Porsche can join them (and that’s so hot.)  And he asks to come at the end and Kinn just lets him.

Porsche starts to get that maybe there’s supposed to be an element of pretend to all of this.  Maybe he should have said that it all felt very real when he and Kinn were hooking up.  But how was he supposed to know that he was playing a game if no one told him?

He doesn’t really have time to think about that.  Big stays over again, and this time Porsche doesn’t get exiled from his side of the bed.  He gets to sleep caught between Big and Kinn, nice and warm and safe.  He even has a drowsy memory of Big reassuring him after a nightmare about the mermaid costume.

When he meets Big in the lobby the next morning, he can’t stop smiling.  The sex has been great, but he really wanted to wake up next to his boy… his buddy.   They’re fuckbuddies.  Porsche just likes to know where all his bros are.  (Oh jesus fucking christ.)

When he turns around, Chan is standing on the mezzanine, staring down at them.  “What does he want?” Porsche asks, feeling a chill run down his spine.

“Probably just checking up,” Big says, an obvious lie.  But Porsche lets it go.  He hopes Big isn’t in trouble because of him but he’s not sure what he’d do if he was.

He’s upstairs eating dinner with Kinn when his phone buzzes.  A split-second later, Kinn’s phone buzzes too.

“Shit,” Kinn says, and puts his fork down to get the message.  Porsche sighs and grabs his phone off the table too.  There’s probably some emergency with…

Big reassigned to Kinn, the text reads.  Third with Nop on Porsche.

Porsche feels like an elephant has sat down on his chest.  He looks up at Kinn, accusations stuck in his throat, and…

But Kinn is frowning too.  “Everything okay today?” he asks.  “Did you and Big fight?”

“No,” Porsche says, suddenly desperate to prove that this wasn’t his fault.   But he’s devastated.   He doesn’t know how he can go to work tomorrow if Big isn’t with him.

Kinn looks worried.  “Do you want me to call P’Chan and ask him what’s up?” he asks Porsche.  “Maybe someone on my detail is sick or something.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Porsche asks, but that’s way too revealing.  Still…

“No, of course not,” Kinn says, and frowns harder.  “I can talk to P’Chan and get this sorted out, do you…”

“I can talk to him,” Porsche blurts out.  “I mean, I obviously… maybe there’s a reason Big doesn’t want…”

“Sure,” Kinn says, still looking at Porsche with a great deal of concern.  Porsche doesn’t know what he’s doing to warrant the look, but…  “After din…  Okay, yeah, go.”

Porsche is already on his feet and heading for the door.  “I’ll be right back,” he tells Kinn, hopping on one foot to get his shoes on.  “I’ll sort this out.”

He finds P’Chan in the staff dining room and is pleased with how little his voice shakes when he asks to speak about his detail.  He’s getting better at putting on this facade of authority.

“Of course, Khun Porsche,” Chan says, and stands up.  “There's a private area right this way.”

He ushers Porsche out of the dining room and down one floor, into an empty boardroom in an empty floor of offices.  Porsche double-pulls the door, checking that it’s all the way shut, and then freezes, unsure of where to start.

“This is about taking Big off your detail,” Chan says, gentle.

Porsche nods.  “You can’t do that,” he says, and his voice starts shaking.  “Unless - did I do something?  Did he -”

“I am concerned about Big as your bodyguard in the same way I was concerned about you as Kinn’s bodyguard,” Chan says.

That does not compute.  “I wasn’t that bad,” Porsche tries to argue.  “He only got hurt that one time, and I went right back, and -”

“After your, ah, false start, you were a great bodyguard,” Chan says, still gently.  “That wasn’t why I was worried.  Kinn was different around you.  He put himself in the line of fire.”

Porsche still doesn’t understand.  “Kinn’s a good fighter,” he says.  “And so am I, I can…”

“I absolutely do not want you in the line of fire,” Chan says, very firmly.  “Sit down, nong.”

Porsche sits.

“If I had my way you would be in a stab-vest and bubble-wrapped at all times.  You all would.”

“You all?” Porsche asked.

“You, Kinn, Kim, Chay… even fucking Khun Vegas,” Chan says.  “I don’t want to put Big in a situation where you start worrying more about his safety than yours.”

… oh.  Porsche doesn’t want his argument to be I’m terrified, I’m good at hiding, because so far Big’s mostly been a couple of layers between Porsche and danger.  Nop takes point with the other guards; Big is Porsche’s bodyman.

He’s not totally sure what he’d do if it came down to him or Big.  Kinn’s had years of training to be able to leave men behind and Porsche struggles even with the guys on his detail he doesn’t know.  If it was Big…

“I need him in meetings,” Porsche says, because he can’t think anymore about what Big means to him.

“Hmm,” Chan says.  “Math help?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  “He’s… it’s more than that, he’s just good at hanging onto details.  He’s like the other half of my brain, I can’t…”

“Mm,” Chan says, but it’s approving, like he was walking Porsche to some kind of conclusion.  “Well, if that’s the case, I’d hate to take away half your brainpower.  I’ll put him back with you but not as your head bodyguard.”

Porsche frowns.  “But -”

“Why don’t we call him your advisor, or something?” Chan asks.  “That’s what he’s doing, right?”

“... yeah, that would be… okay,” Porsche says.  “He is.”

“I wasn’t sure about Third,” Chan continues.  “I’ve spoken to Tankhun.  How’s Pol for your head guard?”

Porsche doesn’t hate the idea of having Pol around.  He’s gentle and funny, but very, very competent.  Tankhun’s guards are some of the most elite in the compound.

“Sure,” Porsche says.

“Feeling better?” Chan asks.  Porsche nods.  His hands aren’t shaking anymore.  “Glad we sorted this out.”

“Me too,” Porsche says, not feeling totally like he had the upper hand on this one, but unable to say why.  “I should head back upstairs.  I have some big meetings tomorrow.”

“Of course, K’Porsche,” Chan says.  “Regards to K’Kinn.”

“Uh, yeah,” Porsche says, and wonders how he’s going to explain this strange interlude to Kinn.  “Sure.”

Chapter Text

Having Pol around is good, in theory.  Porsche likes him, and it helps that they have some history together.  Porsche has managed to relax a bit around Nop (and a lot around Big) and he's happy that he doesn't have to deal with a stranger interrupting that comfortable dynamic.  Pol will fit right in.

Except.

Except that some of Porsche’s job is going to meetings with horrible men he needs to make nice with.  And some of his job is putting the fear of, well, Porsche into horrible men he does not need to make nice with.  And today is more on the second side than the first.

Porsche feels like the second kind of meeting should be easier.  Chay resents him right now because he knows that the people the mafia hurts are people like Porsche and Chay, less than a year ago.  

But the people who hurt them weren’t Vegas and Kinn.  They were greedy middle managers, guys with soft hands and thumb rings and too many cars.

And those are the kind of guys that Porsche is putting the thumbscrews to today.  He should resent them.  It should be easy to say give me my money, asshole, or else, and then leave a hint of what or else might be.

It is not.  Porsche does it when he needs to, somehow.  

But it’s like watching a movie on TV.  Those aren’t his hands holding the gun.  That’s not him, aiming for the guy’s knee and watching the viscera spray over a newly renovated marble floor.  It’s like video game violence.  It doesn’t count.

Except today Pol is here, and he’s watching, and Porsche is forced to confront the fact that it is him pulling the trigger.

The man screams.  The room starts to stink like blood and piss.  The smell of gunpowder lingers.

Big shoves a convenient doily in the man’s mouth, muffling his screams and curses.  And then he offers Porsche a handkerchief for the spray of blood that cut across his forehead.  

Porsche takes it.  He looks down at the blood on the white cloth, and his fingers holding it.  There’s blood there too.

He spends what feels like a year staring at his own hands.  Those are his fingers, his boxing calluses, his cuts from kitchen knives that stung when he squeezed limes into drinks.  He’s looking at them.  Pol is looking at them.

Those are Porsche's hands.  Porsche did this.  That’s…

He raises the partition back in the car because he can’t stop shaking.  He doesn’t know why it’s affecting him like this.  He wants to go back to the quiet, cotton-wooly dream of yesterday.  He doesn’t know why just having Pol watch him makes everything so different.

(It’s definitely not because Pol reminds him a lot of Chay.  He’s tall and kind and a little silly.  He’s in the front seat pretending that Porsche didn’t freak him out, for Porsche’s sake.  It’s…)

They have more meetings, and Porsche manages to shove it all back down.  It’s fine.  It’s fine.  He’s fine.

When they get back to the minor family house, Big gives him a long once-over, but Porsche waves him off.  He’ll be okay once he goes upstairs and washes his face.  Big can make his evening call back to the mothership without worrying about Porsche, for five minutes at least.

Big lets him go, and Porsche heads into the depths of the house, towards the high grand staircase.  If his plan involves a quick stop-in to see Vegas and Pete, it’s maybe fine if that doesn’t get reported back to Chan and Kinn.  Porsche will just -

Kim Theerapanyakun is descending Porsche’s (well, the house’s) long central staircase, stone-faced.  For a second, Porsche almost mistakes him for someone else, someone familiar?  But he can’t think of who.

He stops, awkwardly.  This is only their third meeting.  The first time was while Kim was rescuing Chay and the second one was in Khun Korn’s hospital room ten minutes after Korn died.  Neither was really conducive to small talk.

“Uh, hey man,” Porsche says, trying to sound like he's old enough to be dating Kim’s older brother.  “Are you looking for me?”

“No,” Kim says shortly, and continues down the stairs.

Porsche suddenly has the gut-twisting fear that Kim is here for Chay.  All he knows about Kim is that he does some kind of music thing and never takes security to his gigs because his default mode is fighting like a cornered street dog.  Porsche barely wants himself around Chay, he doesn't want some kind of sociopathic guitarist/murderer sniffing Chay’s ankles.

He steps out, blocking the bottom of the stairs, like Kim is a debt collector he's about to fight in his front doorway.  

Kim pauses three steps up and slightly raises one manicured eyebrow.  “Can I help you?” he asks, cold and flat and robotic.  It’s like stopping the fucking Terminator, he’s terrifying.

“What are you doing here?” Porsche demands, his heart in his throat.  “Are you -”

“I'm visiting my big cousin,” Kim drawls, his eyes flat like Vegas’ get when someone pisses him off.  “I don't know if you heard that he got shot?”

“He lives in my house, I noticed,” Porsche says, bristling, ignoring the question of whether Vegas lives in his house, or Porsche actually lives in Vegas’ house.  The provenance of the mansion is still hotly under debate by about six different lawyers.

Kim’s eyebrow quirks slightly higher, which is so much worse than him just saying something about the ongoing (and awkward) legal battle over Vegas’ childhood home.  Porsche could respond if he said something.  Sly little fucker.

Porsche bristles.  He’s going to…

Vegas appears at the top of the stairs.  “Shoo, nosy,” he says, and smiles with his eyes at Kim.  “Porsche, come tell me how your meeting was.”

Kim slips by Porsche while he’s momentarily distracted, and heads out to the bright sunshine, flashing a peace sign to Vegas as he goes.  He sounds less flat when he speaks.  “Later, phi!”

Porsche wants to chase after him and demand answers, but he still has no idea what to even ask.  And he’s way too full of nervous energy after exploding a guy’s knee and a long stop-and-go car ride.  He bounces up to the third floor to meet Vegas.  “What was that about?”

“He was snooping,” Vegas says, and puts his hand on Porsche’s back.  “Don’t worry about it.”

In the seemingly endless period between Porsche’s first enforcer meeting with a guy who almost certainly does not have their money anymore, and the second, where the guy meets the fate of guys who don’t have their money, all he can do is worry about Kim Theerapanyakun.  There’s some connection between him and Chay, Porsche just knows it.  (Either that or Kinn’s little brother just hates him?  Is that better or worse?)

He tries to sound Kinn out but that gets him nowhere.  So he goes to the next best (honestly, probably better) source.

Porsche doesn’t really have a sense of how Tankhun operated before Porsche joined the family and stirred shit up.  But he’s been a few steps removed since his dad died.   He’s been going out with Arm and Pol to temple to pray for Korn almost every day.  And Porsche is aware that he does some of the charity stuff that should probably be Kinn’s partner’s job.  He asks Tankhun to hang out and then immediately starts wondering if he’s going to get a lecture about being a good lady of the house, even if he’s certainly no fucking lady.

“So,” Tankhun says, and hands Porsche a plate of sweets.  Porsche asked to talk to him, and Tankhun invited him for tea.  Porsche didn’t know why he expected a mug, or perhaps a pot, of the liquid.  There’s a four-tiered cake stand and a samovar set up in Tankhun’s living room like they’re at a fancy restaurant in Nonthaburi.  “What did you want to talk about?”

“I, uh,” Porsche says, and shoves a tart in his mouth to avoid the awkwardness of having to beg for information about his brother from Tankhun.  It’s hard to swallow that even Kinn’s lunatic shut-in brother is handling the new world order so much better than Porsche is.

… that’s a mean thing to think about Khun.  Except for the mermaid costume, he’s never been anything but nice to Porsche.  And he’s been handling all kinds of ribbon cuttings and charity lunches and even a fucking boat launch because Porsche can’t get himself organized to do half his own job.

Porsche swallows the lump of tart stuck in his throat and has to wash it down with a huge swig of tea to be able to talk around it.  “S’good,” he says, like he was really hungry and not just stalling.

“Of course it is,” Tankhun says, and swooshes his ankle elegantly over his knee, leaning back to stare piercingly into Porsche’s soul.  “Speak, child.  Tell Uncle Tankhun your problems.”

“... do you know what Chay is up to?” Porsche asks, compelled.  “Is he okay?”

“Ah,” Tankhun says.  “Hmm.  Well.”  He considers for a moment.  “He’s physically okay.”

“Yeah, I know,” Porsche says, because he’s at least pretty sure of Chay’s security.  His number one guy is Tay’s former number two, and Porsche trusts Tay.  “I mean like…”

The rest of it, is what he means.  He wants to ask Tankhun how Kim and Chay are connected but that seems forward.  It’s complicated navigating his in-laws when Chay is also wrapped up with his in-laws.

“Hmm,” Tankhun agrees.  “I’ve been sworn to secrecy on that front, I’m afraid.  But, have you checked his instagram?”

Porsche doesn’t remember his own insta handle or his password, and he doesn’t have the app on his phone anymore.  So Tankhun swaps to Porsche’s sofa, and they drag the tea tray closer, and they shove some more food in their mouths as Tankhun supervises Porsche creeping Chay’s ‘gram on his custom gold iPhone.

There’s a few songs posted recently, but when Porsche plays one, Chay sounds so fucking sad that he has to turn it off immediately.  Still, this explains what Chay’s been up to for the last few months.  

The video is more than a kid playing at the edge of his bed.  There’s… colours and shit.  Animation.  Choreography.  Production value.

“This is really good,” Porsche says, awed, as he watches Chay silently sing his heart out into a microphone.  If only he knew what Chay was saying.

“He’s a talented child,” Tankhun agrees.

Porsche scrolls down.  Before the full-scale music video and a couple outtakes, there’s a jump to what looks like a night out with Ohm.  Fuck, that must have been months ago, before the coup.  Chay’s hair is blue.  Little fucker.

And then… a couple of photos of polaroids, Kim in a fringed leather jacket, smiling like he’s never been taught how.  The photos are tagged @wik but Chay is always tagging Wik in things.  Maybe it’s for a ticket giveaway.

“So they do know each other,” Porsche breathes.

Tankhun, leaning over Porsche’s shoulder, chokes on his tea.  Maybe he didn’t know either?

“Chay’s a nice kid,” Porsche assures Khun.  “He’s a good friend.  You don’t have to worry about him around your brother.”

“Oh, Porsche,” Tankhun says, between coughs.  Arm rushes in and starts slapping his back.  “I’m not worried about Chay.  And you don’t need to worry about Kim.”

Porsche doesn’t feel completely reassured, but it’s something.

He tries to watch the video a few times over the next couple days, but everything is hard this week.  The guy doesn’t have their money and Porsche has to shoot him in the head.  Something about the smell gets to him and he has like. A small mental breakdown over it.

Big comes and finds him, though, and they talk for a long time.  And then they fuck.

Porsche hasn’t done that for a while.  Kinn’s left him alone for the last few weeks.  He hasn’t thought much about it?

