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Chapter Text

Arm and Pol look flustered when Kinn finally locates them in the onsen. Their long, clumsy limbs scramble to get out of the water, their heads bowed in shame as they wrap their waists in towels. 

“Khun Kinn,” Arm stutters, pushing his spectacles back onto his nose with one shaky finger. “We’ve only been here for a few minutes, we were just about to go pick up Khun Nu from his massage…”

“Porsche is the one who persuaded us to come here, Khun Kinn,” Pol interrupts, his voice a little high-pitched, like a child’s who knows he’s about to get scolded and is desperate to cast the blame elsewhere. “We never would’ve left Khun Tankhun otherwise.”

Kinn raises an eyebrow, both astonished and appalled with how readily his men would betray one another to avoid punishment. He wonders how quickly they’d fold under interrogation if captured by their enemies, but Kinn decides to push that concerning thought aside for now - he’ll mention it to Chan later. 

“Porsche overheated in the sauna,” he says curtly, placing his hands on his towel-wrapped hips. “Get him out of there, and make sure he gets some water and electrolytes. And make sure he eats, too.”

“Khun Kinn,” Arm and Pol say in unison, bending almost in half as they bow. 

Kinn scoffs and turns on his barefooted heel. Right before he reaches the door to the onsen, he turns back around to face his older brother’s bodyguards. “I will use the showers down here,” he says and adds, emphatically, “I am not to be disturbed.”

As soon as he reaches the showers at the end of the long hallway, Kinn pulls frantically at the frotté knot around his hips and lets the towel drop to his feet. He steps beneath a rainfall shower head and immediately takes himself in hand. The shower is not as good as his own upstairs - the water pressure is not quite strong enough for his liking, nor does it get as hot - but Kinn has no time to take the elevator journey to his suite at the top floor of the compound.

He’s already half-hard, frustration and arousal pounding in his veins in equal measure. 

If you were a girl, would you like a guy like me?

Stupid, Kinn thinks self-reproachingly as he strokes himself, languidly and slowly, getting himself fully hard. He’d been so sure Porsche was leaning in to kiss him in the sauna. So hopeful. He’d been so desperate for any kind of hint that Porsche might feel the same, any kind of indication that Porsche might remember the kiss they shared at the pier after all. But Porsche does not remember and Porsche does not want him, but then why…

There is something there, Kinn is sure of it.

God, Kinn wants him. Desperately. He can’t remember the last time he wanted anyone this badly. He’s never felt this way about any of the family’s bodyguards, maybe except for his fleeting crush on Chan when he’d been 15 and just figuring out who he was. Kinn’s feelings for Porsche are confusing and heady and all-consuming and wrong in a million different ways and for a million different reasons.

But Kinn wants.

Images flash in his mind - of Porsche’s body in the sauna, miles and miles of naked golden skin shimmering with sweat, toned muscle moving beneath black ink, the wings of a Phoenix.

Kinn’s hand moves a little faster on his cock, his grip tightening as he lets out a small gasp. He squeezes his eyes closed and reaches up to splay his free hand across the tiles in front of him to support himself. His balls draw up tight as heat begins to pool low in his stomach, all the tell-tale signs that he’s not going to last long. He lets his thumb glide across the slit on every upstroke, wrist twisting, hips bucking, fucking into his fist.

It’s Porsche’s hand, his mind supplies, a little unhelpfully. It’s Porsche’s mouth…

The images in Kinn’s mind drift to Porsche’s mouth, the perfect shape of it, his full bottom lip, the curve of his upper lip. How that sinful, bratty mouth had felt on Kinn’s own, soft and warm, opening up easily, the tips of their tongues meeting briefly before Kinn drew back, just for a second, assessing, before he had dived back in, his trousers tightening on that dirty pier…

Kinn moans and throws his head back, the warm spray of water cascading over his face, down his chest. He swallows hard, feels his Adam’s apple bob, feels his orgasm approaching. 

He thinks about Porsche’s infinitely long neck on display in that sauna, just begging to be kissed and licked and bitten into and fucking mauled. Kinn wants to ruin him, wants to mark him, wants to claim him.

“Porsche,” Kinn sighs, helplessly and a little brokenhearted, as he thinks of the hint of a bulge underneath the white towel wrapped around Porsche's hips in the sauna. If only Porsche wanted him back, Kinn thinks with a heavy heart. Then Kinn would have dropped to his knees on the warm wood-paneled floor and fitted his mouth around that bulge. He would’ve unwrapped the towel, like a precious gift, would’ve let Porsche’s no-doubt gorgeous cock spring free. He would’ve taken him into his mouth, he would’ve savored every single one of the no-doubt beautiful sounds that Porsche would make. He would’ve caressed those beautiful strong thighs that he saw emerging from beneath the towel, he would’ve swallowed everything Porsche would give him, he would’ve felt those thighs quiver beneath his hands. Those thighs… those legs. Kinn imagines those long legs wrapped around him, tightening around his waist, pulling him in, in, in… 

A strangled cry is punched out of Kinn's lungs as his orgasm tears through him, ribbons of thick white semen splattering all over the tiles in front of him. His legs almost give out as wave after wave of pleasure washes over him, releasing all the tension in his body, his heart beating fast and hard just beneath his jaw.

The water washes away the evidence of his climax almost as quickly as Kinn painted the tiles white, but the sense of satisfaction in symphony with his shame remains. 

Chapter Text

“Teerak,” Porsche whimpers, thighs quivering around the mop of jet-black hair between his legs. “Kinn… I’m—fuck. I’m gonna come.”

