Archive of Our Own

Kinn's entire life was violence personified. His family had given it a voice, a closed fist, a gun. And now they'd given that same life to Porsche, and to all the other bodyguards. They would never know anything different until the day they each died.

Porsche knew that it wasn't his fault to have moments of panic, he had been forced here by the sheer will of the universe, and all he could do was try his best to take it. But that didn't make reality any easier to accept.

It was one of the reasons why he found himself sat alone on a kitchen counter at 4 o'clock in the morning, hands gripping the almost-empty bottle of stolen vodka in his lap. The bottom of it dug into his leg, the hand that held it there so tense it shook. He wasn't quite aware of himself enough to know if he was drunk or not. Drowning his sorrows with alcohol had never been his go-to coping mechanism, so he wasn't sure how he'd fair once he actually found the energy to get up and return to his room.

Pete had still been sleeping when he'd left, curled onto his side, one hand between his legs- not unlike the way Che tended to lay when he slept. Porsche had been trying not to notice any of the similarities his little brother and new roommate seemed to share, but tonight it had been suddenly impossible. They had the same organised clumsiness, the same easily diminished over-confidence, the same awkward grin, the same aggravating positivity. It scarcely mattered that where Pete's hands held guns, Che's held pencils. It still hurt to be reminded of his brother when he knew he couldn't just go and actually see him.

Porsche brought the bottle to his mouth again and knocked back another shot's worth, screwing his face up as if it might diminish the burn of too-strong liquor. He'd decided to go straight back for another swig when there was a sudden nose to his right and his head shot up, eyes searching the room for its cause.

Apparently though, sudden movements are morally incorrect when you've had too much to drink, and absolutely punishable by death, because the room span away from him so suddenly it was all he could do to not face plant off the counter. The bottle slipped from his grasp as his hand searched wildly for something to grab onto, and distantly he heard it smash against the tiled floor, now an ever-moving mosaic of black and white lines stretching endlessly away from him.

Where his feet hung in open air, he felt a thousand metres away from any solid ground, and when his desperate hand found the firm shoulder of a man he did not know, he clung to it as if it was the only thing preventing him from falling from a great height.

The stranger's hands were quickly at his waist and around his arm, trying to manhandle him further back onto the counter top. He achieved but only barely, and Porsche's hold on his shirt didn't lessen for even a moment, fingers digging into the muscle beneath the material.

"What in the actual fuck are you doing?" The stranger hissed, except he wasn't actually a stranger. He was Kinn. Fucking Kinn.

Porsche released his grip on his shoulder as if he'd been burnt by the fabric, trying to jerk backwards despite having absolutely no where else to go. His head slammed into the corner of a metal shelf and all thoughts of escape momentarily left him.

"Jesus christ Porsche," Kinn huffed, and he sounded really quite frustrated, as if a part of him actually gave a shit. He reached a large hand up to inspect the side of Porsche's aching head, leaning further over him as he did so and consequently caging him in even more. Having Kinn's fingers in his hair did nothing to quell the anxiety that was burning through him at an alarming pace, his heart hammering so loudly he was shocked Kinn couldn't hear it. Mustering up his energy he managed a relatively coordinated shove at Kinn's chest, successfully pushing him out of his immediate personal space.

Unfortunately, despite the fact that bollocking his head on a shelf had served to momentarily sober him up, all it was actually good for was allowing him to better distinguish Kinn's infuriated face through his drunken haze. When Kinn opened his mouth, likely to shout at him or berate him for being an idiot, Porsche held up a shaking hand: a silent beg for him to just not speak at all.

Lowering his head, Porsche rubbed his face roughly, letting his fingernails scratch lines into the skin of his forehead and cheeks. As he sat there at a complete loss for what to say or do, Kinn remained surprisingly quiet. When Porsche risked a glance up at him, he saw that Kinn looked, for once, uncomfortable in his own skin. It was as if he had come across a rare situation where he really wasn't sure how best to respond, and had Porsche not still been off his head, he may have even found it amusing.

Finally though, Kinn's patience wore thin, and it was with a strained voice that he broke the silence. "Going to tell me what the hell you're doing?"

He didn't say it loudly, and in fact, to Porsche his voice sounded rather far away, as if he was hearing it through a wall of water. Had they not been so close to each other he likely wouldn't have been able to make the words out at all.