He might start to think about it, but then Kinn is there, crawling into his bed at the minor family house.  Porsche didn’t realize that was an option.  He mashes his face into Kinn’s tit and falls asleep immediately.

The only problem is that he doesn’t stay asleep.  He wakes up in the darkest part of the morning, shaking after a nightmare.  He feels sick, and too hot, and has to climb over Kinn to get to the bathroom.

Big is soundly asleep, snoring a little, but Kinn rouses and follows Porsche out of bed.

“You okay?” Kinn asks.  He reaches out and then pulls his hand back.  Fair, Porsche wouldn’t want to get barfed on either.

“Yeah,” Porsche says, but his stomach is turning hard.  He can still smell it, the blood, the sear of the gun powder, the smell of shit.  He didn’t throw up after, but…

His mouth is filling with saliva.  He’s either gonna puke or he’s gonna spend half an hour sitting in front of the toilet trying not to puke.  

Kinn doesn’t need to watch that.  There’s a reason Porsche stays at the minor family house on bad nights.  

Porsche turns and grabs onto the sink like he woke up with a sudden urge to cling to porcelain and stare into the mirror.  Maybe Kinn won’t guess why he came in here.

“You gonna throw up?” Kinn asks, instead of gee Porsche, looks like you’re busy, bye then.

“No,” Porsche says, miserable.  He can probably wait it out.  “Go back to bed.”

“You’ll probably feel better if you just puke,” Kinn says.  “Bad dream?”

“The smell,” Porsche says, and his mouth floods with spit again.  Kinn steps aside, clearing a path to the toilet.

Porsche falls to his knees.  He pukes.  And pukes.  And pukes.

Kinn steps aside and turns the bathroom fan on, covering the retching and the gagging with white noise.  That’s good, Big needs to rest.  Porsche wakes him up enough.

And then Kinn kneels behind Porsche with a cool cloth, and puts one huge paw on Porsche’s back.  “It’s finished,” Kinn murmurs.  “You did it, it’s finished.”

It’s not, Porsche thinks back, because yeah, he dealt with this guy but there’s always going to be someone else.  But he lets Kinn wipe his face and hand him a toothbrush.  The smell of mint helps with his nausea.

“You okay?” Kinn asks.  “Ready for bed again?”

“I keep thinking about it,” Porsche says.  “I keep - I can hear it, and I smell it, and…”

“Deep breath,” Kinn says.  “You’re not there anymore, it’s done.  Right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Porsche says, because that’s clearly what Kinn expects him to say.  In his head, he is still there.  But Kinn’s right, he should forget.  Somehow.  “Bad dream.”

Kinn puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him in for a hug.  “It gets easier,” he offers.

Not for Porsche, not so far.  “Sure, yeah,” Porsche says.  The hug helps more than the words, as does pressing his nose into Kinn’s sleep shirt and rinsing his nostrils with the smell of silk and Kinn’s faded cologne.  “I’m good.”

Everything continues to get harder.  Porsche goes for physio on his knee once a week.  It doesn’t really seem to be fixing anything, but if he skips it, sitting in the car fucking kills him.  So he keeps going.

This week, the needling hurts so much.   Porsche lies on the bed and breathes like he’s giving birth, staring up at the ceiling and trying to forget he has a body.  Every second feels like an hour.

Chan is still coming to these, and he shifts next to Porsche.  “Okay,” he says.  “That’s enough for this week.  Let’s take them out.”

“Sir,” the physio says.  He’s only got half of them placed.  “Khun Porsche, are you -”

Porsche nods.  He’s not sure what he means by the nod, just that a response is required.  It hurts him so bad, he can’t think.  He can’t even speak to say stop.

“Now,” Chan says, and grabs Porsche’s hand while he shivers through the extraction.  The pain is literally unbearable, all of a sudden.  Porsche thinks he’s going to black out.  “You’re doing good, kid, deep breath.”

The PT finishes removing the needles.  “I’ll, uh, give you a minute.”

“I think we’re done for tonight, thanks,” Chan says.  “I’ve got him.”

He helps Porsche pull his sweats back down and puts a hand on his back.  “I’m okay,” Porsche says, and puts his hand over the hurt spot, trying to hold the pain in.  “I dunno why that hurt so much, fuck.”

“You’re tense today,” Chan observes.  He’s frowning.  It makes Porsche feel like he did something wrong.  He didn’t make it hurt so bad on purpose.  “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Porsche says, and pulls his knee into his chest.  He feels like he might after a fight, his nerves all screaming at him, his head jangling with alarm bells til he can hardly think.  “Maybe I tweaked it this week or something, I just…”

“Sure,” Chan says, and rubs his back for a minute until Porsche feels like he can let go of his hurt leg.  “I’m here if you want to talk, you know.”

“I know,” Porsche says, confused.  What the hell is there to say?

Because he didn’t get the needling, his knee aches for the rest of the week, especially as the weather changes.  

This afternoon, the weather is going from hot to rainy fast.  Porsche’s sitting in the back of the car and he can’t stop shifting.  There’s no good way to sit that doesn’t hurt.

“What’s up?” Big asks.  They’ve been stuck in traffic for a while, which also doesn’t help Porsche’s mood.  He misses his scooter, being able to weave between the cars.  Here he’s just stuck, a sitting duck among a hundred other cars and -  “Your knee?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  He takes a deep breath.  His brain is trying to tell him he’s trapped in the car and it’s getting smaller and smaller and smaller and -

Big tugs Porsche’s bad leg up over his lap.  “It’s the insert, right?  Here?”

Porsche nods.  Big pats his thigh in an affectionate kind of way, like Porsche’s leg is a good dog and deserves a pat.  The car feels a little bigger.

Big digs his thumb into the achy insertion.  The pain flares high and then starts to drain away.  “Arm has an elbow thing that fucks up all the time,” Big explains, and Pol half-turns in his seat to nod in agreement.  “Usually someone just has to stick their thumb in it.”

“He always fucks it up typing,” Pol chimes in.  He and Big get into a debate about what has caused Arm’s RSI and what he should do to fix it, and Porsche nods along, still feeling weird but less like he’s going to get out of the car and just start running.  Thank fucking fuck that Big is here, or Porsche might rip his suit off and flee into the rain, never to be seen again.

The last difficult thing is that Tankhun starts coming to Kinn and Porsche’s high-level strategy meetings, the ones in the big boardroom where Kinn choked Porsche out that one time.  Porsche isn’t sure why Tankhun is suddenly showing up, but it kind of feels like an insult.  Porsche must need extra supervision.

He feels kind of sulky about it, but he’s twenty-three years old and the head of a crime family.  He can’t show that he’s sulking.  He shouldn’t even be sulking, what is he, a toddler?

Tankhun doesn’t say much in the meeting, just listens and nods along with the numbers as Porsche and Kinn talk.  Porsche doesn’t know why he’s constantly anticipating that Tankhun will start treating him like he’s a junior bodyguard again.  Khun was on their side when they started dating, and he’s mixed out of the running of the family since Gun died, even when Kinn and Korn had a huge fight about Vegas coming back to the minor family house.  He’s not an enemy.

They get through the main family stuff and Porsche starts to walk Kinn through his week.  Big is sitting in on the meeting too, and Porsche has a cheat sheet from him with all the numerical information.  He’s just got to read it off and -

“That much?” Kinn asks, his eyebrows beetling together.  “What was the grade?”

Porsche checks the sheet, trying not to hunch in on himself.  “Mid-tier,” he says, and frowns.  Chai had really pressed him in the meeting but he’d left feeling okay about it, if not great.  Did he fuck up again?

“I had lunch with dear Taechin this week,” Tankhun interjects, which seems like a sharp left turn off cocaine pricing.  Still, Porsche will take it if it means he doesn’t get shouted at.

“What does he have to say about the price of cocaine on Soi Cowboy?” Kinn asks, sounding a little less snappy.  Porsche feels like he can breathe a little deeper.  He realizes he’s grabbed hard onto the arms of his chair and tries to make himself let go.

“His uncle -”

“Nonthaburi chief of police uncle, or assistant head justice uncle?”

“The Nonthaburi uncle.  The new commissioner of justice is in a tough-on-crime phase and there’s been a lot of attention down at the docks.  It’s hard to move product in and out of Bangkok by sea right now.”

“Ah, okay,” Kinn says.  Porsche looks down at his cheat sheet.  Suddenly he doesn’t feel so shit as a negotiator, even if his heart is still pounding too hard in his chest.  “Alright, let’s keep going.”

So Porsche turns back to his neatly prepared figures and tries to ignore the sudden pain shooting down through his knee and all the way up his left hip and shoulder.  If Kinn wants him to, he can keep going.  Sometimes it feels like all he knows how to do is keep going.

The only way out is through, he tells himself, but he’s been alive long enough the only way to really get out is to be dead.  But he has to keep reading, and so he does.  “Thursday, I met with Khun Third, and he’s going to give us -”

Chapter Text

The next few weeks continue to be hard.  The only bright spot is Big.  He still goes downstairs sometimes, but he’s spending more nights with Kinn and Porsche, and most nights with Porsche, between the compound and the minor family mansion.

Porsche really likes it.  Big is always down to cuddle him to sleep, which Porsche of six months ago would not have called.  And it’s just… nice to have him around after a tough meeting.  He makes Porsche feel safe.

They’re together a lot.  Big and Chan still alternate when Kinn and Porsche go out in the evening together, so really the only time Big isn’t with Porsche is when he has an evening event and it’s Chan’s turn to run their detail.

Tonight was one of Chan’s nights.  Porsche is learning that there are events and there are events.   This one was more like the diamond auction he attended as Kinn’s bodyguard than the Royal Symphony.

“I didn’t realize I was going to be two floors away from being in an orgy,” he comments to Kinn as they leave, way too late.

“Kiet throws a good party,” Kinn says, looking around the lobby of the hotel like he’s counting their detail.  “How was your night?”

“Fine,” Porsche says.  Chan stuck with Porsche, glowering at anyone who came on too flirtatious.  It probably looked like Kinn sicked his old man bodyguard on Porsche to keep him in line, and Porsche is fine with people thinking that.  “I talked to everyone I needed to, I think.”

“Did you have fun?” Kinn asks.  He did, probably.  Time was here and some of his high school buddies, and whenever Porsche looked across the room, people had been laughing and touching Kinn’s arm.

Porsche’s night was the same.  He was funny and charming.  He was warm and approachable.  And now he is so tired.

“Yes,” he says, because that’s clearly what Kinn wants to hear.

Kinn puts his hand high up on Porsche’s thigh in the car home, which is the furthest he’ll go with P’Chan in the car.  He wants to fuck when they get home.

Porsche feels exhausted by the idea.  But if Kinn wants him, he can be sweet.

They arrive back at the compound.  They get in the elevator.  They ride up into the sky.

In their foyer, Kinn wraps his arms around Porsche’s waist.  He starts kissing Porsche’s neck.  He slides his hand down Porsche’s chest.

Porsche tries not to go stiff in his arms.  He’s twenty-three.  His day wasn’t that long.  If Kinn wants to fuck, they can fuck.

Kinn starts to push him into the living room.  So Porsche goes with him.

His hand wanders further down.  Porsche lets it.

Kinn shoves him down on the couch.  Porsche bridges up and lets Kinn pull down the trousers of his tux.  Why not.

Kinn drops to his knees in front of Porsche.  He breathes out, hot, against Porsche’s cock.  Porsche should start to get hard.

He doesn’t.

Kinn kisses his thigh, and then swirls his tongue around Porsche’s cockhead.  Porsche always gets hard from this.  It’s guaranteed.

He doesn’t.

Kinn takes Porsche’s limp cock in his hand and jacks him a few times.  It’s like he’s holding a handful of spaghetti.  Porsche stares down at himself, not sure of what’s happening.  He can always get hard.

He still doesn’t.

Kinn sits back on his heels.  He stares up at Porsche, puzzled.  Porsche stares back down at his limp dick.  What the fuck.

“You know,” Kinn says, and Porsche anticipates we can just go to bed.   That would be fine, maybe in the morning - “Smoking can cause erectile dysfunction.”

“What?” Porsche says, shocked.  He’s had like, two today.  And he barely drank at the function, why is his dick -

“Smoking can cause this,” Kinn says again, frowning.  “If you cut back -”

Porsche feels his eyes prickle, like he’s going to start crying.  He’s definitely not going to fail to get hard in front of Kinn and then cry.   He gets up, holding the fly of his pants shut, and waddles into the guest bathroom, his pants falling down his legs.

“Porsche!” Kinn calls after him.  Porsche tenses, waiting for Kinn to grab him and drag him back into the bedroom, but Kinn stays put on the living room floor.  Porsche doesn’t want to find out what Kinn might do, if Porsche stuck around, a limp failure.  At least if his dick is hard, he can pretend that means he asked for it.

He turns on the shower and gets in.  He had that dream again last night, the one where everyone is touching him, and Kinn doesn’t come save him.  He felt sick when he woke up.  He’s felt wrong in his skin all day.

The water feels like it’s taking a layer of skin off.  Good.  Porsche grabs the soap to scrub.

He can feel hands all over him - on his arm, on his chest, his shoulders, and worst of all, over that scar on his hip.  He lathers up and tries to scrub them away, but he keeps dropping the soap.  He’s shaking.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in the shower, trying to get clean.  Trying not to cry.  Why would Kinn say that?  Porsche is trying so hard to be good for him.

Eventually, he stops needing to scrub himself, even if he doesn’t really feel clean.  He gets out of the shower and contemplates his tux on the floor, wishing he’d brought some pajamas.  He settles for wrapping himself in three towels, one for his lower body, one like a toga for his upper body, and one over his head like a hat.

He doesn’t want to go talk to Kinn, but he’s also not going to sleep in the bathroom.  He comes out into the living room, expecting Kinn to be on the couch, but -

But he’s not.  He’s in the bedroom, presumably.  The door is shut.

Did Kinn just lock Porsche out of his own bedroom?   Porsche stands rooted to the living room floor, trembling with rage.  Where is Porsche supposed to sleep?  He doesn’t even get access to his own pajamas?  He’ll fucking break the door down.

He wrenches at the knob, sure it’s not going to give for him, and -

And the door flies open!  It bangs against the wall, making Kinn jump and drop the book he’s reading.  “What the fuck?” he asks Porsche.

The door being open doesn’t make Porsche less inarticulately furious.  “You -” he starts, but there are no more words.  He points to the door with a fervor usually reserved for the guilty in courtroom dramas.  “You -  The door!”

“I sleep with the door closed!” Kinn protests.  “You were in the shower for more than an hour, how the fuck was I supposed to know when you were coming to bed?!”

Porsche can’t handle this right now.  He storms to the closet and grabs sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt.  He really needs to be dressed, he can’t…

His hands are shaking too hard to get the pants unfolded.  He almost screams.  Can’t he just have one thing that isn’t impossibly hard?

Kinn followed him.  He tries to take the pants out of Porsche’s hand, and Porsche yanks them back.  He’s not going to fucking sleep naked!

“Porsche,” Kinn says, in a very different tone of voice.  “I’m going to unfold them for you.  Let me help.”

… oh.  Porsche doesn’t relinquish them so much as accidentally drop them on the floor.  Kinn picks them up and sorts them out so they’re easy to step into, and does the same with the shirt.

“I’m sorry I said what I said about smoking,” Kinn continues.  “Are you okay?”

Porsche nods, not trusting his voice.  He pulls the sweatshirt over his head.  He should say something.  He’s being really fucking weird.

“It’s a normal thing, it happens when you’re tired,” Kinn says.  “You tired, sweetheart?”

Porsche is very fucking tired.  He nods again.

“Yeah,” Kinn agrees.  “I can see.  Can I hug you, and we’ll go to bed?”

That sounds nice.  Porsche nods a third time.

Kinn pulls him in and holds him close for a long time.  It takes Porsche a couple minutes to relax and remember how to breathe.  He realizes he has his hands fisted at his sides and brings them up around Kinn's waist.

“Skincare?” Kinn murmurs.  Porsche makes a quiet noise of agreement.  He’s willing to be apologized to, if Kinn is willing to apologize.

Kinn does the familiar routine - pats the serum in, sweeps the moisturizer up from Porsche’s chin to his cheekbones to his forehead line, and twists between his eyes.  Porsche didn’t realize how hot and dry his skin felt from the shower.