The mouth on his cock works faster as Porsche slides his fingers through that thick hair, fisting around the strands and tugging slightly in warning in case Kinn hadn’t heard him.

This is the first time Kinn has his mouth on him, and fuck, he was born to do this, Porsche thinks. No one’s ever sucked him off like this before, with this much expertise and practiced ease. Porsche can tell, too, that Kinn’s enjoying himself, moaning around Porsche’s cock, eyes alternating between fluttering closed and gazing up at Porsche with so much adoration Porsche feels like he can’t breathe. It adds to his pleasure that Kinn wants to do this, had begged for it even, in a way no woman behind Yok’s bar had ever done. 

“K—Kinn,” he gasps, a final warning because it’s common courtesy, but even if Kinn had wanted to pull off, it’s too late because Porsche is coming, back arching off the bed, heels digging into the mattress, cock so far down Kinn’s throat Porsche thinks for a fleeting moment he might be choking him. But Kinn is groaning, throat fluttering around the head of Porsche’s cock as he—oh god, he’s swallowing—Porsche registers before his mind blanks out and he collapses back onto the bed, his whole body electric with pleasure. 

When Porsche slowly drifts back to awareness, he looks down to see Kinn climbing his body like a fucking tree, coming to a stop when they’re pressed chest to chest. Kinn’s still fully dressed and the reminder of how desperate he’d been to get his hands on Porsche after his business meeting, so desperate that he hadn’t even had time to undress himself, makes Porsche’s softening cock twitch in a valiant attempt to get hard again already. Porsche places his hands on Kinn’s cheeks, cupping his face. Kinn’s eyes shine with pride, his lips red and swollen and glistening. He’s unbelievably beautiful.

“You’re insane,” Porsche huffs out a laugh, disbelieving.

“I’m in love,” Kinn says, a wicked tilt to his smile. There’s a tiny drop of semen at the corner of his mouth. Porsche reaches out to wipe it away and Kinn is quick to capture the thumb between his lips and suck it into his mouth, savoring that final drop, savoring everything Porsche is willing to give.

Porsche pulls him into a kiss by the collar of his shirt. A jolt goes through him at the bitter, salty taste on Kinn’s tongue, the taste of himself. It tears a moan out of him and he wishes they had more time so Kinn could fuck him properly into the mattress, but they don’t. Kinn has back-to-back meetings today and he’s probably already late for the next one. Well, the least Porsche can do is jerk him off, so he reaches down to unclasp Kinn’s tailored suit pants as they continue to devour each other with their tongues.

“No need,” Kinn rasps as he pulls away, one hand coming down on top of Porsche’s to halt his movements. 

“Kinn, I want to,” Porsche begs, voice embarrassingly high-pitched as he realizes just how desperately he wants to, wants to get his hands on Kinn and bring him pleasure.

Kinn sighs, a charming flush painting his cheeks and tips of his ears pink. He looks almost… embarrassed? He reaches down to unzip himself and with a firm grip on Porsche’s wrist, he guides Porsche’s hands into his pants.

Porsche gasps when his hand meets something wet and warm and… sticky. 

“You…”

Kinn shrugs, the corners of his mouth curling up into an almost bashful smile, “I came when you came.”

Porsche didn’t even know it was possible to be so aroused from giving someone pleasure that you could come untouched like that. He pulls Kinn back in and kisses him until they’re both breathless and hard again.

Kinn’s business partners will just have to wait.

Chapter Text

Porsche can feel the hard, cold metal of the Theerapanyakul family ring dig into his skin in two places on his body. 

One, on his hip where Kinn’s hand is squeezing as he fucks into him from behind. 

Two, on the sensitive skin of his throat where Vegas holds his head steady as he fucks into his mouth.

The two Theerapanyakul heirs are moaning and groaning, crying out Porsche’s name in an exquisite symphony as they stuff him full of cock. 

Vegas’ thrusts rock him back onto Kinn’s thick and long cock, impossibly deep, while Kinn’s thrusts rock him forward onto Vegas’ cock, not as big as Kinn’s but still big enough to nearly choke him. 

Porsche feels split in half. He feels branded, he feels owned. He feels complete. He feels nothing but pleasure. He feels like an animal on all fours, knees and hands digging into the mattress. He feels like a god. He wants to kill both of them. He wants this to last forever. My life is theirs. 

“Cousin, why have you kept him to yourself for so long?” Vegas says, breathlessly. The fingers on his free hand fists around strands of Porsche’s hair, keeping Porsche’s head in place as he rolls his hips forward a few more times, black coarse pubic hair colliding with Porsche’s nose over and over. Suddenly, Vegas pulls Porsche’s head off of his cock and lets go of the iron grip he has on his hair. He instead strokes his thumb over Porsche’s lips, sore and swollen but eager for more. Porsche’s eyes drift from the beautiful tattoos on Vegas’ muscular thighs up to his well-built torso, finally landing on the smug smile on his face and his glassy eyes burning into him from above.

Porsche instantly misses the feeling of Vegas on his tongue. He knows that he must look desperate, his eyes wild and wide and pleading for more as Kinn continues to rock into his body from behind. Vegas takes pity on him, taking his own cock in hand and nudging teasingly at Porsche’s slightly parted lips, smearing precome all over his aching mouth. Porsche’s tongue immediately flicks out to greedily lick it up, eyes locked on Vegas’ to see them grow impossibly darker. “Open your mouth wide, baby,” Vegas demands and the order sends sparks down Porsche’s spine, makes his heavy, untouched, blood-thick cock throb between his legs.