Sucking in a shaking breath, Porsche broke into a lazy grin, knocking his knee against Kinn's hip lightly, as if he could fool this man into thinking that it was all just a joke. "Just, drinkin'," he muttered, avoiding Kinn's stern gaze. Distantly, he felt some sort of deja vu, as if something similar to this had occurred between them before. If it had, he must have been too drunk to remember it.

Kinn raised one eyebrow and where it should've suggested he was entertained, he was clearly anything but, and Porsche didn't miss the way his arms were perfectly straight at his sides. They weren't hanging there, he seemed to be fighting to keep them down, as if punching Porsche would be his preferred way for this interaction to progress. His hands weren't balled into fists though, as Porsche's were in his lap, and to the untrained eye he really did appear calm. Even when he spoke again, his voice gave little away. "It seems that everything you do, you do to piss me off and humiliate me. I have never met another man so childish in all my life."

Porsche met his stare at last, and where he'd hoped to feel anger, he felt only a familiar sorrow. No upset shook his voice as he spoke however. "You don't know anything." He said, his tone monotonous, as though the alcohol inside of him was acting as a pressure gauge for his emotions. A part of him wished he was sober enough to articulate himself better, because he really wanted Kinn to understand. He wanted Kinn to realise that the world didn't revolve around him, that some things in life didn't have anything to do with him at all.

Porsche was one of those things- he should've been. He'd been happy with his life. It had been hard and lonely and a fight, but he'd had Che and he'd had himself. He'd since lost both, so quickly he wasn't even sure he'd realised until now quite how alone he actually felt. There was a bitter grief for the unfairness of it all, and the anger over his uncle's selfishness was like a consistent wash of ice inside of him. If Porsche had done more- if Porsche had simply tried harder- things would've been so different.

Kinn snatched at his wrist, tearing him from his thoughts. He'd likely been speaking, but if he had, then Porsche had missed every word.

Kinn's hand was burning hot, and when Kinn jerked his arm up between them both, he just let it happen. Kinn gave his wrist a tight squeeze, setting his jaw, both eyebrows raised. He seemed so suddenly angry, Porsche felt at a loss. "I'm not sure what game you think you're playing, but this is real life, and this sort of behaviour is unacceptable."

Porsche knew he looked exasperated. He could feel the downturn of his own expression, his grin now long gone, the alcohol fighting with that pressure gauge. "Real life? You think I don't know that this is real life?" He laughed, though there was no humour in his tone. "You think I dont know?"

Kinn glared at him, reflexively tightening his grip on Porsche as if he thought he might somehow move away. Porsche dug the fingers of his free hand into his trousers, bunching up the material. "You're such an arse. So fucking entitled," he spat, and blood seemed to roar in his ears.

There was a single moment where both of them were completely still, harmonised only in their absolute contempt for one another.

And then Kinn slapped him.

Porsches head jerked sideways, cheek stinging. The slap was about as hard as the one delivered by Kinn in front of the minor family, but it hurt more because the most sober parts of Porsche knew that this one was real.

He felt frozen. His eyes were wide, lips apart, the breath caught in his throat. To make matters worse, he found himself beginning to slip down and off the shiny surface of the countertop, and he threw a desperate arm at Kinn to stop himself as his back dug into the metal. His hand caught at the front of his boss' shirt, expecting to be thrown off, but Kinn let him, using his own body to pin Porsche against the edge of the counter, Porsche's socked toes scraping the floor as he attempted to find some extra stability.

Given their close proximity, Porsche felt as though he couldn't breathe at all. Kinn on the other hand, was releasing haggard breath after haggard breath, his hard chest pressed into Porsche's, his ear a shiver from Porsche's cheek. Sucking in air through his teeth and closing his eyes against the dizziness brought on by both the alcohol and the slap, Porsche lent his forehead down on Kinn's shoulder, if only to stop the world from spinning. It practically rendered their position an 'embrace' but Porsche had never known anything of the sort to feel so uncomfortable in all his life. "You're an arse, a complete arse," he muttered, as if insulting his boss for a second time in just a few minutes would help anything at all.

Said boss was stiff against him, the hand that wasn't still wrapped around Porsche's wrist palmed against the counter top, his thumb resting lightly against Porsche's hip and the younger man felt the touch like a burn.

"Stop being a brat or I'll knock you so far into next week you won't even remember how you got there."