“Do you want some for your hands?” Kinn asks.  Porsche looks down and sees that his cuticles are cracked and his hands rough and red.

“It’s expensive,” he tells Kinn, as if he doesn’t know that he uses three-hundred US dollar a bottle night cream.  Maybe he doesn’t.  That’s nothing to him.

“Your hands look sore,” Kinn counters, and rubs the moisturizer in along the beds of Porsche’s nails, and over the backs of his hands.

“... thanks,” Porsche says.  He doesn’t know why it’s so hard for him to remember that Kinn likes to be helpful, but it snaps back into focus.  Kinn isn’t someone Porsche needs to be afraid of (he’s pretty sure, anyway.)

They get into bed together.  Porsche can’t settle down.  His bones feel like they’re sitting wrong in his body.  Even though Kinn’s being nice now, he feels like he’s been cut so badly a nerve lies exposed.

Kinn watches him try to find a comfortable way to sleep.  “Do you want a backrub?” he offers.  “I could…”

Porsche nods, and rolls onto his stomach.  Kinn works his muscles for a few minutes over his sweatshirt, kneading his traps, prodding at his lower back.  And then he pushes Porsche’s shirt up and simply rubs circles on his back, like Porsche is a kid he’s trying to lull to sleep.

“Do you like that?” Kinn asks.  “I used to rub Kim’s back when he was little.”

Porsche considers for a second.  He wishes Kinn would do it over his shirt, like Big does.  But not enough to actually say something.

“S’nice,” he agrees.  “You want…  I c’n…”

“No,” Kinn says.  “Get a good night’s sleep, okay?  I love you.”

I love you too, Porsche thinks he says.  But maybe he doesn’t.

The interlude feels strange to him over the next few days.  He’s been trying to reconcile the part of him that was a high class bartender, that was a good big brother, that took care of his uncle, with the other half, the mob boss part.  But that’s been a long project.

No, this is something different.

Porsche is used to living in a world where lack of money can be compensated for with… a little sugar.  It’s not always a bad thing - Jom’s mom happily had him for dinner a couple nights a week as a child because he was such a polite boy.  Yok hired him as a totally inexperienced nineteen year-old because he seemed sweet.  Hell, his taekwondo club kept him around when payment was spotty because he was a good kid and helped all his nongs.

Until he was twenty or so, there was never a formal expectation that Porsche would be sweet to get things.  He likes to be kind and helpful.  It came naturally.

But Hum Bar has gone through various shifts in clientele as the neighbourhood around changed.  Now, there’s a large luxury mall nearby and the patrons are wealthy young women wanting to dance.  But when Porsche started, their customer base was mostly businesswomen from the nearby high-rises, stopping for fashionable cocktails after work.

As Porsche grew into his shoulders a bit more, he became the recipient of a certain amount of attention.   The older women liked to flirt with him, and they had the money to back up their attention with a tip, if an hour chatting to Porsche made them feel young again.

Yok encouraged it.  “They know what they want,” she said.  “They’ll tell you if you’re veering off course.  There’s no better way to learn.”

There was one client particularly, an architect named Cindy.  At the time, it seemed to Porsche that she had more money than god, and she’d flash it to keep his attention on her.  She was hot for her mid-fifties, well-put together and as disciplined in her personal care regime as she was in her building designs.  Porsche didn’t resent her taking a seat at the bar to chat with him, or the tips that came with it.

He’d started taking girls out behind the bar, late at night when things got slow and Yok didn’t mind the patrons having an incentive to linger and order another cocktail.  She got the friends hanging out for another round while Porsche made his conquest.  He got his dick wet.  It worked for everyone.

Cindy is not the sort of woman to be taken out behind the bar.  Her dress looks like an art installation.  Her shoes probably cost more than Porsche’s scooter.

One night, a Wednesday, she closes out her credit card tab and leaves him a 500% tip.  “When do you get off?” she asks.

“Oh, ah,” Porsche says, still staring at the tip.  That would buy a lot of groceries.  “10?”

“See if you can make it 9:30,” she tells him, and scribbles her address on the back of the credit card slip.  “Tell the doorman I left my card at the bar and you’re returning it.  He’ll let you up.”

“Okay?” Porsche says, his brain still caught up in orders and tables and the limes that needed slicing.  He’s not really sure what she’s suggesting.  A woman like her doesn’t take any serious interest in a boy like him.

“Good,” she says, and leaves.

Yok had watched the whole thing from her customary stool right at the end of the bar.  “Porsche,” she says, and hands him a basket of citrus to slice while they talk.  “You don’t have to go to her house.”

“I know,” Porsche says, still confused.  This is for sex, right?  Porsche likes sex.  He had his first ever blowjob behind the bar last week, and it was fun until he got worried about his partner’s knees in the gravelly alley and put a stop to it.

“I just want to be clear that I’m not asking you to do this,” Yok says.  “You can say no.”

“I know?” Porsche agrees, not sure what she’s talking about.  If this lady wants to fuck him, Porsche is down.  He doesn’t understand what Yok is trying to warn him about.

What happens when he gets to the apartment is… different from what he was expecting.  Of course he’s the main character in his own head.  He was kind of expecting to come to this rich architect lady’s apartment, fuck, and then maybe get made a sandwich.

“You’re here,” she says, when the doorman lets him up.

“Yup,” Porsche agrees.

“Don’t say yup,” he’s instructed.  “It’s vulgar.”

The rest of the night goes pretty much the same way.  It isn’t that it’s not hot.  Porsche is twenty.  The woman is attractive.  The sex is fine.

It’s just that it’s so patently not intended to be mutual.  She complains through the whole thing like nasty bored housewives complain about how he does garnishes.  Why am I here, then, Porsche wants to ask, but it’s the same reason he’s around to be complained at at the bar.

“Of course, honey,” he says, and almost throws his back out trying to get just the right angle.  “You got it!” and licks into her until he feels like his jaw is going to lock.  “No, I won’t,” and he gets up to finish into the sink.

“There’s some grocery money for you on the front table, sweetie,” she says, when he comes back out to find his clothes.  “Rest well.”

“Thank you,” Porsche says, and just narrowly avoids calling her auntie.

They ‘date,’ if it can be called that, for a little under two months, but it feels like a century.  Everything is on her terms - when they see each other, how they fuck, who Porsche talks to and looks at, even the emotions he shows around her criticism.  In turn, he gets a lot of grocery money.

“I can’t,” he tells her over the phone, walking into Hum Bar the day they break up.  He feels like he’s making his case to a wall, but he’s not making it to her place tonight unless a helpful god picks him up and drops him there.  “I have to work and my little brother has a cold.  I need to -”

“That’s not my problem,” she tells him, cold as ice.  “Don’t call me again.”

“I just -” Porsche starts, exasperated.  He has never called her, it’s always the other way around.  “Fine, have it your way.”

“Ungrateful brat,” she snaps, and hangs up.  He does not miss her company, but he does miss the money.

And that’s what makes the link between sweetness and security a little more explicit.  Fucking for money was easy.  Even putting up with the complaining was better than getting punched in the face, which is what replaces the ‘grocery money’ a few months later.  Porsche can be sweet, or he can be out on his ass.

And he very much does not want Kinn to put him out on his ass.

Still, over the next few days, he doesn’t feel like he has a lot of honey to spread around.  Kinn makes a couple of tries for Porsche’s affection and he ignores them.  He’s still sore over the stupid quit smoking comment.  Everything is fucking difficult.   He doesn’t want Kinn pawing at him, too.

Kinn takes it surprisingly well.  Porsche ignores a look while he’s gaming with Big, and Kinn comes and sits on the floor and tries to play with them.  Kinn makes a gross suggestion while he’s fucking Big, Porsche ignores it, and… nothing.

It should make him feel better, but it doesn’t.  Kinn can afford to be generous, but every relationship has its limit.  Porsche wishes there was a countdown, a neon sign.  Four more refusals until something catastrophic happens.   He wishes he could stop being so fucking difficult.  And he wishes things were clearer.  At least at the bar, the trade was a little more defined.

Still, it’s… nice.  When Porsche is surly, when he doesn’t do what Kinn wants, he still gets to be safe and fed.  He gets to sleep and wake up in Kinn’s bed, sandwiched between Kinn and Big.  He gets to put on a tux and be on Kinn’s arm at galas and dinners.  It doesn’t feel deserved, but it is what Porsche wants so, so bad.

He keeps waiting for this calm to break, for Kinn to get tired of being kind and patient.  Or maybe he’s waiting for himself to fuck up.  He certainly has before.

And then one morning he wakes up feeling like someone’s taken a baseball bat to his joints and sandpaper to his throat.  This must be the punishment from the universe.  If Porsche feels relieved that Kinn isn’t the instrument, he’s too busy trying to swallow down tea and get on the road to say so.

Chapter Text

“Okay, we’re going home,” Big says firmly.  Porsche’s first meeting wasn’t a disaster, but definitely not one for the record books.  His old trick of loading up on allergy medication to stop his nose from running apparently isn’t going to work on whatever disease he caught from being down by the docks in the middle of a wet night.

“I’m fine,” Porsche protests weakly.  Big just looks at him, swimming in and out of focus, and Porsche gives up.  His head is pounding and he’s not exactly a terrifying figure dripping snot down his front.  Maybe he does need an afternoon off.

“Close your eyes,” Big says and grabs Porsche’s hand to take his pulse.  With his eyes shut, Porsche is really fucking woozy, wow.  Maybe he’s not making it to the gala tonight, either.  But he still thrills when Big finishes his vitals and keeps a hand on his wrist.  He's never had anyone to make him slow down before.

Chan and Dr. Suva are waiting in the lobby when the car pulls up.  Chan comes out of the building in four quick steps and pulls the door open, flooding the car with light.  “How are you, kiddo?” he asks Porsche.

Bad, Porsche thinks.  He was sick and pretty miserable when Big ordered Nop to turn the car around.  But now he’s quite a bit worse.  His head hurts bad and his stomach is churning.  It’s hard to think.

“Deteriorating,” Big reports.  “We might need a wheelchair, he’s dizzy.”

“I’m fine,” Porsche mumbles, because he’s not so out of it he wants someone getting a picture of that.  A couple of Korn’s lessons stuck with him, and that was very much one of them.

Chan offers Porsche his arm, like Porsche is some kind of ballgown lady who needs help getting out of a car.  It’s silly.  Porsche isn’t delicate, he’s…

He’s pretty fucking dizzy, when he gets vertical.  He’s glad Chan’s there to steady him.

Chan puts his hand over Porsche’s on his arm.  “You’re gonna tell me if you start to feel like you’ll pass out,” he instructs, stern.  “Okay?”

“Okay,” Porsche agrees, and lets Chan help him into the lobby.  Dr. Suva puts one hand on his back when he comes in through the big doors and steers him into the elevator.

Porsche barely has a second to think about how much he does not want to go to medical before the elevator has whooshed past the fifth floor.  “I think you need to be tucked into bed, my dear,” Dr. Suva says, and pats his back.  “This looks like the flu.”

“No,” Porsche says, faintly.  He doesn’t have time to have the flu.  “I’m fine.  I have a meeting this afternoon, I need to -”

“Let’s worry about that after we get a temp on you,” Chan says, and opens the door to Porsche’s apartment.  “Big will grab you some pajamas -” Big turns on his heel and races off to do so - “And we’ll get you lying down.”

Lying down sounds very nice.  “Can’t you give me something for this?” Porsche protests, a little confused about where he is.  This isn’t his bedroom.

“- don’t want to get K’Kinn sick too,” Dr. Suva is saying to P’Chan.  Big swims back into view holding a t-shirt and shorts.  Porsche sways in place, not totally sure how he’s going to stand back up to get into them.  “Big, can you -”

“On it,” Big says, and starts unbuttoning Porsche’s shirt.  “Nong can’t sleep in his suit, right?”

Porsche looks down.  He is wearing a suit.  And he does want to sleep.  Big makes sense.

Except…  “I have a meeting,” he tells Big, as Big peels his jacket and shirt off together.

“Arms up,” Big says, and Porsche obeys.  Big drops a big t-shirt over his head.  “P’Chan and I are going to handle that.”

Big goes for his pants next, and Porsche just… lets him.  It’s Big.  Big is safe.

“Hips up,” Big instructs, and Porsche has a dizzy flashback to the same thing with Kinn last week.  This is… so different.  So nice.

Big helps him out of his trousers and into the basketball shorts.  “You cold?” he asks.

Porsche nods.  “Y-yeah,” he says, and realizes his teeth are starting to chatter.  His head hurts.  His stomach hurts.  He - “Can’t you just fix it?” he asks Dr. Suva.

“I can’t cure the flu, Khun Porsche,” she says.  “Big, what’s his fluid intake been like today?”

They talk a little more and Porsche keeps getting colder and more confused.  He’s never slept in the guest bedroom before, and his location feels… slippery.  It’s hard to hang onto.

He feels like he did when he came home on leave from the compound.  Home didn’t feel like home anymore, except that it was where Chay was.

Chan and Dr. Suva leave.  Big switches the light off, and that helps, except the room feels even more unfamiliar.  Porsche can’t remember where Chay is, either.

He’s… he needs to get over this.  The rent isn’t going to pay itself.  And he needs to figure out where Chay is, the rascal.  He…

“I need to go to work,” he tells Big, because that’s what they were just talking about.  Porsche needs to meet Valnikov and supreme some citrus for garnishes, he’s…  “Big, please.”

Big sits down on the bed with him and takes his hands.  Porsche’s head is swimming and he can’t really see Big, but his voice sounds kind.  Porsche wants to believe him.  “Everything’s taken care of.  It’s okay, Porsche.”

But that’s never really true.  Porsche wishes it was so badly, but…  “I need to buy groceries,” he says, feeling like he’s going to cry.  Kinn never understands how stressful getting food on the table is.  “Chay needs fruit.  I’m gonna be short.  Phi, I need…”

Porsche knows that’s not quite right.  What he needs to do is meet Valnikov, but there’s all this other little stuff he hasn’t done in so long.  Maybe that’s why Chay’s mad, he’s getting fucking scurvy because Porsche isn’t going to the store ever, and…

Big leans in.  He thumbs the tears away from under Porsche’s eyes.  Why is Porsche always fucking crying on Big, he should…

“I bought you some fruit,” Big tells Porsche.  “I’m gonna cook for Chay while you sleep.  Phi’s here, okay?”

Usually Porsche wouldn’t believe that.  But it’s Big.  And he trusts Big.

Whatever the fruit means, he trusts Big.  “You promise?” he asks, the same way he asks Kinn do you love me? while they fuck.

“I promise,” Big says, and keeps thumbing the tears off Porsche’s face until he falls asleep.

Porsche wakes up a few times, not good exactly but a little more lucid when he hasn’t taken a handful of claritin and a good swig of Dayquil.  Big’s with him every time, and that’s… really good.  It makes something in the back of Porsche’s brain settle.

It’s dark the second or third time he gets woken up to pee and drink a little water.  “Where’s Kinn?”

“He’s at a meeting,” Big says.  “Hey, wash your hands, Typhoid Mary.  Don’t touch the doorknob.”

Porsche kind of forgot he came in here to piss.  He turns back to the sink and tries to figure out how the taps work.  Yeah, he’s still not quite good yet.

He wakes up in what he thinks is the middle of the night, and Big is there, curled up on the bench at the end of the bed like a dog.  It would be nicer if he would come get into bed with Porsche and cuddle.  Porsche is cold again.

He doesn’t want to ask.  Big should sleep too, even if it’s the wrong way in the bed.  Porsche will…

He rolls himself up in a duvet like a caterpillar and passes out again.

When he wakes up again, it’s still dark out.  Big’s gone from the end of the bed.

Porsche doesn’t know where.  He sits up in bed, his head swimming.  He’s so hot.

Kinn’s not here either.  Porsche is worried.  What if something happened?

He staggers out of bed.  The living room is dark and quiet.  There’s almost no traffic noise from outside.  Kinn’s not…

Porsche staggers into the bedroom.  The door is ajar, letting a thin column of light filter through to the bed.

It still takes a moment for the shapes Porsche can see to resolve into images.  There’s the bed, the white duvet stark in the golden light from the streetlights and buildings.  The headboard looks huge and imposing.