“Don’t call him baby or I’ll put a bullet through your head right now,” Kinn growls from behind Porsche, his voice wrecked but his hips never faltering in their diabolically hard and fast rhythm. “He’s mine.”

Porsche whines low in his throat, full of need. He loves Kinn. He wants to see Kinn.

He obeys Vegas first, letting his mouth drop wide open, allowing Vegas to simply slide the head of his cock along his tongue a few times, savoring the younger Theerapanyakul heir’s choked-off moans, before Porsche writhes his body, releasing himself from both cocks. His limbs feel heavy and fucked-out, but he manages to turn himself around, meeting Kinn’s heated desperate gaze before he fits his mouth around the salty head of his beloved instead. 

Vegas wastes no time behind him to slide home in one swift thrust, pushing Porsche forward onto Kinn, stuffing both of his holes again. Porsche moans around the cock in his throat as Kinn’s hands cradle the nape of his neck, as if he’s something precious, but with that underlying hint of possessiveness that makes Porsche's balls draw up tight, makes him drip precome onto the sheets beneath him.

With Vegas angling his hips just right, grinding deep into Porsche, providing just the friction needed to push him over the edge, Porsche comes with a guttural sound low in his throat, muffled by Kinn’s cock. Kinn comes next, flooding Porsche’s mouth with his warm, thick release, hazy eyes locked onto Porsche’s, thumbs caressing his cheeks, wiping away tears of overstimulation.

When he comes down from his high, Kinn slips his softening cock out of Porsche’s mouth and leans down to kiss Porsche instead, wet and filthy and open-mouthed, always desperate for the taste of himself, always eager to show his appreciation and gratitude for Porsche with this tongue. 

Porsche is only distantly aware of hot liquid filling his ass, of Vegas crying out, such is the power of Kinn’s kiss. 

Chapter Text

Kinn doesn’t mean to lurk. He really doesn’t. He’s not a creep.

But there’s also no reason why Porsche decides to do these late night swims anyway. There’s definitely no reason why he decides to shower afterwards in the communal baths next to the pool instead of just going to his own bathroom, in his own room, on the bodyguards’ floor.

Kinn is not worried so much about others lurking at Porsche showering as he is worried about Porsche’s sleep. Porsche has only been living in the compound a few weeks and has failed astronomically in his training and his tasks, every single time. Staying up late to swim and draw attention to himself in the shower where anyone could walk by is… not conducive to a healthy sleep schedule, Kinn thinks.

He moves silently along the side of the pool as he follows Porsche through a door at the far end of the pool area, through a dimly lit corridor that leads to the shared shower space. Kinn presses the front of his body against a tiled wall that hides him from view as he watches, with bated breath. Porsche strips out of his swimming trunks, sliding them down his exquisitely sculpted ass that will haunt Kinn until the end of his days if he doesn’t get his hands on it, just once. The offending material, charged with hiding away every single one of Kinn’s sexual fantasies wrapped up into two perfect globes, falls to pool at Porsche’s feet. He steps out of them and bends forward to pick them up, and Kinn gasps so loudly he’s convinced for a few agonizing seconds that Porsche heard him. But he didn’t, it seems, because he just fiddles with a few buttons on the wall, cursing a little under his breath, before the water springs to life above him, cascading in a heavy rainfall. Porsche steps beneath the spray and angles his head up, letting out a loud sigh as his shoulders slump. He looks exhausted. He looks fucking gorgeous.

The lines of his body are lean and strong, his golden skin perfect and smooth and unblemished, free of scars, despite Porsche’s past as an underground boxer.

There’s a tattoo on his shoulderblade, but Kinn can’t make out what it is. It surprises Kinn, just slightly, that Porsche would have one, and he’s never personally been into tattoos, not really, but it suits Porsche. His body is flawless. 

Kinn is distantly aware that he’s getting hard in his pants, painfully aware of how wrong it is.

But god, Porsche is beautiful. Unfairly so. He may be an incompetent bodyguard, but he’s the prettiest one Kinn’s ever seen. And so what if Kinn exploits this opportunity to look? That’s all he’s doing. He’s just looking. Porsche’s life belongs to Kinn now, after all. And it’s Kinn’s home. Kinn can do whatever he wants here.

If only that were true. If only Kinn had been that ruthless, he would’ve had Porsche beneath him right now, spread out, writhing and moaning. But Kinn is not the monster Porsche thinks he is. He cares about his people. All of them.

Porsche lets out a contented sigh and turns around, slowly, so slowly, almost as if he somehow knows… knows that Kinn is watching. Tell me to come to you, Kinn thinks, begs in his mind. Tell me to come to you and I will.

He almost lets out an audible moan when he finally gets a full view of Porsche’s front. Of his broad shoulders, his strong arms, his full pecs, his small brown nipples, his ridiculously tiny waist. 

Of course, Kinn has noticed that tapered waist before, in Porsche’s uniform, has dreamt about that waist every night for the past few weeks, about digging his fingers into it, leaving fingertip-shaped bruises as Porsche rides him into a mattress… 

Kinn’s heart is in his throat, pounding so hard he might pass out, when the Porsche of real life in front of him reaches down to curl his fingers in a fist around his own cock, a cock as pretty as the rest of him, emerging thick and heavy from a neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair. He’s… this can’t be real. Kinn blinks hard a few times, but it’s true. Porsche is—he’s touching himself.

Oh, Kinn wants to wreck him. 

Porsche moans so sweetly as he pleasures himself and Kinn wishes with everything in him that it was him, on his knees on those tiles in front of Porsche, taking him apart.