The way Kinn spoke was strange, as if he'd intended that the threat be an empty one. But still, it managed to set the hairs on Porsche's neck to attention and he felt his breath hitch. He wasn't quite sure why he was reacting so strangely. Kinn had threatened him more times than he could count. He considered that it might be because he was still so drunk, but then again, there was something different about Kinn tonight. Porsche hadn't known him like this before. Everything he did felt abnormal and bizarre, no matter how conditioned Porsche had become to his abrupt changes in mood.

Which was probably why, when Kinn suddenly released Porsche's wrist and began wrapping his arms around him instead, holding him impossibly closer, Porsche was almost prepared. Almost.

One of Kinn's hands found the back of his aching head, fingers sifting through his hair with a tenderness so profound Porsche couldn't bring himself to pull away. The other hand strummed along the edge of his shoulder blade, thumb outlining where the bone jutted out beneath lean muscle. Porsche swallowed thickly, still fighting off the dizziness from slamming his head into a shelf and then getting hit in the face. He felt so unreal he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't hallucinating. "Talk about mixed signals," he breathed out, trying for sarcasm and failing miserably.

Kinn said nothing for a long moment, holding him in silence. His whole body was almost painfully warm, a heavy weight still pressing Porsche into the edge of the counter. Porsche wasn't sure whether Kinn wanted him to return the "hug", but the warmth and the pain and the alcohol was all very rapidly combining within him to leave him rather unable to do very much at all. He felt as though he'd lost all control over his own limbs, and he knew that if Kinn was to suddenly let go, his legs would struggle to keep him standing.

"I never know what to do with you," Kinn said, and his voice was so quiet Porsche almost missed the words. "I even gave you to my brother, but you're still always here. I can't seem to lose sight of you."

Porsche was blinking out black spots from his vision when he replied, his voice sounding alien even to him, as if someone else had spoken. "Do you want to?"

He knew Kinn spoke, but he was already too far gone to make any sense out of his words. He was halfway to unconsciousness when he realised that what he'd felt earlier hadn't been deja vu at all. He'd already collapsed drunkenly into Kinn once.

He was about to do it again.

Kinn was stood in the doorway to what Porsche could make out to be an en suite bathroom, perfectly framed in the soft light, the edges of his bare shoulders glowing gold.

Porsche swallowed, eyes darting around at the unfamiliar surroundings as he pushed himself up onto his side, propped on one elbow. There was definitely nothing in any of the PowerPoints he'd been shown during training that had told him what to do if he woke up, hungover, in the boss' bed.

After a brief period of silence in which Porsche did his best to gather his bearings, Kinn beckoned him with one long finger before turning and disappearing back into the bathroom. Porsche waited for a moment before slowly making his way off the bed and heading after him. He was careful to avoid his puddle of sick and even more careful to not fall over as the world titled around him. He still felt ill.

When he entered the bathroom, Kinn was rinsing off a flannel in a large and rather ornate sink. He glanced up at Porsche in the mirror and cocked his head to the side, indicating that Porsche sit himself down on the edge of the room's unnecessarily large bathtub.

Not in the mood to argue, and feeling rather like prey that had stumbled blindly into the predator's den, Porsche gave a slow nod and wandered over, trying to appear more confident than he felt as he perched himself on the tub's white rim, not taking his eyes off Kinn's relaxed back for even a moment.

He hadn't had the chance to see Kinn without a shirt on before, and the sight was a difficult thing to not admire. Of course, having fought with him multiple times, Porsche had felt that muscle first hand, but he was still surprised at how defined each one actually looked. It was almost a wonder that he needed bodyguards at all. Though truly, Porsche knew that muscle was really only half a solution. Even untrained, Porsche had outdone him on the boat, beaten in the end by a gun instead of a fist. If he was being completely honest, unless Kinn was the next Jackie Chan, he really had no hope against an assassin without help.

Kinn turned towards him then, armed only with the flannel. But for all his anxiety, it might as well have been the promise of another slap. Watching as Kinn approached, Porsche considered just how many bodyguards would've been stood outside in the bedroom had Porsche been almost anyone else. It was strange to be trusted by a man and a family like Kinn's, even if not completely. It was a very different kind of trust than the blind faith that Che had in him, it was almost a commodity.

Porsche watched intently as Kinn came closer, moving far slower than he usually did, each motion obvious and elaborate, as if he enjoyed the way Porsche's eyes followed him.