And there are two dark shapes nestled in the blankets.  At first Porsche thinks it’s two black cats who have snuck into his bed.  But after a second, they resolve into Kinn and Big’s dark heads, their bodies curled together under the blankets.

Are you okay? Porsche wants to wake them to ask.  Why did you leave me alone?

But he hasn’t been invited, so he doesn’t.  He watches them sleep for a few more minutes until he stops feeling superheated, and goes back to the guestroom bed.

The next day or two passes the same.  Whenever Porsche wakes up, Big is there with him.  When he pukes up his breakfast, Big rubs his back and cleans up his face.  When he complains he can’t sleep because of a headache, Big pulls Porsche’s head into his lap and rubs his temples.

Porsche is so fucking grateful.  It’s new for him, to reach out and have someone right there.

And he’s really glad it’s Big.  He feels like he has a big brother looking out for him.  There’s never been someone before he trusted so much to have him.

The doctor wakes him up.  It’s dark and he feels disoriented and even more sick to his stomach.  “Can we take your temperature, my dear?” she asks, and Porsche obediently opens for the thermometer.

Having something under his tongue, though, is not where it’s at.  He can feel himself starting to drool.  He feels awful, but it’s hard to -

He spits out the thermometer and falls out of bed in his haste to get to the bathroom.  He doesn’t make it, and throws up half over his leg and half on the carpet.  Oh, fuck.

“Sorry,” he whimpers to Big, who is trying to find a place to kneel that isn’t in Porsche’s sick.  “Sorry.”

“You’re okay,” Big says, and hooks Porsche under the armpits to drag him away from the pool of vomit.  “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

Dr. Suva is back with an ear thermometer.  “Porsche, honey, can you keep a tablet down right now?”

Porsche gags again at the idea of swallowing a tablet, and Big helps him stumble to his feet so he can throw up into the sink.  “I’ve got you,” Big says, rubbing his back.  “It’s okay.”

“Sorry,” Porsche says again, and gags some more.  Big pulls him away from the sink and helps him sit down by the toilet.  He stays there with Porsche while he shakes through stomach cramps, until he can sit up straight again.  His head spins miserably but he thinks he's done puking.  “I'm good now, I'm…”

“Honey, I'm worried about your temperature,” Dr Suva says.  “I can take you to the clinic and get you a banana bag, or you can sit in a lukewarm bath for a little while.  What sounds better?”

“Bath,” Porsche agrees.  His teeth are starting to chatter.  He wants to get back into bed, but anything is better than the clinic.

“I've got him,” Big says.  “I'll call housekeeping about the rug.”

“I think he'd rather have you stay with him,” Dr Suva tells Big.  “I’ll handle things here if you’ll go with him.  K’Kinn has that large soaking tub in the ensuite, doesn't he?”

Porsche loses the next little bit about how hot the water should be, but Big helps him into the ensuite and sits him on the edge of the tub.  “S-sorry,” Porsche says, teeth chattering, as Big strips him out of his puke-stained t-shirt.  “You d-didn’t sign up for this.”

“Course I did,” Big says.  “It's okay, Po.  I'll look after you, alright?”

Porsche really, really wants that, more than he wants to stop feeling so fucking sick.  He nods and lets Big help him into the bath.

“What if I puke?” he asks Big, anxiously.  

Big holds up the garbage can.  “I think it'll float.  You okay?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  “Isn't this gross?”

“Kid, I've seen shit,” Big tells him, and smiles.  “You're not gross.”

“... okay,” Porsche agrees, feeling all warm inside.  I love you, he thinks, but manages not to say.  “Is Kinn gonna come back?”

“He has a bunch of meetings,” Big says.  “I'll make sure he says goodnight, okay?”

“Is he mad at me?” Porsche asks, and pretends the water dripping down his face is from the tub.

“No, no, of course not,” Big says, and smudges his thumb over Porsche’s cheek.  “He knows you're sick.  He's taking care of everything so you can get better, okay?”

Porsche nods, and then he almost can't stay awake anymore.  Big barely gets him out of the bath and back into the bedroom.  The rug he threw up on is gone, Porsche dimly notes.  He doesn't like how easy it is for things to disappear around here.

Big tries to rouse him again at some point, but Porsche can barely get his eyes open.  “Should we call the doctor?” a familiar voice asks.  Porsche tries to wake up and manages to blink until Kinn swims into view, very far off.  Porsche thinks he’s swimming through space, waaay up high, but he can’t make his mouth move to say so.

“I think he's just exhausted,” Big says.  The bed dips, someone sitting down next to him.  “You want anything, Po?  Water?”

“Tired,” Porsche manages, and turns his head until Big swims into focus.  He’s closer, here on earth with Porsche.

“I told him you'd say goodnight,” Big explains, looking up at Kinn.

Kinn chuckles.  “Seems like that's not needed.” Porsche feels lips press against his forehead.  “Sweet dreams, baby.”

And that's the last he sees of Kinn for three days.

Porsche is barely awake enough to think about who he’s seeing, and not seeing, of course.  And Big’s always with him.  That should be enough.  He doesn’t need to miss Kinn as much as he does.

You’re just low because you’re sick, Porsche tells himself, on the first day he’s awake and not barfing for more than a few minutes.  He’s lying on the couch with Big while the aunties clean the sheets and freshen up his bedroom.

“Food’s almost here,” Big says.  “Try and stay up for a little bit, hey?”

“Sure,” Porsche says, and yawns.  There’s a quiet knock on the door, and Big gets up, presumably to get Porsche’s tray.  He’s a little hungry, maybe he could…

“Here he is,” Big says to someone.

Not someone.  Chay.

“Hey, hia,” Chay says, and for the first time in a while, doesn’t have that fucking edge.   “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good,” Porsche says, and looks over at Big to confirm that this isn’t a hallucination.  Chay is really here, and he’s really gonna what, eat soup and watch a show with Porsche?”

Chay leans in and actually fucking hugs him.   Porsche feels like he’s gonna cry.  He has to make himself let go after what's probably a weird amount of time - Chay probably doesn’t want Porsche’s snot all over him.

But Chay doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get away.  “How are you feeling?” he asks, and sits down on the couch, like he’s going to stay a while.  He looks up at Big and points to the tray with their food.  “This one’s mine, right?”

“Are you having dinner with me?” Porsche asks.  Maybe he died.  That’s fine, if Chay’s here.

“Yeah,” Chay agrees.  “You want to watch a show, or something?  P’Big says you’ve mostly been sleeping.”

“... yeah,” Porsche says.

Chay doesn’t say much, but he’s there, and this is the first time in months Porsche hasn’t felt like Chay would snap his head off.  Chay and Big eat chicken rice, and Porsche drinks soup.  The aunties leave the bedroom and take the tray with them.

“I’ll let you have some space,” Big says.  For a minute, Porsche thinks he’s leaving, but all he does is disappear into the main bedroom, securely within shouting distance.  The only thing that could make this better is Kinn being here, too, but Porsche is trying to hang onto the idea that Kinn’s busy.

Porsche can’t stop thinking this is a hallucination, except now that he’s been fed, his body wants him to go back to sleep.  He tries to stay awake, but he’s still exhausted.

“Come lie down, hia,” Chay says, and herds him into the bedroom.  “Do you care what we watch?”

“Are you staying?” Porsche asks.  He never fucking cares what they watch.  He just wants to be with Chay.

“Yeah,” Chay says, and sets his jaw.  “I wanna make sure you get some rest.  I know how you are.”

“Anything,” Porsche agrees.  He can’t fucking stay awake, as much as he wants to enjoy this.  But he watches Chay through half-closed eyes whenever he can, trying to stay conscious as much as his body fights him.  The room seems to be moving around Porsche as the TV screen changes and the sun gets lower and lower.  He…

He thinks he hears Chay sigh.  "I don't hate you, hia," he might say.  "I just want you to be okay."

But that might be a dream.

He wakes up.  It’s dark, and he’s alone except for the hollow Chay’s body made on the duvet.  He feels disoriented again, unsure of when Chay left and if he was ever really there.

He sits up and looks out into the living room, but for the first time in three days, Big isn’t there, getting off the couch to come check on him.  And Kinn’s nowhere, like he doesn’t even care that Porsche is sick.  Porsche is so fucking alone, he could cry.

Far away, he hears someone laugh.  He wants so bad to go where the people are, but…

But he’s dizzy again.  They probably don’t want him.  He’s been enough of a nuisance today.

He closes his eyes.  God, he’s so fucking hot, though.  And the doctor said that if he was hot, he needed to take a bath.

He stands up and everything swims for a minute.  He’s definitely worse than he was this afternoon.  He shouldn’t have tried so hard to stay up with Chay.  He really wishes Big would come back.

He’ll just - they’re probably asleep and they won’t even notice Porsche using the tub, and…

Except they’re not and they do.  They’re laughing and kissing in bed, and then…

There's a piece of rope on the bedside table.  Porsche isn't just interrupting them fooling around.  He's interrupting the kind of fun sex he's done a shit job of providing.  It hits him like a gut punch.

Kinn pushes up on his elbow.  “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Porsche says, trying to be nonchalant.  “I’m… I’m so hot, maybe if I shower…”

Kinn frowns.  “You good, babe?  You want me to call the doctor?”

He doesn't seem mad.  “Yeah, yeah, no,” Porsche says.  If Kinn's not mad, he should feel relieved, but all he can manage is hurt and bewildered.  Does Kinn think Porsche doesn't need him?  “Don't bother her.”

Big gets out of bed.  “Can I join you?” he asks.  He's sweaty too.

“Okay,” Porsche says, and drags himself to the bathroom.

Having Big there is good in the same way it's been good all week.  Porsche feels like he can breathe again.  He only has to focus on what he can handle, because Big's doing everything else - getting the shower going, testing the temperature, helping Porsche undress.

“Okay?” he asks, and grabs the shower wand to help Porsche rinse off.

Porsche nods.  He doesn't feel okay and he doesn't know why.  But this is a vast improvement on being sick alone in the dark, so he'll take it.

Everything gets very swimmy, and Big helps him out of the shower.  Porsche can barely lift his legs to step into his pants.  He's so fucking cold.

Kinn's sitting on the bed when he comes out.  “Your sheets are fresh,” he tells Porsche.  It sounds like a dismissal.  “Do you need…”

Porsche doesn't want to go back in the dark by himself.  He doesn't know why Kinn doesn't care that he feels so sick.  He wants to sleep here, in his bed.  Doesn’t he belong here anymore?

Kinn stands up.  Porsche shrinks down.  Kinn's mad, he knows it.  He made Kinn mad at him and…

Kinn's hugging him.  Porsche clings to him.  He wants Kinn so bad.  He wants to stay here.

“Do you want to sleep in the bed?” Kinn asks.  Porsche bites a sob down.  He wants that so much.  “You can stay here with us.  It’s okay, sweetheart, you don’t have to go back to the guestroom.”

“I'll make you sick,” Porsche protests.  Maybe that's why he was exiled, he should…

But Kinn's already drawing him back to bed.  “C'mere,” he says, and turns down the covers.  “I don't think you're contagious anymore.”

Porsche crawls into bed and reaches for Big.  He's so cold, and Big is warm, and…

Kinn spoons him from behind.  “Your teeth are chattering,” he says.  “You okay?”

Porsche nods.  “Do you want some medicine?” Big asks, rubbing his arm.

“Take something,” Kinn instructs, and kisses the back of Porsche's head.  “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

So Porsche does, and then he does.

He wakes up the next morning weak, drenched in sweat, and embarrassed.  But he feels lucid again, if a little slow.

“How are you feeling?” Big asks, combing Porsche's hair out of his face.

“I think I'm gonna live,” Porsche tells him, and sits up on his elbow.  The bedroom doesn't look so alien and imposing in the morning light.  The shapes resolve themselves more easily.

His eyes catch on the ‘rope.’  It's one of Kinn's bathrobe ties, shredded down the middle.  Having fun without me? Porsche almost asks Big, but it's not Big he's sore at.

Big adjusts his legs under the covers, and Porsche flops down against him.  He’s definitely on the mend, but he still feels low and tired.  (And maybe a little confused and angry about how Kinn could brush him off while he was sick to fuck someone else.)

“I’m glad you’re gonna make it,” Big tells him, laughing a little.  “Can I get you some breakfast or something?”

“... I think I want to be tied up,” Porsche says, trying not to stare at the bathrobe tie.  He’s not sure why he says that.  But he remembers the laughter from last night, and he imagines all of Kinn’s attention on him, not begrudging, not as an afterthought.  He hasn’t had a lot of that recently.

“Before breakfast?” Big jokes, sounding a little bit worried.  It only makes Porsche’s resolve stronger.  “Let’s think that through first.”

Porsche turns his face up and smiles at Big, trying to reassure him.  Big gets this soft little smile back.  “After breakfast,” Porsche agrees.  “Maybe not today.  But I definitely want to try it.”

Their little negotiation is interrupted by Kinn leaving the bathroom, hair done and suit on already.  It’s still early, Porsche doesn’t know why he doesn’t want to linger.  “Hey, you look better,” Kinn says to Porsche, and smiles.  He leans in and kisses Porsche’s temple, and then pecks Big on the lips.  “I’ve gotta run, got meetings.  Big, you’re -”

“Copy,” Big says, and rubs his hand down Porsche’s arm.  “C’mon, you, let’s get you something to eat.”

Now that Porsche isn’t out of his mind with fever, worry about everything he must have missed starts to creep in.  “Where’s my phone?” he asks Big, after a quick shower and breakfast on the couch so the sheets can be changed again.

“Why don’t you sleep for a bit first,” Big says, stacking Porsche’s half-eaten breakfast plate on the tray.  “You can…”

“I must have missed like ten meetings,” Porsche says, his heart sinking into his stomach.  Is that why Kinn was so cold?  “Did you reschedule with Valnikov?  I should…”

“It’s all taken care of,” Big assures him.  “K’Kinn’s handling things for you.”

“Kinn’s handling Valnikov?” Porsche asks, dubious.  That is the one contact where Porsche’s lack of connection to the Theerapanyakuns has been useful.  Valnikov hates Kinn.

“Khun Vegas is dealing with Valnikov for you,” Big says.  He takes the tray out to the hall and detours to the study to grab Porsche’s phone.  “You can check your messages but the doctor says you need to rest, Po.  And you need to debrief with Kinn before you start making deals with anyone.”

“Yeah, okay,” Porsche agrees.  He feels some kind of way about Kinn taking care of all his meetings for him.  He assumed it would all just be on him when he got back.  He’s happy, but threatened.  The happiness, at least, is new.

He powers his phone on and waits for his messages to load.  There’s a few well-wishes, a text from Vegas saying you owe me.  are you eating properly?  drink water.

But right at the top, his conversation with Kinn shows new messages.  Porsche opens it, surprised.

There’s a fucking wall of text waiting for him.  Some of it is notes on Kinn’s meetings, but most of it…

(sent 11:37am Tuesday) Hey Po, Big says you’re not feeling well?  Text me when you get this and let me know you’re okay.

(sent 3:12pm Tuesday) Hey baby, I’ve got everything this afternoon under control, don’t worry.  Big says you’re sleeping.  I’ll check in on you when you get home, might be late.

(sent 1:16pm Wednesday) I know you’re not checking these, but sweetheart, don’t worry about the rug.  Nothing’s as important as you getting better.

(sent 11:48pm Wednesday) [image attached] I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, but you’re so fucking cute in your sleep.

(Sent 1:07am Friday) I hope I didn’t wake you.  Sweet dreams, I love you, I’m glad you’re resting.

… oh.  It’s like a ray of sun piercing through murky water and showing Porsche Kinn properly for a second.  He wasn’t mad.  He wasn’t resenting Porsche.  He was handling Porsche’s shit for him so he could throw up on a carpet worth more than his house.

“What?” Big asks, and Porsche angles the phone towards him.  A second later, he wonders if that was mean, if he shouldn’t have…

But Big smiles.  “He was pretty fucking worried about you.  He almost canceled an earnings call when you threw up on the rug.  But I had you, right?”

“... yeah,” Porsche says, because Big did, and Kinn needs to make it to his earnings calls, and Porsche is okay now.  Maybe he was being a little irrational?  Maybe he just needs to get a bit more rest and Kinn will come back into frame.