Kinn wonders what he’s thinking about, what gets him going. Porsche had put on that straight porn to watch with Tankhun, but it doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t have to mean that Porsche is only attracted to women. 

Porsche’s cock is flying through his fist so fast Kinn can barely keep up. Whatever Porsche is thinking about, it’s getting him there and fast. Kinn really hopes it’s not a woman, not a girlfriend somewhere out there that misses him, that he misses.

Kinn’s leaking precome into his underwear, his cock twitching with every gasp and sigh that falls from Porsche’s sinful lips. Kinn could pull himself out, stroke himself equally hard and fast and he’d probably come in ten seconds flat and Porsche would be none the wiser. 

With every strength and willpower he has left, he pulls himself away, away from Porsche, away from the hopeless, heartbreaking situation. Porsche is off-limits. 

When Kinn gets back to his rooms, he calls up the agency he regularly uses and asks them to send an escort, ASAP.

Chapter Text

Porsche has an obsession with Kinn’s fingers. 

He’s obsessed with the way they look, long and thick and as pale as the rest of him. Nails neatly trimmed and always clean, digits soft and uncalloused despite how often he’s throwing punches. 

Porsche is obsessed with the way Kinn’s fingers smell, of cigarettes and gunpowder and a hint of the ridiculously expensive lemongrass hand soap he uses.

He’s obsessed with the way they feel when they’re covered in lube and inside him, when Kinn works him open with one, and then two, and then three of them, when he crooks them, over and over, making Porsche see stars, and when Porsche thinks he’s reached the limit of what he’s able to endure, Kinn pulls them out and replaces them with his massive cock instead. 

Porsche is obsessed with the power Kinn’s fingers hold, when they’re pressed against the trigger of a gun or curled around someone’s throat, when he commands an entire detail of bodyguards with just a flick of them. Porsche is obsessed with the ring around Kinn’s index finger, a visual reminder of that very power. 

But most of all, Porsche is obsessed with the way it makes Kinn go absolutely feral when Porsche is sucking on them.

He’s on his knees on the floor, in the middle of Kinn’s living room. Kinn’s standing near the windows, on the phone, negotiating the terms of some business deal with an American hotel mogul, holding the phone close to his ear with one shaky hand, while Porsche licks and sucks at the fingers on his other hand. Kinn’s voice is still steady, he’s still able to form coherent sentences in near-perfect English, but his eyes… They hold promises and threats that make Porsche’s pants tighten.

When Porsche had crawled to him like a cat across the carpet, he’d seen those eyes widen and darken, hint of both a warning and a plea there - as if Kinn was communicating to Porsche, don’t disturb me while I’m working but also, oh fuck. 

Porsche moans around the fingers in his mouth, getting them nice and wet, reveling in the feeling of Kinn pressing down on his tongue. Porsche focuses on the index finger, fitting his teeth around the edge of the Theerapanyakul family ring and pulls, just slightly, letting it glide along the digit, all the way to the tip of the finger, before he uses his lips and tongue to slide it back down into place - reminding Kinn that whatever power he holds as the heir to Bangkok’s mafia empire becomes null and void when he’s in Porsche’s hands.

Porsche bobs his head a few more times around the index finger, letting it slide in and out, in and out, gazing up at Kinn to see his black orbs grow glassy and hazy, to see him swallow hard. 

Porsche sucks the middle finger into his mouth now, next to the index finger, swirls his tongue around them, in between them, deep-throating them until he gags, until tears spill from his eyes. He pulls off for a brief moment to catch his breath and when he dives back in, he opens his mouth wide to fit the ring finger inside too, the three fingers making the corners of his lips burn from the stretch. Porsche looks up to see that Kinn’s mouth has dropped open, his cheeks flushed crimson, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the remaining fingers on his hand curl around Porsche’s chin. Kinn’s humming disinterestedly in what Porsche assumes is all the right places in his conversation with the American, but it would appear that his thread is close to snapping. They’ve played this game before - it usually ends with Kinn putting whatever conversation he’s in to an abrupt halt, much to Korn’s increasing dismay.

Porsche’s eyes drop to the crotch right in front of him, to the impressive tenting of Kinn’s tailored suit pants. He can almost smell Kinn’s arousal, the heady, musky, masculine scent of his precome. Porsche whines low in his throat around the fingers in his mouth, gaze rising back up to meet Kinn’s. Kinn must see the blatant want on Porsche’s face, because he takes pity on him, and the next thing he says into his phone is, “Sir, I’ll have my people write up the paper work and send it to you. Sawasdee krub.” 

He hangs up and basically throws the phone across the room, his now free hand fisting around strands of Porsche’s hair, roughly, keeping his head in place. He’s fucking Porsche’s mouth with his fingers, groaning in frustration and desire every time he inserts them, as deep as they can go. 

“God, you’re so…” he mutters, voice low and hoarse, but he doesn’t finish his sentence and Porsche doesn’t need him to - he knows very well all the ways he’s so. Instead, Kinn lets go of Porsche’s hair and reaches down to pull himself out of his pants, jerking himself off fast and hard, and within seconds he’s coming with a strangled cry all over Porsche’s face and stretched lips and his own fingers, still fucking into Porsche’s mouth. Porsche licks up every drop of come from Kinn’s fingers, sucking at them eagerly until the very act pushes him over the edge too, until he’s spilling into his pants. 

Chapter Text

It feels like the world is tilting, like someone pulled the rug from beneath his feet, like the floor moved half an inch without telling anyone. It feels like his legs are made of noodles, and he snorts because how strange that would be. Noodle legs.