He looks up, through the open bedroom door, and finds the bathrobe tie, still sitting on the bedside table.  And maybe this will be a good idea.  Kinn doesn’t want to hurt him, right?

Chapter Text

The first obstacle to Porsche’s genius plan is Big.  He’s agreed to do it, but he starts trying to weasel out of it every time Porsche brings it up.

That’s okay.  Big’s been less and less teasingly calling him nong for a while.  After being tenderly cared for by him for almost a week, Porsche is starting to believe that maybe Porsche is at least vaguely nong-shaped to him.

And that means Porsche has nong powers.   Porsche is very familiar with being caught in the tractor beam of nong powers.  If he pouts, Big is going to do pretty much whatever he wants.

So he asks Vegas for a piece of rope and endures the silent laughter that comes with it with good humour.  And then he makes eyes at Big until he agrees to tie Porsche up.

“Are you sure about this?” Big asks, staring down at the rope in his hands like it’s going to bite one of them.

“Yeah, of course,” Porsche lies.  He’s like, 70% sure.  That’s a lot better than most of his life.  And he wants to try this.  He’s sure it’s going to fix things.

It’s just that he’s pretty sure that if he freaks out, it’s going to be with Big.  After all, Big was the one who, uh…

Better not to think about that.  So Porsche doesn’t, and Big picks the rope up from the side table, and…

And there was nothing to be scared of after all.  Big’s so careful with him, so gentle.  Porsche can see why he likes doing this with Kinn.  There’s nothing in the world to worry about.

Big is very particular about how he handles Porsche after sex.  Porsche isn’t sure if it’s a conscious thing, or if Big just has a certain post-coital rhythm.  But it’s like, Porsche’s favourite thing in the world.

They talk for a couple minutes after, and Porsche worries it’s going to throw things off.  But it doesn’t.  It just feels nice, or something.

“You want me to leave you tied up for a little bit?” Big asks, a little while after asking Porsche why he wants to do this, tucking his thumb against the bindings and pulling a little to check.  “No pain, no numbness?”

“Mm, yeah, ‘m good,” Porsche agrees.  This feels… secure.  He’s safe here with Big.  He doesn’t even need the use of his hands.

He thinks he dozes for a minute.  “You’re so fucking cute,” Big murmurs, and Porsche mumbles something back.  He’s got that soft look again when Porsche opens his eyes, and it makes Porsche blush.  “Alright, time to come out.  You’re still feeling good?”

“Mm,” Porsche says, and is delighted to find out that if he gets tied up for half an hour, Big also calls the kitchen and gets a nice snack for him, in addition to washing his back and squeezing him to sleep.

The next day they’re home mid-afternoon.  Big peels off to square some things away with P’Chan, and Porsche is left to his own devices.

He looks up the other elevators and wonders what Kinn is up to.  They haven’t seen much of each other since Porsche got back on his feet - there’s been too much to do and too much to catch up on.  Porsche still feels a little guilty for thinking Kinn abandoned him, when really he was handling Porsche’s neglected business.  Maybe sometimes he’s too hard on Kinn.  Maybe…

His feet are carrying him to the elevator before he can think too much more.

Kinn’s secretary is a little surprised to see him, but she hides it well.  He would pop up here more in the early days of his minor family tenure, before they started fighting so much.  Fuck, it’s been… months, since Porsche just sought Kinn out in the middle of a workday.

“Is he busy?” Porsche asks Ana, sotto voce.  “It’s not urgent.”

“No, this is a good time,” Ana reassures him, and picks up the phone.  “There’s a visitor for you, Khun!”

Kinn is equally surprised when he comes out of his office, and for a few seconds, Porsche is worried he’s done something wrong.  But then Kinn’s face breaks into a genuine smile, and the fear simmers back down.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Kinn asks, and gestures to Porsche to come into his office.

“Just wanted to say hi,” Porsche says, and follows Kinn into the corner suite.  The view in here is crazy; he always has to stop and admire it for a minute.

“Drink?” Kinn asks.  Porsche nods, still staring out over the city.

There’s the clink of a decanter and the gurgle of scotch being poured.  Kinn wraps his arms around Porsche’s waist to press the drink into his hands.  “Thanks,” Porsche says, and turns for a quick sniff kiss.

“Of course,” Kinn agrees.  “What brings you up here, hm?”

“Just for that, to say thanks.”

“Thanks for the drink?” Kinn asks, playful, and Porsche laughs.  Kinn pulls him closer for a kiss-kiss.  It feels like when they were first dating.  Porsche forgot it could be like this between them.

“Thanks for taking care of things when I was sick,” Porsche says, the words coming easier today than they have for a while.  “And thanks for all the cuuuute messages, and thanks for sending Big to look after me, and thanks for -”

“You’re welcome,” Kinn says, and rocks Porsche close for another kiss.  Porsche expects something like if you really want to thank me, you can blow me, but apparently that’s not forthcoming today.  He feels a weird mix of relief and disappointment.  “I’m just glad you’re better, you were pretty out of it every time I looked in on you.”

“I’m tough,” Porsche tells him.  “I’ll live.”

“I know,” Kinn says, and squeezes him around the waist one more time.  “But I want you to live well.   I know you’ve been working your ass off for the minor family these last few months.  Do you want to take tonight off and celebrate?  We could go out to…”

“Or we could order in,” Porsche says.  “And then Big could come too.”

“Good thinking,” Kinn agrees, and steals a swig of Porsche’s scotch.  “I have a meeting in five, but think of somewhere nice and give your order to Ana, okay?”

It’s clearly a dismissal.  And Porsche has never been one to linger where he’s not wanted.

“Mm,” Porsche agrees, and wishes he had just a little more time with Kinn even as he’s relieved not to have ended up on his knees under the desk.

He asks Kinn about being tied up the next night, but it’s almost 3am and even Big is falling asleep sitting up.  “Sure, sounds fun,” Kinn agrees, and hands Big his phone to put on the nightstand.

Porsche is glad things are on the upswing again.  He yawns and cuddles up to Big to nod off, expecting Kinn to pull his book out and read a few pages.  But Kinn simply turns the light off and throws one arm over Porsche’s waist.

“Love you, sweet dreams,” he murmurs, and Porsche drifts off, blissfully happy tucked between Kinn and his P’Big.

Big’s kind of spacey over the next few days, to the point that Chan pulls him off an evening detail and sends him to bed early.  He eyes Porsche up and down.  “And how are you?” he asks, crossing his arms.

“Fine,” Porsche says, trying to go at a dignified pace across the lobby and still hurry.  He’s late.

“You’re not…” Chan starts.

Porsche mashes the elevator button.  “Ask me later!”

He has to shower quickly, redo his hair, get his tux on and -

“We’re late!” Kinn calls from the study.  He’s already dressed.

“There was traffic!” Porsche protests.  Doesn’t Kinn know it’s not his fault?  It’s not like he drove himself home from the meeting!

He peels off his clothes and jumps into the shower, soaping himself up as fast as he can.  This throws him back to his days at Hum Bar, lingering at home in case the debt collectors came, then rushing through traffic to get to work on time(ish), rushing to catch up on drinks after a ‘break’ in the alley, rushing off to the fights, rushing back to make Chay breakfast, waking up after two hours sleep and rushing to class…

But there’s no time for thinking like that.  He needs to wash his hair.  There’s no blood today, but he got absolutely slick with sweat, looking over some ‘product’ in an unairconditioned warehouse.  He can’t go to… whatever this is with his hair plastered to his skull.

Kinn bangs on the bathroom door.  Porsche nearly startles out of his skin.

“I’m getting your suit!” Kinn yells, which is objectively helpful.  Porsche should be grateful, but instead he’s just irritable.  (And lightheaded?)  He doesn’t need people helping him pick out his clothes (or peeping at him naked, or banging on the door like a pack of debt collectors.)  He wishes he could linger in the hot steam and collect himself.  He's been running all fucking day.

But he’s got to go, so he finishes his rinse, staggers out of the shower, and throws a towel over his head and another one over his shoulders.  Kinn drops his suit on the counter and starts trying to hand him the components.  That’s good, because Porsche is really lightheaded.  His chest feels tight, like it might before he steps into the fighting ring.  The shower was probably too hot.

He jumps into his pants and Kinn hands him his shirt.  “I’ll do your bowtie for you in the car,” he says.  “Which shoes do you want?”

“You pick,” Porsche manages.  Kinn’s not mad, exactly, just hurried and focused.  But it still makes something in Porsche’s hindbrain pick up, like maybe it isn’t good to have all of Kinn’s intense, curdling focus on him.

He’s feeling really lightheaded now, like something heavy is sitting on his chest.  He should maybe sit down.  But he can sit down in the car, that’s fine, he’s…

He’s dressed enough to follow Kinn to the door, shedding towels as he goes.  He’ll get off his feet in the car, and he’ll take a deep breath, and…

“Can I get some water?” Porsche asks the bodyguards as they get in the elevator.  “Actually, a soda maybe, I’m…”  But they’re already downstairs.

“There’s water in the car,” Kinn says, and puts his hand on Porsche’s shoulder to propel him across the lobby.  Porsche tries not to baulk at that.  He - yes, they’re going to the car, and okay, he asked for water, he doesn’t need a soda, and -

And Kinn almost pushes him into P’Chan.  “Sorry,” Porsche says, even though Kinn was the one propelling him forward.

“We’re late,” Kinn growls.

Chan raises his eyebrow at Kinn.  “Since when do you care about being late?”  Kinn opens his mouth and closes it again.  “I thought so.  What did I tell you when you were small?”

That seems to shake something loose in Kinn.  He actually stops and looks at Porsche.  Porsche doesn’t know what he sees, but his face softens.  “Someone go get a soda,” he orders.  “You okay, Po?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says.  He’s getting shaky, but if he gets a coke or something, and then dinner at whatever this event is, he can rally.  (Probably.)  “Just…”

“Are you getting a migraine?” Chan asks.

… oh.  It’s not as debilitating as a migraine, but Porsche doesn’t not have a headache.  And his hands are shaking.  And he’s so fucking tired.

“Maybe?” he says, because maybe Chan knows better than he does at this point, fuck.  It’s not so much his head, it’s just… his chest feels so tight, and the idea of being shut up in the car (with Kinn) is only making it worse.

“Pol, you have charge of this op,” Chan says, and puts his hand on Porsche’s shoulder.  “I’ll stay with K’Porsche.”

“That’s okay?” Kinn asks, and briefly runs his hand down Porsche’s arm.  It takes Porsche a second to realize the soft, solicitious voice is for him and not Chan.  “Big probably wouldn’t mind if you woke him up, he could…”

“I’m fine,” Porsche says, and shoves his shaky hands in his pockets.  “Big was up early, let him sleep.”

“Shoo,” Chan says.  “Give my regards to Khun Tay.”

“I have to remember you were sick three days ago,” Kinn mutters, mostly to himself, and leans in for a kiss on the cheek.  “Sorry, sweetheart.  Get some rest.”

Porsche just nods.  The detail moves on around them, except for Chan and Nop.  They stand in the lobby til the cars pull away.

“Could you get this kid a pizza?” Chan asks Nop.  “What did he eat today?”

“As far as I’m aware, Khun Porsche has had half of a protein bar,” Nop reports.  Filthy traitor.  Porsche also ate…

“I had some fries,” Porsche mutters.  He always makes sure his detail gets lunch even if he’s not hungry, and Big shared a handful of his fries from the drive-in.  “I’m… I could have gone.”

“I’m sure,” Chan says, and puts his hand on Porsche’s back to escort him to the elevator.  It feels different from when Kinn was pushing him through the lobby.  His chest stops feeling like an elephant is sitting on it.  Now it’s just like, a large dog or something.

They go back upstairs and Chan sits down on his couch with him.  “You keep touching your chest,” Chan observes.  “Does it feel tight?”

Porsche hastily takes his hand away, but it’s true.  He nods.  “Yeah, just…  I dunno.”

“Can you take a deep breath with me?” Chan asks.  Porsche doesn’t know what that will do, but it can’t hurt anything.  He does it, and then takes another one at Chan’s urging.

The knot in his chest starts to loosen.  He stops feeling quite so wired and lightheaded.  It’s better.

“Can you close your eyes?” Chan asks.

Porsche tries, but then the sounds of the tower are so much, pressing in on him just like the walls of the car do sometimes.  He has to fight to keep them shut.  His breathing picks up again and…

“That’s alright,” Chan says.  He sounds very calm.  Level.  It helps.  “You can open them again.  Look at me.  Keep breathing.”

Porsche does.  He feels a lingering sense of guilt that even keeping his eyes shut is hard, but not so much he tries again.  It’s better if he can see Chan and everything else in the room.  He still feels… alert.

“These gala evenings put a lot of stress on you,” Chan notes.  That’s fucking true.  “I’d like to understand more about why.  I think understanding your stress might help with the headaches.”

“They’re fine,” Porsche says, weakly.  He’s reluctant to enter the dark depths of his mind palace.  He’d rather put up with the occasional migraine.  “I’m not stressed.  It’s okay.”

“Sure,” Chan agrees.  “You’ve done dozens of events at this point.  I don’t doubt you can handle them.  But I’d like to understand your pain points.  The car?”

Porsche hasn’t really thought of it that way.  If he reflects (and now he fucking has to), the car does stress him out.  They often fight in the car, and Porsche can’t get away.  It’s…

“Yeah, maybe,” he mutters.  “I’m just in the fucking car so much.  It stresses me out.”

“I can see that,” Chan says.  “Give me one more, and I’ll see if I can do something for you.  I can’t commit to helicoptering you around Bangkok, unfortunately.”

Porsche wants to say that’s it, he just stresses because he’s riding around in the car too much.  But…

“Um, passed drinks,” he says, and looks up at Chan through his lashes, trying to gauge his reaction.  “Kinn always grabs one for me.  It’s really nice, but…”

He can’t find the words to say how much it terrifies him.  He feels the memory of being alone in the bathroom, too hot and everything going hazy.  At events, it's uncomfortable.  It takes it out of him to stay level.  Alone in his living room, it feels like it’s going to swallow him up.  He gulps in air and -

“I can see this is really stressing you out,” Chan says, gently, and the feeling abruptly releases.  “Can we practice breathing again?”

Porsche nods.  Fuck, he’s such a screwup.  Can’t even breathe properly.  Who needs to practice breathing, besides monks and babies?

But Chan’s being nice about it.  They breathe together for a few minutes.  Porsche’s hands stop shaking again.

“Last question,” Chan says.  “Why didn’t you eat lunch, nong?  I was going to give you shit about not giving your detail meal breaks but Big says he had a burger.”

“I wasn’t that hungry and it didn’t fit with my meal plan,” Porsche says.  This one’s easier.  He’s been meeting with Kinn’s trainer, and the suggested goal was to really lean out over a couple of months.  He’s basically supposed to be eating chicken and rice for every meal, which is awkward because he actually eats at the tower about a quarter of the time and has to stress about his macros the rest of the time.  Sometimes it’s easier just to not eat.

“Was this fucking Greg’s idea?  I don’t know what Kinn sees in him,” Chan asks, sounding annoyed for the first time all evening.  “You look fine.  Eat, kid.  Life will be better with lunch.”

There’s a rap on the door and Nop enters with the pizza.  Now that Porsche has thought about it, he probably shouldn’t.  He’ll fuck up the macros (and the sense of control that comes with deciding not to eat.)

But he can smell the cheese and the wheaty crust, and…

Chan hands him the box.  “Please eat something,” he says, and sounds genuinely worried about Porsche’s health.  Porsche could refuse an order, but not Chan being kind to him.  “Say, are you up for a swim after dinner?  There are a couple of endurance tests we never got on your file.”

“Sure,” Porsche says.  He likes the pool more than he likes the treadmill or weightlifting he does with Greg the trainer.  He misses Taekwondo but it hasn’t felt right recently to do more than a few quick forms.  There’s no one to spar with anyway.  “Are you gonna time me?”

“I’d like to,” Chan says.  “Let’s see how far you can swim.”

Porsche swims.  And swims.  And swims.

He feels much better when he gets out.  More centred.  “How’d I do?” he asks Chan.