It’s like someone smeared Vaseline across his vision, and so he blinks and blinks. He tries to lift a hand to rub his temple but misses his face by inches. His limbs feel heavy and light at the same time, they feel like they’re not his own.

He’s naked save for his underwear. In a bathroom somewhere. And someone’s arms are around him, supporting him, picking him up when the floor melts away once more. There’s naked skin close to his face, warm skin. Pale skin. It’s—is that Kinn?

Someone makes a noise, like a groan, but it sounds far away, so far away. Like he’s underwater.

Then there’s cold glass pressed against his chest and the stars dance before him, swirling around in the vast black void and Porsche thinks he can jump, jump, fall, be caught by the stars and dance with them until he dies.

“So beautiful,” someone slurs but it sounds like his own voice.

And then there’s those arms again, very nice arms, but why are they holding him, why are they…

He lashes out - he knows he should feel fear or anger, but his emotions are wrapped in cotton, soft cotton and is that… is that Kinn? He looks… Why is he not wearing a shirt? God, he looks good. 

My type is nice. Not like you.

It is Kinn and Kinn is talking to him and Kinn is telling him that he’s not his type, which Porsche knows for a fact is a lie, because he remembers lips on his lips, and he remembers a pier, he remembers. 

His thoughts begin to leak and time turns into syrup and Kinn is saying something but his words are just bubbles popping in the air. And then a drowsy curtain falls and Porsche might be sleeping but then there’s lips, there’s lips, and then they’re gone.

I’m gonna show you the real thing, Porsche thinks he says, because he wants those lips and why did Kinn stop?

And then there’s hot breath and wet tongue and oh, a tug of something somewhere down low, low in his stomach, and then Kinn pulls away again. 

Porsche reaches out to touch black fabric and a shrill laugh bursts through him, because Kinn is hard, Kinn is tenting his pants, Kinn looks big, and he sounds angry and annoyed and confused, but he wants Porsche. Why is he denying it? Why is he fighting it?

So Porsche reminds him - of a pier, of ships and lips, and spirits and tongue, and dirt and desire. And something seems to snap and everything is blurry because suddenly Kinn’s face is close, so close, but his face is sliding around like oil on glass. And then there’s lips again, and tongue, and a strong hand at the nape of his neck.

Oh, but it feels good.

Porsche feels horny like he did when he first kissed a girl at 14 at a backyard birthday party for one of their classmates. The kind of horniness that comes with being disgustingly drunk and inexperienced and sloppy.

Porsche doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he wants… he wants Kinn. God, this is Kinn. 

And Kinn’s mouth is on his neck and his chest and around his nipples, and Kinn’s fingers are pulling his underwear off, and Kinn is moaning and sighing and panting and making all these sweet noises, and Porsche caresses the thick hairs at the back of his head because he’s precious, Kinn is precious.

And then there’s… oh god, oh fuck… Kinn’s fingers are in his mouth and Porsche sucks, he sucks and sucks, and then those fingers are… they’re… Porsche cries out, or someone cries out, maybe him and Kinn cry out at the same time, because those spit-slick fingers are circling where no one has gone before, and then they press inside and the slide burns but it feels good, fuck it hurts, but it feels good.

And Kinn is groaning, because he fucking loves this, and Porsche looks down and Kinn is fully naked now too, his cock surging from his body in search of Porsche. It’s hard as rock and big and glistening at the tip. It looks like it has a mind of its own, it looks like it’s weeping, like it’s begging. 

And then Kinn’s fingers are gone and he’s squeezing and kneading Porsche’s ass cheeks, kissing his neck, groaning against his clavicle, sighing Porsche's name like it’s something holy, like he cannot believe his luck. 

And then he’s turning Porsche around and there’s glass against Porsche’s chest again and the stars are still dancing and then there’s the blunt press of something big and hard and Kinn is moaning again and then he’s… he’s inside, and Porsche’s throat feels raw from the cry that tears from it.

He feels split in half, he feels like his heart is stuck in his throat, he feels like there’s no way Kinn can fit inside him.

But then Kinn entwines their fingers and pushes in further, further, past rings of impossibly tight muscle, carving a space for himself inside, like he’s always belonged in there and is just now finding his way home.

And so Kinn thrusts and thrusts and chants Porsche’s name like a mantra, like a prayer, and then he bites into the flesh of Porsche’s shoulder, and then there’s a hand on Porsche’s jaw, angling his face back so they can kiss and kiss, and it’s wet and filthy and Kinn is moaning, such a gorgeous sound, and Porsche feels like he’s levitating when there’s the flood of something warm and liquid deep inside him, somewhere only Kinn can reach. 

And then he’s being turned around again and Kinn is on his knees at his feet and Porsche looks down at him and Kinn looks like he’s about to cry, he looks like he’s worshipping at Porsche’s altar, his eyes glassy and grateful. And then he’s fitting his mouth around Porsche’s cock, and he’s sucking and licking and kissing and gagging, and Porsche’s brain goes liquid, thick like molasses, as Kinn sucks it right out of him.

And then, darkness.

Chapter Text

The hunger is always there. Loud like the beat of a drum, thrumming in his veins. The hunger for sex, the hunger for blood. The hunger for that one new bodyguard who’s actively working to make his life harder.

So it’s full of frustration that Kinn drains another escort to the brink of death, his cock pulsating deep inside him as he sucks and comes and imagines that the boy is Porsche instead.

Afterwards, he gives the boy a chocolate bar and an iced tea and watches him drink and eat slowly, slowly like a frail bird, as life comes back into his eyes and come leaks from between his legs.