“You’re in the top 10%,” Chan tells him.  “Good work.  I’m going to talk to Kinn about the passed drinks for you tomorrow, alright?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Porsche says, levering himself out of the water.  “He’s not doing it to fuck with me, it’s just…”

“I’ll speak to him,” Chan says.  “I think he’d be happier if you didn’t suffer through that.”

Porsche can’t argue with that.  It seems like something he should have thought of months ago, but he didn’t.  “Thanks, I guess,” he says, and accepts a towel.

Kinn is upstairs, lounging on the couch in his pajamas, when Porsche gets back.  “Hey,” Porsche says, feeling like he was caught playing hooky.  “I’m sorry, I could have made it after all.  I just needed to eat something.”

Kinn smiles and opens his arms, and suddenly Porsche doesn’t remember why he was so uneasy a couple of hours ago.  Kinn isn’t bad.  He’s actually pretty sweet, when Porsche can remember that Kinn isn’t a mafia boss to him.

Porsche flops down next to him, glad they aren’t sniping at each other.  “No, I’m sorry,” Kinn says.  “I should have actually looked at you and not just dragged you down to the lobby.  It was mostly performances anyway, not much networking.  But I was being selfish and wanting your company.”

“I wanted to hang out with you too,” Porsche says, and snuggles into Kinn’s shoulder.  Kinn pulls his legs across Kinn’s lap.  “We could have sat together, at least.”

“True,” Kinn says, and pats Porsche’s thigh.  “But…”

“We weren’t seated together,” Porsche guesses.  It happens so fucking often.  They go to these things and he can’t even hold Kinn’s hand under the table.

Kinn laughs.  “That too.  I made Big show me your schedule while you were sick.  I didn’t realize how many twenty hour days you were putting in.”

“I make sure Big gets breaks,” Porsche says, and yawns.  Kinn smells cozy.  It’s one of his night creams.

“You’re good to your people,” Kinn agrees, and Porsche smiles into his neck where he can’t see it.  “But… that’s a lot for you, isn’t it?  A long day.”

“Mm,” Porsche agrees.  “But if that’s what you need, I can do it.”

Kinn tilts his chin up and stares into his eyes.  Porsche wants to trace his eyebrows.  “You’re too good for me,” he says, seriously.  “I need you to look after yourself and not burn out.”

“Mmhmm,” Porsche agrees, and burrows his head back in Kinn’s shoulder.  “I’m not gonna burn out.  I’m twenty-three, I can work all day and play all night, right?”

“I could be better about letting you have playtime,” Kinn disagrees.  “I think we might have a day off next week to try your thing, but is there anything I can do for you tonight?  You still look exhausted.”

“Rub my back?” Porsche asks, his voice getting small without his permission.  He’s not as good at the tender stuff as Kinn is.  It makes him blush.  “You… I like it better when you do it.”

“Sure baby,” Kinn says, and takes him to bed.  Porsche flattens himself out on the mattress and imagines a day in the future, when he’s tied there, and is only… 40% nervous about it.

Chapter Text

The next night, Porsche is on the couch, chatting to both Kinn and Big about his day.  The TV’s on, but really, they’re both listening to him talk about his new gym routine and the people they met at the gala tonight.  He’s been having an easier week, even with yesterday’s freakout.  He’s riding high off Chay hanging out with him for the evening.

His brother still loves him.  Kinn’s being sweet.  And Big has done an extra good job looking out for him since he got sick.

He likes it.  He enjoys their attention.  In fact, he enjoys attention in general, but is smart enough to know he can't say that.

He didn't get a lot as a kid.  Uncle Thee loved him and was kind to him.  But he was overwhelmed trying to work and keep up the house and feed the three of them.  Anything extra he had in the tank went to Chay.

Maybe in another lifetime, with parents who lived, Porsche would have shied away from the spotlight.  He wouldn't have enjoyed walking into a room and having all eyes on him, whether as the star bartender or as Kinn's misbehaving bodyguard.

But they didn't, and he does.

He shifts, trying to get comfortable, and Kinn lifts his arm so Porsche can tuck himself in.  Big pulls Porsche's feet into his lap, and starts absently rubbing his arches.  It feels really fucking good, both the foot massage and getting to sprawl out over two of his favourite people and talk about nothing.

“I've kinda been thinking about what I want to try,” Porsche rambles.  He should probably, like, edit his inner monologue but he's relaxed and it's nice not to have to.  “Big tied me up with my hands in front of me, and I kinda want that again?”

“Oh, did he?” Kinn asks, and Porsche leans back enough to see his eyebrows.  Kinn pulls him in, letting him lay half across Kinn's lap.

He can feel that Kinn is getting hard, but it doesn't feel like a threat, the way it has sometimes.  Big’s right there, and Big doesn’t let anything bad happen to him.

“Mm, he did,” Porsche agrees, and flashes Big a grin.  Big is scowling at his foot, but the smile makes his face go all soft for a second.  Porsche thrills inside.  Big's fucking fond of him.  Porsche is his favorite weird nong.  “And he blew me.”

“I could blow you,” Kinn says immediately.  Big snorts.  “What, you’re always having fun without me over there.  I never get to blow him.”

“Don’t interrupt,” Big tells Kinn, and kicks out to hit Kinn’s shin.  “Let him tell you his idea.”

Kinn laughs and leans down to kiss Porsche’s forehead.  “Of course, Khun Porsche.  Apologies for interrupting you.”

Porsche knows the last time didn’t go that well, but he’s kinda been looking forward to this?  He’s thought about it a lot, and he’s falling in love with the idea of basking in golden attention from Kinn, who loves him, and Big, who at least likes him enough to touch his feet.

“I wanna suck you off,” he tells Kinn.  “And Big can fuck me.”  He looks up at Big under his lashes, making sure that’s okay.  They’ve never actually done that before, and…

Big smiles at him and squeezes his foot.  Whatever nerves Porsche had about that melt away.  He knows Big has him.

Kinn shifts, complaining.  “Why don’t I get to fuck you?”

“Your dick’s too big,” Porsche says, and sticks his tongue out at Kinn.  “And I wanna blow you now, I’m good at it.”

“You were always good at it,” Kinn says, and squeezes Porsche around the waist.  Porsche doesn’t think Kinn has ever said that before?  See, the magic of the rope is already working just like it does for Big.  “Tomorrow?”

Porsche is still getting over the flu, and he’s kind of tired.  But if they wait, something’s going to happen and they won’t be able to.  Porsche has had like five days off ruined by things happening.  “I’m not tired,” he says, looking over at Big.  He was running around all night while Kinn and Porsche sat and ate dinner, so maybe it’s a no.  “Maybe we could…”

Big swallows hard.  There’s a second where Porsche thinks he’s gonna say he’s too tired, and then…

Porsche flexes his foot in Big’s lap.  Oh no, he’s super horny.  It can be kind of hard to tell the difference between desperately aroused and very fucking grumpy.   Big just has that kind of face.

“Yeah, I mean,” Big says, his voice scratchy.  “Up to you.”

“Tonight?” Kinn asks, starting to grin.

“Could be a nice way to unwind,” Porsche agrees, like he doesn’t have a fucking vision for this.

Kinn pulls him in for a kiss, and Porsche feels Big’s cock jump under his foot.  Yeah, it’s gonna be good.

Big peels off to take a shower, so Kinn is the one to tie Porsche up.  For a second, Porsche feels a chill, right down to the pit of his stomach.  He thought Big would be here, he thought -

Kinn turns back and puts the rope down on the bed.  He’s still smiling softly.  Porsche went a long time without seeing him do that, and it immediately calms his nerves.

“You nervous?” Kinn asks, and sits down on the mattress next to Porsche.  “You want to wait for your phi to come back?”

“I’m good,” Porsche says, because they might just go to sleep if that happens, and he feels like they need to do this.  It’s gonna magically glue them all back together.

“I’ll go easy on you,” Kinn says, and leans in for a kiss, soft and sweet like he was when they first got together and he’d carry Porsche through the apartment and kiss him all over before they made love.  “I’ll make it loose, you can still get your hands free -”

“Don’t you dare,” Porsche says, and makes himself laugh.  “Is this pool training?  Make it so I can’t get out.”

“You’re sure?” Kinn asks, and Porsche nods.

Nerves kick up again immediately, but Kinn keeps being sweet to him, and so Porsche can tamp them down.  He wraps the ropes around Porsche’s wrist, but he keeps peppering kisses up and down Porsche’s neck while he does it, exactly what Porsche wanted.  The chill in the pit of his stomach fades.  This is exactly what he needed.  Somehow Kinn knew.

Kinn tugs the knot tight.  “Good?” he asks Porsche.

It’s kind of tight, but that’s what Porsche asked for.  And somehow it’s different from when Big did it, or in the pool.  It feels secure that Porsche can’t pull his hands apart at all.

“Yeah,” he agrees, feeling kind of hazy already.  “S’good.”

“Oh you like this,” Kinn says.  “Glad we finally found something good for you.”

“S’all good,” Porsche agrees, and leans in for another kiss.

Kinn cups his head, and slowly pushes him down to the bed.  Porsche starts to feel all shivery inside, especially with the way Kinn keeps kissing him.  He reaches up, trying to wrap his arms around Kinn’s neck, and -

And the ropes stop him.  “Yeah, you like that?” Kinn asks.  “Gonna let me move you so you can show me how good you got at sucking cock?”

“Yeah,” Porsche agrees.  Kinn stands up, and then he’s hauling Porsche around the bed under his armpits like Porsche weighs about as much as a pillow, positioning him so his head will hang off the edge of the bed.  Porsche is hard, and no one’s even touched his dick yet.

Big comes out of the bathroom and lets a towel fall to the floor.  “Fuck,” he says to Kinn.  “That’s hot.”

Porsche squirms a little at the praise.  He feels like he’s soaking up so much attention on him all at once.  It’s everything he wanted.

But also it’s hard to get what he wants.  He…

Big runs his hand up Porsche’s calf, wrong way against the little hairs there.  Porsche falls out of his head and back into his body so hard he thinks there’s a thunk.   He tests his hands against the bonds again, and lets his legs fall open.

“How are you feeling?” Big asks.

“Good,” Porsche says.  Safe.  “I’m ready.”

Big rubs his thumb down Porsche’s calf again.  Porsche cranes his neck up, wanting a good look at Big before they…

He almost gets Kinn’s dick to the forehead.  Oh, they’re starting.  He didn't think they'd get into it so quickly, but that's fine.  He can adjust.

“Suck,” Kinn says.  Porsche opens, trying not to anticipate.  He still has a bit of a bad memory of that blowjob he gave Kinn right after his dad died and…

He opens his mouth and steels himself for Kinn shoving right down his throat.  At least Big knows he doesn’t like gagging on it, and…

Kinn just slips the head in.  Big’s hand falls back on Porsche’s thigh.  He stops worrying.

Big’s hand slides down Porsche’s leg.  His thumb rubs against Porsche’s hole.  Porsche groans around Kinn’s cock.

“Look at you,” Kinn says, and Porsche really likes that.  He wants them both to look at him and see him and - “Good thing we tied you up or you wouldn’t be able to control yourself.”

… that’s not exactly right.  Porsche can’t quite think why.  He flexes against the bonds for a sec, reminding himself that he doesn’t have to be in control right now - that it’s a good thing he let go, right?  And -

Big’s other hand lands on Porsche’s knee and starts petting him again.  He stops feeling out of control in a bad way.  Big slides two fingers inside him, and finds his prostate, and Porsche groans again.

He fuzzily remembers that he has a task, and goes back to mouthing at Kinn’s cock.  He’s gonna show Kinn he’s good at this now.  He’s gonna be so fucking good, and -

Kinn’s getting harder in his mouth, plumping up.  Porsche concentrates as hard as he can, trying to push away how good Big’s fingers feel.  He can fucking control himself, he can -

Big pulls his fingers back.  “Ready?” he asks, rubbing the inside of Porsche’s calf.

Kinn pulls away enough that Porsche can speak.  His neck kind of hurts now, but…  “Yeah,” he says.  Of course he’s fucking ready.  He’s not gonna back down from showing Kinn that -

Big starts to push in, and Porsche shakes at the intensity.  Nobody’s fucked him for a while, and…

Kinn pushes back in too, and Porsche unthinkingly opens to take it and then kind of wishes he hadn’t.  It’s fine, it’s fine.  He just…

It all feels good, but it’s a lot.  He’s sliding up the bed and it’s starting to feel weird that he doesn’t have the use of his hands to push back.  Kinn’s pushing deeper, and it’s fine if Porsche breathes through his nose, but he’d kind of like to be able to put his hand around the base and make sure Kinn doesn’t choke him accidentally.

He wishes Kinn and Big would get more of a rhythm like they did last time.  It’s hard to concentrate on what’s happening.  And his hands are starting to feel kind of tingly, and…

Big shoves forward and Kinn pushes in hard at the same time.  Porsche gets shoved up the bed and gags loudly.  He’s going soft.  That’s embarrassing.

Kinn pulls back, and then Big pulls out.  Porsche can’t stop coughing.  That’s probably not that sexy, he -

“You need a break?” Kinn asks, resting his hand on Porsche’s chest.  “You okay?”

Porsche tries to nod, but he’s very upside down and has been for a while.  “Kinda light-headed,” he manages, between coughs.

Big grabs him by the ankles and hauls him back on the bed, which feels better, but it’s starting to be a lot that Porsche couldn’t just use his hands.  It’s kind of like drinking champagne from a tray at an event - he can, but it takes a lot of effort to stay cool, and he’s been making a lot of effort and -

“Ready to be untied?” Kinn asks.

Porsche isn’t ready, but his wrists also feel kind of raw and so does his throat.  It takes him a minute to admit to himself that he can’t keep going, but…

He nods.  Kinn hops up on the bed, and Big wraps his hand around Porsche’s ankle.  Porsche tries to take some comfort from the contact.

He feels a bit like shit that this isn’t some triumphant finish, but he’s tired, and his hands hurt, and he doesn’t like choking.  Big and Kinn can go fuck in the shower after he falls asleep like he knows they do sometimes.  It's fine that this didn't go how he wanted.  He shouldn't have hoped.

Resentment is bubbling up a little.  Kinn always fucking gags him on it.  Why did Porsche think a no-hands blowjob was a good idea anyway?  He should have known Kinn would go too hard, and his hands are kind of throbbing weirdly, and…

Kinn tugs on the knot, and Porsche waits for the binds to fall away, and a moment of sweet relief while the blood rushes into his hands.  And then Kinn tugs again.

Porsche actually looks at his hands.  He’s been pulling and pulling and the knot is yanked tight.  Kinn can’t even loosen it with his nails.

… oh fuck, they can’t untie him.

The last time he was tied up this tight, he was being shoved into an elevator in a hood.  He looks up, and there’s Kinn, and the last time Kinn -

He pulls his legs shut, and tries not to whimper.  Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, this can’t be happening again, oh fuck -

He looks over to Big for comfort, but Big’s eyes are wide.  Oh god, what does he know that Porsche doesn’t know?  What is Kinn going to do?

“Big!” Kinn barks.  “Eyes on me!  Try the knot!”

Why is Kinn so mad, suddenly?  This isn’t Porsche’s fault (well, he asked for it) and Kinn doesn’t need to yell, and…

Big crawls on the bed too and gives the knot a bit of attention, but they’re not getting it untied with just fingers.  He looks over Porsche’s head at Kinn.  “Arm has safety scissors.  Or the infirmary.”

No, no no, this is what happened last time.  Pete was there and Porsche was safe, and then he was naked and getting fucked against a window.  Why is Big leaving?

“No!” Porsche says, because he didn’t say that last time, and he wants… he wants to know.  “I want -” that’s lost to a wheeze - “Big stays!”

“Porsche,” Big says, and squeezes his arm.  “I’ll be right -”

“I’ll go,” Kinn says, and as terrified of him as Porsche is, he also doesn’t want Kinn to leave him.  He tries to rip his hands apart again.  It really hurts.

“I can go,” Big says again.  Oh god, what if they both just leave him here like this?  What if Porsche is in the dark alone for hours like he was after Papa…

Big says something else, but the blood is beating in Porsche’s ears.  He tastes iron.  “No,” he shouts again.  Why is no one listening to him?  Why does no one care if he gets free?

Big’s looking at Kinn, and that’s not right.  Porsche needs help.   Why does no one care?

Kinn’s on the phone, and Porsche is almost sick at the idea of someone else seeing him like this.  Big is still staring at Kinn, like something isn’t adding up.