When he summons Porsche to take the escort home, Porsche seems bored and indifferent and annoyed with having been disturbed. Kinn wonders what else Porsche was up to this late at night - watching series with Khun or smoking cigarettes or working out with Arm or texting some girlfriend.

Porsche’s hands are in his pockets and there’s a confident swagger in his step as he approaches Kinn in the dimly lit hallway at the top floor of the Theerapanyakul compound. He looks so fucking good in his uniform and Kinn wants to devour him, wants to sink his teeth into his neck and his cock into his body.

He comes to a stop in front of Kinn and lets his eyes roam all over him, taking in his appearance with raised eyebrows. Kinn knows he looks good too, in his blood-red silk robe open to expose his well-toned chest and stomach, matching pants hung low on his hips, cheeks flushed crimson from the boy’s sweet blood in his veins.

“Is the boy still alive?” Porsche asks with a snort. It sends a jolt through Kinn, just briefly, and then he steadies himself, because Porsche doesn’t know what Kinn is, or what Khun and Kim and Korn are. He doesn’t know that the Theerapanyakul family that he works for have existed for hundreds of years, that they need the blood of humans to survive. All he knows is that Kinn fucks his escorts hard for hours, a new one almost every night, until they can hardly walk or talk, until they’re so dazed out Porsche can do nothing but throw them into the backseat of a car and drive them home. And that’s all he needs to know. The contract they signed stated that all debts would be cleared for Porsche and Chay, if Porsche came to work for the mysterious family on a don’t ask-basis. And so Porsche doesn’t ask - he doesn’t ask why they only make him work night shifts or why he’s never seen a Theerapanyakul during the day time or why Kinn’s finger nails are long and sharp like claws.

He must think they’re eccentric as hell. Kinn doesn’t have a chance with him, he realizes with a heavy heart. Unless he takes him, but where’s the fun in that?

“He’s fine,” Kinn replies flippantly. The boy appears behind him then, eyes glassy and unseeing. Porsche frowns, and he actually looks worried for the boy.

“Fucking hell, Kinn,” he says, admonishingly. He wraps an arm around the pale, bruised boy and sends Kinn one last furious glance before the two of them disappear into the elevator.

Several weeks pass of Porsche driving Kinn’s escorts home, of Porsche accompanying Kinn at product launches and diamond auctions, of Porsche tempting him with his honey scent and his blinding smile and his bratty humor and his gorgeous body.

He’s on his sofa one night when Porsche enters with a tray with a tiny cup of espresso on it. He looks proud as he sets the tray down on the low table in front of Kinn. 

“I’ve finally mastered the diabolical machinery,” he beams.

“I don’t drink… “ Kinn clears his throat. “… coffee.”

“Oh!” Porsche’s face falls, disappointment painted across his beautiful features. Kinn wants to kiss the frown between his eyebrows away. 

Porsche reaches down to take the cup from the tray. He lifts it to his mouth, his sensual mouth, and gulps it. “You’re missing out. I could become a barista with these skills.”

“I’m sure,” Kinn says, amused.

Porsche flops down onto the couch next to Kinn, one arm wrapped around the back of the couch, legs swinging up to rest on the coffee table, as if that coffee table isn’t worth thousands of baht, as if he and Kinn are casual acquaintances, and not employer and employee. It makes Kinn wild with rage and desire and hunger.

“No escort tonight?” Porsche asks, and Kinn notices then that there’s a pink flush staining Porsche’s cheekbones and the tips of his ears. Is he—is he drunk? 

Kinn turns his body on the couch to face Porsche, curious now with this change in topic. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s what you usually do when you don’t have any big events. You’re a bit of a slut, aren’t you?”

Kinn is too stunned to speak for a moment. Then he scoffs, “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Porsche says, and why does it sound a bit like he's flirting? Kinn doesn't get a chance to think too hard on where that delicious mouth has been before, because Porsche leans in and whispers, like it's a secret, “I know what you are, by the way.”

Kinn’s head snaps up to meet Porsche’s dark gaze. All alarm bells go off. If Porsche knows, then Kinn has to… He has to kill him. Korn’s direct orders, not to be defied for any reason. No human can know what they are. 

Kinn schools his features, gritting his teeth as he asks, “What am I?”

Porsche leans closer, and yes, there’s definitely alcohol on his breath beneath the coffee. Kinn doesn’t even have the energy to chastise him for drinking on the job, nor the desire, because Porsche’s eyes are dropping to his lips, just for a fraction of a second, but it's definitely there - no movement gets past Kinn’s heightened senses. And all he can think about is that the next word that will fall from Porsche’s lips is vampire and Kinn will have to rip out his throat. What a waste. 

And then Porsche whispers, “You’re a sadist. That’s what you’re doing to those boys, isn’t it? You’re beating them up, aren’t you? You get off on it?”

That’s—unexpected. Kinn swallows hard, works the muscle in his jaw for a bit before he sighs and says, “I never hit them, Porsche.”

“Then what do you do to make them act like that? Like they’re on another planet?”

“They’re escorts, Porsche. What do you think I do to them?” 

“I think…” Porsche begins, his voice dropping lower. “… you should pick on someone your own size.”

Oh. Oh. Interesting. “Do you now?” Kinn says hoarsely.

And then Porsche crawls across the couch to close to the space between them and Kinn thinks he might be dreaming if it wasn’t for the fact that all the days he’s spent in his coffin for the past 452 years have been dreamless.

Porsche lifts one knee across Kinn’s hips and then he’s straddling him and Kinn’s hands immediately go to Porsche’s waist, that tiny waist, and squeezes. 