Oh.  Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Porsche looks up and Kinn is looking at Big like a dog caught eating his own shit.  Porsche tries to shout, tries to say no, but he doesn’t know if the words come out or not.  This was his secret, this was for him to say.

“Big,” Kinn says.  “It was me.”

Porsche loses some time after that.  He vaguely remembers later that he thought Big would leave, but he doesn’t.  Kinn goes, and he’s gone for what feels like such a long time, and Porsche hates it as much as he was terrified.

But he can’t believe Kinn just said that.   He’s so hurt.  Kinn can’t even let him have the dignity of a secret.

Big’s talking to him, Porsche thinks.  But maybe he’s dreaming it.  I’m not going to leave you, Big is saying, in the dream that Porsche must be having.  Phi has you, okay?

Kinn comes back.  He’s saying something, but Porsche can’t hear it over the blood in his ears.

He can’t help it.  He fights.  He didn’t fight last time, and…

Big swims back into view.  “Calm down,” he says.  Porsche wants to trust him.  He wants to let the rational part of his brain take over.  But he can’t.  “We're cutting you loose, okay?”

He should be good and hold still.  Instead a wild, animal part of his brain takes over as Kinn approaches with scissors.  Kinn hurt him, and Porsche can't let him close to his hurt parts again.

Big has to hold him down, his arms over his head, and Kinn has to kneel on his palms to get him to stop thrashing.  Porsche should cooperate.  He should let them cut him loose but he can't stand to be touched, even if Big is trying to help him.

The rope snaps loose and Porsche curls in around his hurt hands.  He can't… he can't…

They both know now.  They can both see this filthy, weak part of him.  He waits to be asked to leave.

“Fuck off,” Big snaps, and Porsche curls tighter.  He will, he just needs…

“Okay,” Kinn says.  The door shuts.

It takes an eternity for Porsche to realize Kinn is the one Big made leave.  It doesn't compute.  People can't tell Kinn what to do.

Big pulls the blanket up over Porsche and helps him tuck it in.  It helps with the terror.  Being naked and helpless is a feature of his worst nightmares.

Porsche still can't think straight.  He tries to catch his breath.  He should…. He needs to…

“I’m sorry,” Big finally says.  “Porsche, I’m so fucking sorry.”

… Big isn’t the one who needs to be sorry.  Porsche lied.  And Kinn…

“I didn’t want to tell you,” he manages to say, and hopes that makes sense.  He feels like he’s been shredded and left in pieces on the bed.  “... fuck.”

Big makes him get up and come to the bathroom.  Porsche sits down next to the bathtub, still wanting to hide.  Big sits down next to him and helps him tuck the blanket in around himself again.

Porsche almost laughs.  He’s such a fucking cliche of a rape victim.  Crying and shaking and wrapped in a blanket on the bathroom floor.

Big is scowling, looking at Porsche’s wrists.  Porsche looks too.  They’re raw, and there’s some blood running down his arm.  They hurt.

“I’m okay,” Porsche mutters, because… Because.  He has to be, doesn’t he?

“Yeah, but they might get infected,” Big says, and leans forward to grab a first aid kit from under the sink.  “We gotta think about that, right?”

That’s so fucking on the nose.  Porsche can’t help but laugh.  And laugh.  And laugh.

“You’re okay,” Big says, pressing his knuckles into Porsche’s chest to get him to stop yipping hysterically.  “I got you.  Breathe, nong.”

Big dabs everything clean, and uses tweezers to pull out a couple errant fibers.  Porsche… all he can fucking do is breathe through it, so he does.  He huddles into Big as Big carefully wraps Porsche’s wrists in gauze.

Porsche looks down at his white-wrapped wrists.  He looks like he tried to kill himself and couldn’t even do that right.  He almost laughs again but…

Big puts his arm around Porsche’s shoulders.  “You wanna go back to the house?”

Porsche doesn’t, not really.  He wants to stay here.  He wants Kinn to come into the bathroom and say I’m sorry, Porsche.  I didn’t mean to hurt you, Porsche.  Come to bed and let me hold you, Porsche.

But that’s about as likely as getting Chai to move on his GHB pricing.  It’ll happen one afternoon in his next reincarnation, just like Kinn saying he’s sorry and not being pissed off at Porsche for literally asking for this and then freaking out.

“I just wanna go home and lie down,” he tells Big.  “I uh… Kinn… I can’t.”

“I’ll tell Kinn we’ll talk to him later,” Big says, and squeezes his hand.  “Sit tight, okay?”

Chapter Text

Big walks him through the living room, past the closed bedroom door.  Porsche’s heart starts to race again.  He’s equal parts terrified that Kinn is going to pop out again, furious with him for overreacting, and terrified that Kinn will never open the door and Porsche will have to go without him for the rest of his life.

It feels just like it did then.   The memories that Porsche has tried so hard to push away slam into him.  Kinn shoving him against the window.  Big kicking him across the floor.  Why do the people Porsche loves hurt him so much?

They’re almost to the minor family house before he feels like he can breathe again, and then the reality of what Kinn told Big crashes over him.  He curls in on himself, gnawed by guilt and shame.  Big didn’t deserve to be lied to, but Porsche is so sad that his stolen hideout from all of this is gone.   How could Kinn just destroy it like that?

Big hops out and opens the car door.  Porsche doesn’t deserve that either.  “Do you want anything to eat?” Big asks, putting his hand on Porsche’s back.  “You’re crashing out a bit, huh?  Sugar can…”

Porsche shakes his head.  His stomach is in knots.  He hasn’t been this nervous since he was six and men were shooting his Pa.

He blinks and they’re in his room.  Big sits down next to him and Porsche tries not to collapse into him, but not very successfully.  They should probably… talk.

“Are you mad at me?” he word vomits, instead of saying something mature like I accept my own culpability in this failure.   “Phi, are you mad at me?  I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck do you have to be sorry for?” Big spits, and he does sound mad, and Porsche is almost sick on the floor.  He knows he fucked up, but it hurts so much that Kinn just said that.  He doesn’t know how to tell Big that if he isn’t gentle, Porsche will crumble away to dust.  “You’re not the one who…”

“I remember more than I said,” Porsche starts, because maybe he owes Big this.  He doesn’t want Big to get the wrong idea about Kinn, when really this is Porsche’s mess.  “Not all, but…” he almost can’t say the next part, but he has to, he needs to tell the truth.  “I was asking for it.”

“Porsche,” Big says firmly.  “You were drugged.  No you weren’t.”

No one’s said that before, but Porsche can’t handle feeling anything else right now.  He lets the words drift over him and goes on.  “I remember a lot…  We were shirtless, and I flicked his nipple and I tried to kiss him… I could tell he thought I had bad breath…”

The real secret is that all of this is with Porsche all the time.  He has to constantly push it back down, like water trying to boil out of a noodle pot.  The second he lets it come to the surface, he’s like this, and he doesn’t know how he can fight it if they’re going to talk about it.

“So it’s not his fault,” he thinks he says, feeling rope burn on his wrists and how sore and open his ass is and - “I’m gonna puke.”

“Okay,” Big says, and puts a hand on his back.  “Can you make it to the toilet?  It’s okay if you can’t.”

Porsche does, and he feels like he throws up his lungs and his heart instead of just water and bile.  Big kneels next to him and rubs his back.  Are you mad, Porsche wants to ask, over and over again.  Do you hate me?   But he’s too busy puking.

He feels like he’s in a daze after.  He tries to get in the shower to scrub himself off, but Big hauls him out again.  His face is angry.  Porsche shrinks down.

Big puts both his hands on Porsche’s cheeks.  “You were gonna burn yourself,” he says, slowly, like Porsche is foreign and can’t understand Thai.  “You can’t shower in water that hot, okay?”

“Okay,” Porsche thinks he says.  The AC is on high and he’s starting to shiver uncontrollably.

“Let’s get this nong some dry clothes,” Big says.  Everything blurs again, but then Porsche is dryish and clothed and being pushed toward the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “I’m sorry, phi, I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Big says again, and pulls down the covers.  He doesn’t sound mad anymore, just… sad.  Porsche is so sorry he made Big sad too.  “I can hold you through the blanket, okay?  The pressure is good?”

Porsche thinks he nods.  He doesn’t understand what’s happening.  He should be in trouble.  Big should…

Big shoves him a little closer to the middle of the bed, and pushes his arm under Porsche.  “You don’t have to be sorry,” he tells Porsche.  “Phi has you.  I’m gonna hold you til you fall asleep, I’m here.”

Nothing like this happened after… after…  No one hugged him.  No one said “I’m sorry,” or “it’s not your fault.”  Porsche remembers almost crying on the bathroom floor, the memories bubbling up, and Pete interrupting.  He remembers trying so hard not to fall apart, trying so hard not to think of how much Kinn hurt him and having to get up and go see Khun Nu and go to morning training, and how much he needed…

He needed this.  He can’t help but feel the hurt now, as much as he tries to tamp down.  He tries to take a deep breath, but instead he sobs.  It was months ago, he should…

“You’re okay,” Big keeps saying, instead of shushing him.  “I’m not mad at you, N’Po.  I got you.”

Porsche turns his face into the mattress.  The sobs feel like howls ripping out of him.  Kinn hurt him so bad.   He wants to let go of it, but it’s so heavy, carrying it around.  He can’t get out from under it.  He thinks he cries himself to sleep.

The next morning, Porsche feels maybe the worst he ever has in his life.  And that’s a pretty high bar.

They rolled sometime in the night, and Porsche is now octopussed around Big, his head on Big’s chest.  He tries to breathe slowly while he waits for Big to wake up.  But he’s sure Big will realize how stupid this is after sleeping on it.  He’s going to tell Porsche to get out.

Big blinks awake, and stares down at Porsche.  Get out, you filthy slut, you… Porsche waits for.  Big opens his mouth, the words coming out in slow motion.

“Can I have a kiss good morning?” he asks, instead.

It takes a second for Porsche to make the words make sense.  And then he shoves himself into a kiss.  It’ll probably be the last one.  Big will probably -

But Big doesn’t pull away, even though Porsche’s mouth tastes like bile.  He doesn’t flinch like Kinn did.  Does this mean… Can Porsche stay?

He starts to cry as soon as he breaks away from the kiss.  It’s half relief Big still cares about him, and half the crushing weight of shame over how he’s behaving, not just tonight but for months,  he…

“What’s going on?” Big says, gentle, and puts his hand on Porsche’s back when he tries to flatten himself into the mattress and disappear.  “Can you talk to me, kiddo?”

Porsche can’t.  He doesn’t know why he’s doing this.  He’s barely cried since he was five, he doesn’t know why his stupid fucking body won’t listen to him and shut up.

It’s just all pressing in so close right now.  He feels like Kinn breached his armour and stabbed him last night.  And now all the things Porsche was holding back are bleeding out of him.  And there’s so much - what Kinn did, his mother’s (lack of) recovery, everything he has to do as the head of the minor family, Chay, even Uncle Thee.  He feels like he’s being crushed under the weight of his own life, and it’s all his fault.

“I dunno,” he says, helpless, because how is he supposed to put that into words?  Big sits and rubs his back while he cries for a long time, until Porsche stops heaving with sobs and turns his face out of the mattress.

“I’m going crazy,” Porsche says, his eyes sore, and his nose running.  It makes sense.  It runs in the family.  His mother went crazy, too.  That’s another thing he’s been trying not to think about.

“No, you’re not,” Big says, and pulls Porsche up to sitting.  “It’s normal to have really intense feelings after, uh…  Intense sex.  And you’ve been sick, and you’re tired.  You’re gonna feel better after you eat and rest.  It’ll pass.”

I don’t know how to eat and rest, Porsche almost tells him.  Maybe his face says it for him, because Big pulls him in for a hug.  “Maybe I am hungry,” Porsche says, instead.  He feels weak and dizzy.  That could be hunger.

Big kisses the top of his head.  “I’ll order something.  Go brush your teeth.”

Porsche feels less hysterical with the taste of vomit out of his mouth.  It’s a core part of the memory of that night, smelling his own bad breath when he turned his face against the window.  He should have brushed his teeth last night.  Stupid.  Big probably thought it was so sexy to be smelling Porsche’s vomit breath all night.

“We should talk,” he says to Big, less watery, when he comes back from the bathroom.  And then he immediately starts leaking tears again, thinking of how pissed off both Big and Kinn must be.  Porsche wasn’t trying to be bad.  He doesn’t want to be in trouble.  “I should… I should have told you.”

“Yeah,” Big says, and opens his arms so Porsche can hide his face in Big’s shoulder.  It makes the recrimination feel less dire if Big is holding him.  “I would have handled things differently.”

“I’m sorry,” Porsche says, trying desperately to make things better.  “I’m sorry.  Everything’s fucked up now and it’s my fault again.  I’m sorry.”

“What were you trying to do with the bondage?” Big continues.  “I wouldn’t have done that if I knew, kid.”

Porsche shrivels.  He doesn’t know how to make this okay again.  He fucked up so bad.  “I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice comes out tiny.  “Don’t go?”

“I’m not gonna go,” Big tells him, and starts rubbing his back.  “You’re still my nong even when you fuck up, right?”

No one’s ever said that before.  Porsche was always one mistake away from the end.  He tries to hold in the tears but they just come harder.  God, he’s so pathetic.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Big says again,  “It’s okay, Po.  We’ll figure it out.  Keep breathing.”

Eventually Porsche stops sobbing.  He pries himself away from Big’s shoulder and wipes his eyes.  Big grabs a tissue from the nightstand.  “Blow your nose,” he says, and Porsche does, and then tries to stop himself from reaching for Big again.

“I can hold you,” Big tells him, and opens his arms.  “It’s okay, it’s really normal to feel like this.  You’re not doing anything wrong.  Come back here.”

Porsche nods and curls in against his shoulder again.  “Kay,” he says.  “Do we still have to talk?”

“Yeah,” Big says, and kisses the top of his head.  “I wanna know why we did that.  Did you think you weren’t good enough if you didn’t do what I did?  You were gonna be replaced?”

I thought it would be fun, Porsche says, because it’s fun for Big.  That was the only layer of conscious thought.  But underneath…

“I never said stop, with Kinn,” he says, and feels sick about it again.  “I teased him, and I didn’t say no.  So it’s my fault.”

“Porsche,” Big says, exasperated.  

Porsche has a feeling they talked about this last night, but he doesn’t really remember.  He…  

Big goes on, gentler.  “So if you said no, what would it mean?”

“I don’t know,” Porsche says, because he knows he should have halted things that night, but he never thinks beyond his own culpability.  “I mean… he would have stopped, right?”

He had to have stopped, or everything Porsche blew up his life for would be a lie.  And Porsche isn’t living a lie.  He’s doing the right thing, even if Chay hates him, and Kinn is always mad.  Right?

“I dunno,” Big says.  “That night… I dunno.  But now he would.”

Porsche doesn’t really know what’s different between then and now, except usually Big’s there and maybe Big would make Kinn stop.  That feels true.  The rest of it, he’s not sure about.

“If I don’t say stop, I don’t ever have to find out that he won’t,” Porsche says, and only knows it’s what he’s been doing as he says it.  “I thought if I was tied up, it would just be like…”

Like being free from so many fucking choices.   Like the pressure would be off for a few minutes.  Kinn and Big could take what they wanted, and Porsche wouldn’t need to worry about it or think about what might be coming.  He’d just wanted to get out from under the terror and anxiety he’s been feeling these last few months.  But…

Big is quiet for a minute.  He keeps rubbing Porsche’s back.  “I don’t ever want to do something you don’t 100% want,” he says.  “You don’t have to tell me the reason.  I just want to know I’m not fucking you up.  Can you promise me that?”

Porsche feels another wave of horrible guilt.  God, he’s such a bad person.  He never thought about how Big would feel with Porsche making him a party to what happened.

But it also feels really safe.  Big doesn’t want to hurt him.  Big doesn’t want him to even be uncomfortable.

“Okay, I promise,” Porsche says.  “I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Big says, and there’s a knock on the door.

Porsche hides under the covers while Big carries the tray in.  “I have to meet Valnikov later,” he says through the duvet, his day pressing in on him.  It’s all so much all the time, and he can’t even get out from under it when Kinn shreds him into little pieces like he did last night.  He still has to get up and go watch movies with Tankhun or go meet the Russian mob.