“Show me what you do to those boys, Kinn,” Porsche leans down and begs into his ear, and fuck, that’s—something.

And then there’s the press of lips on Kinn’s jaw and his cheek and his chin and before their mouths have even met, Kinn is hard and aching in his pants. 

The kiss, when it finally lands, is full of hunger, tongues dancing, lips sliding wet and loud, hands roaming. Porsche is rolling his hips, rubbing their clothed erections together, and when Kinn feels his fangs descend in arousal, he pulls away, panting. 

He works the buttons open on Porsche’s waistcoat but loses his patience with the crisp white button-up underneath. He tears the fabric apart, his long nails leaving angry red streaks on Porsche’s chest in their wake. Porsche, drunk and horny and delirious, cries out and tilts his head back, exposing his long neck, and fuck, Kinn is only so strong. He dives in and sinks his teeth into that beautiful throat and moans loudly when a thick spray of Porsche’s honey-sweet blood floods his mouth.

He sucks for a few moments until Porsche whimpers above him. It takes almost all of his willpower to pull off but he does, nicking his own finger to let his blood heal the pinprick marks on Porsche’s throat. He then manhandles Porsche into all fours on the couch and pulls his pants and underwear and socks and shoes off him, and when he finally has Porsche spread out and naked beneath him, he feels about ready to step into the sun because this is it. It will never get better than this.

“Kinn…” Porsche moans into the cushions. “What are you?” 

“Yours, baby,” Kinn says, and sinks his fangs into Porsche’s ass cheek. The blood bursts forth, thick and sweet, and Kinn’s cock gets impossibly harder at the taste, but he only drinks for a moment. He then uses his fangs to rip off the sharp nails on the fingers of his right hand before dipping those fingers in the blood that flows steadily from Porsche’s plump flesh.

With blood-slick fingers, he works Porsche open until he can’t stand it anymore, until he needs to feel those snug walls clench around his cock. So he guides the head of his cock to Porsche’s bloody hole and pushes in, groaning as Porsche’s body welcomes him, sucking him into its tight heat.

“Porsche,” Kinn gasps and splays a hand across Porsche’s chest to lift his upper body up, pressing his back to Kinn’s chest. 

“You feel so good,” Porsche keens. “I feel like I’m floating,” he adds drunkenly, because they are. When Kinn’s nearing his climax, he typically levitates, bringing his partners with him into his high. And so he fucks up into Porsche, punching moans and groans out of him, and then he sinks his teeth back into that beautiful neck again and sucks and fucks and then he comes with a stifled cry.

Chapter Text

“Are you here to kill me?” Porsche asks, warily and a little tediously, as if he’s bored to death. He watches closely as Kinn descends the stairs, his eyes dark and blazing with a combination of hope and fury.

Kinn huffs out a laugh. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“What the fuck are you doing, Kinn?” Porsche slowly rises to his feet, his cuffed hands closed into fists. “Is that question too stupid for you?” 

Kinn places his hands on his hips, soaking in the sight of Porsche, so devastatingly handsome even after hours in a cell. “Why were you spying on Tawan?”

“‘Don’t ask stupid questions,’ he says, and then proceeds to ask the stupidest fucking question of them all!” Porsche bellows and reaches up with his cuffed hands to ruffle his own hair in exasperation. When he looks back at Kinn, it’s with an incredulous grin. “Because he’s a fucking snake, and you hired me to protect you, so I’m protecting you.” He’s quiet for a beat. Then his features soften as he adds in a low voice, “Kinn, you have to believe me.”

Kinn works the muscles in his jaw for a few moments, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. All he wants is to reach out, undo the lock and take Porsche into his arms, but what comes out of his mouth is an almost robotic echo of his father’s words, drilled into him from an early age, “I have to set an example.”

Porsche scoffs, disbelieving. “Fuck your example, Kinn. And fuck you.”

“Porsche…” Kinn whispers, his voice breaking. “Baby—“

Porsche spits on the ground in his cell. “Don’t fucking call me baby, or I swear I will break through these bars and choke you to death. Tawan is deceiving you, and you’re either too dumb to see it, or you’re unwilling to see it because you still…”

Porsche is quiet for a long moment. Kinn lifts his chin defiantly, almost as if in a challenge, prompting Porsche to go on, “Because I still what?”

“Because you still love him,” Porsche mutters, deflated.

Kinn’s reply comes promptly. “I don’t.”

Porsche scoffs. “You expect me to believe you? I’m in cuffs, down in this moldy basement, while he’s walking around upstairs drinking fucking warm milk and putting his slimy hands on you.” He casts his eyes around the darkened enclosure of his cell as if to emphasize his point. His gaze lands back on Kinn’s accusingly, “I gave you everything that I have. I opened my legs for you, I let you into my body, into my heart, into my soul. My life is yours. And at the first sight of your ex-boyfriend, you toss me aside?” 

“It’s not like that, and you know it,” Kinn growls, frustration seeping into his veins now, the dull throb of anger pulsing in his temple.

“Then let me out. If it’s not like that, then put him down here. Let me out. Kinn, please.” Porsche takes a step closer to the bars and wraps his fingers around the iron, his gaze softening.

“I can’t, and you know that, too,” Kinn says, pained.

“You are pathetic,” Porsche hisses. “You are beneath your father’s heel. You don’t have any real power. You’re just a scared little insecure boy playing with guns.”

Kinn draws in a tremulous breath. “Porsche,” he warns.