“Khun Vegas is taking care of it,” Big says, because of course he’s already got it handled.  “All we need to do today is…”

“Talk to Kinn,” Porsche says, because that’s even worse.  God, Kinn probably fucking hates Porsche.  The bottom drops out of Porsche’s stomach again.  “Fuck.”

“Porsche,” Big says firmly, before Porsche can spin out and make himself puke again.  “You don’t have to talk to him today, okay?  Let’s just take the day, level out, and reevaluate in the evening.  Come eat.”

Porsche doesn’t think he’s hungry but the food smells aren’t making him nauseous.  In fact…  His stomach starts to cramp up a bit.  Maybe…

“I’m on a cut,” he says, and drags the duvet out of the bed to the table.  He’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to have fruit but it smells good and it looks juicy.  He feels dried up from all the crying and he’d really like to eat it, but -

“Uh huh,” Bug says, and spoons some onto Porsche’s plate.  “Fuck your cut.  Eat.”

Big has the great idea of calling Jom, which is another thing Porsche hasn’t been doing because he feels so sad and guilty.  He should call his friends, but also he doesn’t want to put them in danger.  Being the best friend of the head of the minor family is different than even being the best friend of Kinn’s boyfriend.  It makes Jom a target, and Porsche doesn’t want him to get hurt.

And he doesn’t want to explain that and make Jom worry.  He’d feel guilty.  So instead he’s just been ignoring him and feeling guilty about that.

But, he realizes, spotting Jom across the lobby, he’s missed him so fucking bad.

“Hey, buddy,” Jom says, and catches Porsche when he launches himself at Jom.  He doesn’t say anything about Porsche’s face being puffy or his wrists being bandaged.  “Do you have an x-box at your fancy mansion?  I brought our game.”

Sandwiched between Big and Jom, Porsche finally stops feeling like a cranked-tight string being constantly plucked.  He kind of forgot that he knew how to relax?

Jom knows Porsche doesn’t like first person shooters and he fucking curates the games they play together.  This one is about being on a boat, and going on an adventure, and they have to solve puzzles.  Porsche really enjoyed it when they first started playing like ten months ago and it’s still good now.

He never got to play very often, even as a kid, and it’s like he can’t help giving into it.  It scratches an itch in his brain that doesn’t get scratched very often.  It especially helps that Big is right here, watching them play.  It feels like he has permission to unwind, and maybe he needed that.

“You want a snack?” Big asks during an interstitial, and ruffles his hair.  “You’re gonna eat more fruit if I order it for you?”

“Mm,” Porsche agrees, finally feeling his chest unclench.  “Kay.”

They finish the game, and he falls asleep for a while.  He’s never totally sure why Jom stays friends with him.  Porsche is always fucking passing out around him, exhausted from working at the bar and pushing himself too hard in fights.  He worries that Jom thinks their friendship is based on Porsche’s ability to use him as a pillow.

He wakes up to Jom telling Big about Uncle Thee, and it makes his heart ache.  When Porsche was little, he’d do the same thing to his uncle, and wake up with Thee carrying him upstairs to put him to bed.  He remembers the smell of cigarettes and coffee as he was being tucked in.  

He’s so fucking sorry that they parted on bad terms.  And he wishes Uncle Thee wasn’t gone.  He was shit at money, but that didn’t mean Porsche didn’t still need him. It aches too much to think about so he falls back asleep.

Big goes back to the house, and Porsche lies in bed and worries about what Kinn is going to say.  Big is going to come back and hate him.  Or worse, he isn’t going to come back at all.

But he does, and he stops in the doorway.  “He’s not mad at you,” he tells Porsche, kicking off his shoes.  “He’s sorry.”

Porsche doesn’t know what to say to that.  How can Kinn be sorry if he never even understood what he did?  And Porsche didn’t want him to understand, either.  He hates that they’re talking about this.

He hums to Big, and Big crawls into bed.  “You smell like him,” Porsche mumbles, because under all of it, he still wants Kinn.  He wishes Kinn was here, the way he came that one night.  He wishes he could hear sorry Porsche, I didn’t mean to hurt you.

Porsche must be a little more armoured now, because when the surge of memories - the window, his breath, Kinn’s nipple, the AC, his asshole, cologne -

When the surge of memory presses in, Porsche pushes it back.  He just lets the smell of Kinn be the smell of Kinn’s cologne.  Apparently Kinn isn’t even mad, although that sounds impossible.

“You want me to shower?” Big offers.

“No,” Porsche mumbles.  His brain is tentatively offering up some happy memories of Kinn, too.  He falls asleep to dream of an impossible world where this doesn’t have to be with him every moment of every day.

Chapter Text

Porsche sleepwalks through the next day, worrying about Kinn.  He used to be able to do this at the bar.  He’d smile and flirt and mix drinks, and in his head he’d be praying no one was kicking Chay’s ribs in or calculating how many more times he had to do this to make his payment this month.  Making two hundred thousand baht per month a five hundred baht tip at a time meant a lot of hustling, especially on weekend nights.

He thinks about going back to the minor family house but it’ll only delay the inevitable.  He should drag his ass home and apologize to Kinn.  So he does.

“Can I have an hour?” he asks Big in the elevator, without looking at him.  Half an hour would be better but if Porsche and Kinn blow up at each other, making Big walk into the middle seems rude.

“Of course,” Big says, but sounds surprised.

He’s probably worried Porsche is going to fucking bawl like a baby again.  Porsche leans over and squeezes his hand.  He’s just mad now, and isn’t he fucking always.  “Don’t worry, I got it out of my system.”

“Sure,” Big says, too slowly.  “If you say so.”

Porsche wants to say hey, what’s that about, but the elevator dings for the bodyguard floor and Big gets out.  Porsche takes a long deep breath through his nose and lets it out.  He asked for this.

He doesn’t know why he tries to come in quietly, like he used to when he was a bodyguard.  “Big?” Kinn calls, and appears at the end of the hallway.  He looks haggard.  “Thank fuck, Po.  I’m so glad you came home.”

“Hey,” Porsche mumbles, and falls over his feet trying to toe out of his shoes.  “Uh.  Sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” Kinn says, and… that’s enough, right?  They talked about it?  Porsche can close the book on this and go back to shoving it all down?  “Uh.  Are your hands okay?”

Porsche did his meetings today in Pol’s suit jacket because it was long enough to hide his suicide-attempt gauze.  Yeah, his hands are fucking great.  This was a great idea.

“They’re fine,” he says, and holds up his fingers.  “All good.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kinn says again.  “I should have - I don’t know why I tied it so tight, and I should have grabbed a knife, or something, I -”

“It’s okay,” Porsche says.  “It’s… whatever.  I didn’t need to freak out about it and it’s over now.”

Surely that’s enough of a conversation.

“I shouldn’t have told Big,” Kinn continues, and takes a step down the hall.  “I’m… that was yours to say.  I’m so fucking sorry, Po.  I shouldn’t have done that.”

Porsche turns away.  He’s hanging onto the wall to untie his shoes.  He’s not hiding, because he’s not feeling anything about this.

“Well, it’s done,” he agrees, pulling his oxford off.  He’s so fucking tired.  “I forgive you.”

“I understand if you’re mad,” Kinn continues.

“I’m not,” Porsche says and removes his other shoe.

“If I can make it up to you…”

“I’M NOT MAD!” Porsche bellows.  Kinn jumps back.  Porsche almost does too.  Why would he shout like that?

“Uh, okay,” Kinn says, two steps further away.  “I’m, uh.  Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Porsche says, stiffly.  He’s got both his shoes off.  He has no excuse for staying in the foyer.  “Big’s coming back in an hour.”

“Sure,” Kinn says, and flattens himself to the wall to let Porsche pass him in the hallway.  That doesn’t feel great, either.  Porsche wishes Kinn would at least hug him hello.

Porsche isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do here.  He sits down on the sofa, and Kinn sits down on the far end.  The cushion between them feels like an ocean.

“Can we talk?” Kinn asks.

Porsche nods.

Kinn releases what feels like a fire-hose torrent of words.  Porsche sits and stares at him, trying to parse what he’s saying.  It’s just like he gets in meetings.

It’s funny.  Kinn doesn’t seem to realize that Porsche can’t hold more than a word or two at a time.  He keeps talking, and looking at Porsche, and nodding when Porsche nods.  He gives Porsche so much shit about this and he can’t even tell it’s happening.

He says something about the punch, and puts his hand on his throat.  Porsche nods.  He says the word safety several times.  Porsche nods.

“I’m gonna be better,” Kinn finally says.  “I’m… I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

That’s as likely as snow in Bangkok.  “It was an honest mistake,” Porsche says, based on the guilt in Kinn’s tone.  “It was my idea.”

“I guess,” Kinn says, and scoots forward.  “Can I…”

Porsche just looks at him for a minute.  Can he what?

And then Kinn opens his arms.  Porsche almost starts crying again.  He really wants a hug.

He scoots close and Kinn wraps him up and holds him.  If Kinn could ever just do this while he’s trying to come down after sex, it would be so good.  But Porsche will take it now.

He noses in against Kinn’s collar, wanting more of the smell of his cologne.  Kinn laughs, and he freezes.

“Hey, no, it was cute,” Kinn says.  “Go ahead.”

I’m not cute, Porsche thinks, grumpy, and lets Kinn hold him until he thinks it must be starting to get weird.

He pulls away.  “Can we talk about the other stuff?” Kinn says.  “Maybe… the night of the diamond -”

Porsche scrambles off the couch.  “I’m gonna shower,” he says.  “Big’s coming back soon.  We didn’t eat yet.”

“Porsche,” Kinn starts.

“I said I need to shower!” Porsche manages to keep it to slightly less than a bellow this time, but it isn’t good or polite or whatever.

Kinn holds his hands up in surrender, looking as taken aback as he did in the hall.  “... I’ll order dinner.”

Porsche takes a long, hot shower, trying to turn back into someone who doesn’t shout at his boyfriend.  Should he apologize?  He already did.

He still feels weird and wrong in his skin.  He soaps himself up twice and then makes himself stop.  He’s more aware of his tendency to lose time in the shower since Kinn brought it up.

Maybe Big will be upstairs when he gets out of the shower.  Big is great.  He never wants to talk about things.

Except that tonight he fucking does.  Of course.

“Did you and Kinn talk?” he asks, as soon as Porsche sits down on the couch.  He barely gets a kiss first.

Porsche doesn’t know why everyone is so obsessed with talking about it, suddenly.  He doesn’t fucking want to.   “Yeah, of course,” he says, trying to be breezy.  Maybe Big also wants an apology?  “I didn’t have to act like I was dying after, that was fucking ridiculous.”

Big looks over at Kinn.  They’re both wincing slightly.  Porsche bristles.  What, that’s not enough of an apology?  They want more, after what Kinn did?  Porsche will -

“Should we talk about it some more?” Big asks, sounding… careful.

Porsche feels like he did right before he started shouting.  “I’m not fucking fragile,” he says, barely managing not to yell.  “I’m fine.”

“Sure, of course,” Big says, and looks… hurt?  Porsche feels even worse.  He didn’t mean to hurt Big.  He just has to push down the feeling that he’s going to cry again and he can't if they're talking about it.

“I just want to eat something and watch a show for a while.  Is that good?” Porsche tries to sound level.  Should he apologize?  That’s too much of an invitation for more words.

Kinn and Big fucking look at each other again.  Porsche really wishes they wouldn’t do that.

He tries to be as normal as possible over the next few days so they think he’s fine and stop trying to discuss it.  It’s so fucking hard.  Everything he does feels like pushing through mud.

He goes to meetings, heads to a gala, and then heads to the minor family house the next day to meet with Vegas.

“Let’s go talk upstairs,” Vegas says, and Porsche barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes.  This is another fucking conversation?

However, Porsche hates the idea of talking to Vegas less than he hates the idea of talking to Kinn and Big.  He follows Vegas upstairs and down a hallway to the family part of the house, and then into Pete and Vegas’s private sitting area.

“Where’s Pete?” he asks.

“He’s dropping Macau off at university,” Vegas says.  “You want something to drink?”

“Nah,” Porsche says, and Vegas gets him a bottle of juice anyway before he sits down on the couch with Porsche.

“What happened to your wrists?” he asks, gently.  “Tell me what happened.”

Porsche doesn’t stop to wonder how Vegas even knew about the bandages.  The household staff are pretty loyal to him, even if they also like Porsche.

“I, uh…”

“Did you try to kill yourself?” Vegas asks.  That’s fucking direct.

“No!” Porsche says, and unwinds the bandage to show Vegas.  “I uh.  In bed.”

“Jesus fuck, Porsche,” Vegas says, eloquently.  “How the fuck did this happen?”

“Uh,” Porsche says, and then the whole story spills out of him, A-Z.

Vegas studies him when he finishes with a flat, serpent-eyed stare.  It's very much how he looked deciding what pliers to use in his white room.  Porsche starts to get worried Vegas is about to jam a thumb in his eye.

What he says is arguably worse than a poke in the eye.  “I bet nobody said how good you did after,” Vegas says, the words being inserted like a knife.  “Saying no was hard, huh?”

Porsche doesn't understand why he's crying again.  It’s just all way too close to the surface right now.  He needs everyone to stop pulling it up so he can shove it all back down.

“You did good,” Vegas says.  “You did something hard and I’m proud of you.”

Porsche wants so badly to hear that from Big or Kinn, but Vegas will do.  He folds in on himself and covers his head.  Vegas’ hand lands on his back.

“For real,” Vegas says.  “I’m proud of you for trying, and I’m proud of you for stopping, okay?”

“Who fucking are you?” Porsche asks Vegas, choked.  “There’s no way you got this from your pa.”

“No, he’d give me something to cry about if I cried,” Vegas says, surprisingly lightheartedly.  “But it turns out you can get the books for a counselling master’s by writing to a university bookstore.”

“Why?” Porsche asks, still sniffling.

“For my dark purposes,” Vegas says, sounding like he’s laughing.  “Of course.”

Porsche sits up and wipes his eyes and nose.  “Are you going to try to turn me against Kinn now?” he asks, mostly joking.  It really felt like something to hear that Vegas was proud, though.  The chance of him changing sides is higher than zero.

“No,” Vegas says.  “This was pro bono.  I just thought you needed to hear it.  I’m not that pissed at Kinn anymore.”

This is fucking news.  “Why the fuck not?” Porsche asks.  He’s sure fucking pissed at Kinn a lot of the time.  How did Vegas ‘Rage’ Theerapanyakun get over it?  (And why does Porsche feel strangely betrayed that the president of the Kinn Haters Club has abandoned the cause?)

Vegas shrugs.  “He’s been sending me my allowance,” he says, like that explains everything.

Porsche just looks at him.  “That’s probably automated and no one’s shut it off yet,” he argues, not sure why he’s so against Kinn not being an asshole.

“It’s not,” Vegas says.  “It stopped until his father died.  It’s coming from a main family account.  Either Kinn is sending it, or Tankhun is.”

Well, Tankhun is still talking about nailing Vegas with that tray, so that seems unlikely.  “Do you need money?” Porsche asks.  “I can…”

“I don’t,” Vegas says, and chuckles.  “Don’t worry about it.  It’s just kind of… I dunno.  Surprisingly un-assholish, for him.  And the rest of it.”

“There’s more?”

“Mm,” Vegas says.  “He’s letting me stay in my childhood bedroom.  He isn’t causing trouble for Pete or Pete’s Yai.  I know he’s got contacts at Macau’s uni and could fuck shit up there, but he hasn’t done anything.  He hasn’t demanded I help him, and he hasn’t shit all over me to you.”

“That’s enough?” Porsche asks.

Vegas pats his shoulder.  “I really loved him when we were kids,” he explains, getting a bit far away.  “God, I used to beg Mama to go play with him.  He was my favourite.  And if Papa’s not here shitting on me, he doesn’t seem so bad.”

 Porsche shifts.  I forgive Kinn is not what he expected to be hearing from Vegas today.  He isn’t really ready for this.

“He’s still a bastard, though,” Vegas says, as if he can hear Porsche’s thoughts.  “If you want me to shit all over him, I can.  Whatever you need.”

“Nah,” Porsche says, and wipes his face again.  “I, uh.  My next meeting.”