“Are you fucking Tawan?” Porsche continues, seemingly unfazed. His gun is loaded and the bullets are flying, hitting Kinn’s chest, one after the other. “Is he back in your bed? Was I just an intermission clown?”

Kinn’s jaw drops. It takes him a minute to wrap his head around the absurdity of what Porsche is asking him. “No, of course not,” he finally says dumbly, his voice hoarse.

Porsche laughs for a moment, a little maniacally. He then grows very solemn, whispering underneath his breath, almost as if he’s talking to himself only, “I knew you were gonna break my heart.” He looks up and meets Kinn’s gaze, his eyes red and glassy with unshed tears. His voice cracks as he adds, a little louder, “I never should’ve fallen in love with you.”

A shudder goes through Kinn as Porsche’s words land, so similar to what he’d told Kinn beneath the green bathroom lights the night they’d finally gotten together for real, the night Kinn had been so filled with joy he could’ve wept. 

“Don’t say that,” Kinn sighs and steps closer to the bars. He reaches out and closes his hand around Porsche’s on top of the iron. Porsche’s fingers twitch but he doesn’t remove his hand, which sends a spark of hope through Kinn. “I promise you. I believe you. I just need to figure out what Tawan’s planning to do, and I don’t want you in the line of fire. You’ll be safer down here. Please tell me you’ll forgive me,” he pleads.

Porsche is shaking his head slowly, his mind in a trance of his own hurt. “All those times you were inside of me…” he mutters, enunciating each word carefully. “… whispering into my ear, making me scream, making me come, making me believe that you…” 

“That I what, Porsche?”

“That you love me.”

Kinn can’t say those words yet, he can’t. It would be a complete loss of control to admit it, to say it out loud. It doesn’t feel safe. But the feelings that he cannot yet articulate are there. God, they’re there. But it’s too dangerous. It’ll put Porsche at risk, to openly love him.

Instead, Kinn steps so close to the bars that his chest is pressed against them. He leans his forehead against the cold iron, his eyelids fluttering closed as he inhales deeply, trying to catch Porsche’s scent, that heady mix of his sweat and his vanilla shampoo and something so uniquely Porsche, the scent he emits when Kinn is fucking into him, head buried in his neck.

“With the way that I fuck you… you’re telling me you really don’t know how I feel about you?”

“I don’t know,” Porsche says, his voice a little rougher now with Kinn so close. “I don’t know how you used to fuck your boys. How you’re now fucking Tawan again—“ 

“Shut the fuck up, Porsche,” Kinn growls and at the speed of light reaches through the bars and fists Porsche’s t-shirt, pulling him closer and smashing their lips together. The bars press into his cheekbones, creating an infuriating and immovable barrier, but Kinn can still reach Porsche’s mouth with his, he can still pry it open with his tongue, he can still swallow every whimper and gasp that falls from Porsche’s lips.

When Kinn breaks the kiss to catch his breath, he pants against Porsche’s mouth, releasing a high-pitched and pathetic and entirely inadequate, “I’m sorry.”

Porsche reaches up with his cuffed hands and, although with some difficulty, gets a handful of Kinn’s hair through the bars. He yanks hard, hard enough to make Kinn whine, and then he leans even closer to whisper cruelly, “Show me how sorry you are.”

He forcefully pushes Kinn to his knees on the other side of the bars, and Kinn goes willingly, gratefully, moaning as he comes face to face with the bulge in Porsche’s pants. 

“Open them,” Porsche demands. 

Kinn reaches through the bar with trembling fingers, arousal tingling down his spine and settling low and hot in his gut. He’s hard, too, but this is about Porsche, about showing Porsche the extent of his remorse.

He gets the button undone and slides the zipper down, wincing as Porsche tugs on his hair again. “Faster,” Porsche growls. “Make me come, and when I do, you have to swallow everything I give you.”

“Yes,” Kinn whimpers brokenly. “Please.” Porsche is furious, and Kinn is not ashamed to admit how desperately it turns him on. He exhales shakily as he jerks Porsche’s fly open, reaching further through the bars to grab at Porsche’s ass and pull him closer. He mouths wetly over Porsche’s cock through the material of his underwear, soaking the white cotton with spit. Cold iron presses against his cheeks, no doubt leaving dents in his skin.

He tugs at Porsche’s underwear until his cock springs free, hard as rock and deliciously wet at the tip. It pokes through the bars, begging for Kinn’s attention. Porsche presses his hips closer to the iron, bringing his cock just that bit closer to Kinn’s mouth.

Maintaining eye contact, Kinn closes his mouth around the tip of Porsche’s cock, and the loud groan Porsche lets out sends a spurt of precome into Kinn’s own underwear. 

“Fuck,” Porsche hisses, immediately bucking his hips, seeking more and more. Kinn sucks and sucks and sucks, head bobbing as he takes the top half of Porsche’s cock, the only part he can reach, into his mouth over and over. He flattens his tongue along the shaft and swirls it around the head a few times, dipping into the slit, tasting the bitter pearly drops that spill from there.

Porsche twists his fingers around the hair at the back of Kinn’s head, sobbing as he comes, suddenly and violently, emptying into Kinn’s mouth. He utters a throaty, satisfied little hum, twitching and dribbling at the back of Kinn’s throat. Kinn, dutifully, swallows every last drop. 

*

When Porsche hears footsteps coming down the stairs again, his heart soars in his chest. Kinn has finally come to his senses, Kinn is finally here to let him out.

He leaps to his feet, elated and so fucking in love.

“I knew you’d…”

But the person who now stands before him is not Kinn.

“Run away with me, Porsche,” Vegas says.

And with a broken heart, Porsche does.