When Kinn was close enough that his legs grazed Porsche's knees, he paused, and his expression was so unreadable it was almost impressive. It was the sort of skill only someone in Kinn's business would ever really need to have: A poker face. Probably a game-changer in the bigger deals that Kinn dealt with on behalf of his family. It was Porsche's turn to try for an impassive expression however, when Kinn casually slotted one long leg between Porsche's knees and lent forwards with the flannel, half-straddling him. He began wiping away at the sweat on Porsche's forehead, ignoring the fact that his junior had practically ceased living.

All competent thoughts left him, and Porsche could only focus on the fact that Kinn Theerapanyakul the Kinn- the Kinn that hated his fucking arse, the Kinn who'd slapped him twice, who'd choked him into unconsciousness, who'd threatened him with a gun- that same fucking Kinn, was dabbing at his forehead with a damp flannel.

When he lifted wide eyes to Kinn's face, the other man smirked down at him and reality hit him so hard it quite literally stole the air from his lungs. He shoved Kinn away from him, regretting it almost instantly when he tumbled backwards and into the bathtub. Apparently the thud was loud enough to concern whichever bodyguard had been posted in the hallway outside because a second later the man called out to Kinn, asking whether he was alright whilst Porsche tried quickly to right himself. He rubbed at his sore back with one sweaty hand, scrambling to his feet, his other arm held out in front of him as if it could keep Kinn at bay.

Kinn calmly yelled back that he was fine, turning from the open bathroom door to Porsche again, resting one hand on his hip and yet again, raising one obnoxious eyebrow. "What are you doing?" He chided, and a playful mocking laced his tone.

Porsche took a half-step backwards, arm still hanging rather pointlessly in the air. "What are you doing?" He asked, sounding far less amused.

Kinn huffed, gesturing at the flannel with his chin. "Do sit down before you throw up again, you look paler than you did when you fainted earlier."

If Porsche could've seen his own face in that moment, he knew he would've felt an unending humiliation. He could literally feel his ears turning red and he suddenly stumbled slightly, despite having been stood still, and Kinn flinched as if preparing to have to catch him.

"I'm not- I don't- I won't even ask how I fucking got here," Porsche sighed, finally lowering his arm and slumping backwards onto the far wall of the bathtub before he could fall over again. He rubbed his hands up and down his calves in a way he had always found therapeutic. He felt beaten and embarrassed and upset and definitely hungover, but also sober enough now to understand just how weird the current situation was. "Stop fucking staring," he hissed, hating how hot his face felt with Kinn's gaze fixed on it.

Kinn held up his hands, the flannel still limp in his left one, and for some reason, Porsche suddenly considered asking him for the time. He had an excursion with Tankhun at 10am. Being late wasn't an option no matter how hungover he was, and though Kinn's bedroom had been dark, he knew that blackout blinds did wonders to annihilate bodyclocks.

Kinn seemed to read his mind, his frighteningly good intuition as prevalent as ever. "I took you off today's rota by the way, I thought it would be rather unacceptable to send someone who is so clearly ill, to do a job that his roommate is just as qualified for."

Porsche stared at him. "Pete is supposed to have today off," he spoke calmly but he didn't feel calm, he felt angry. "You should've woken me up earlier, or can I still go? I'm not ill, I only-"

"Threw up once?" Cut in Kinn, crossing his arms, and Porsche pointedly avoided staring at the way it seemed to bring out his collarbones. "You've only thrown up once so far. Do you even know how much you drank? There was more glass to clean up than alcohol."

Porsche vaguely remembered dropping the bottle that Kinn was referring to, but it seemed an age ago and vastly unimportant compared to what he deemed the unfair treatment of his roommate. He swallowed thickly and felt the ghostly taste of earliers bile in his throat. "But Pete-"

"Has already left," Kinn said firmly, and his eyes shimmered in the bathroom light.

Porsche felt his mouth fall open, whipping around to peel back at the edge of the thick sheeted blinds behind him- because it may have been morning but it surely couldn't have been past 10am. He was momentarily blinded by the bright but grey sky of the daylight outside, and he leant his head against the crook of his elbow, feeling quite ridiculously frustrated and defeated.

It was testament to how pissed off with himself he actually was that he ignored Kinn as the other man quietly climbed into the bathtub, perching on the far edge just opposite him. The bath itself was huge by ordinary standards, but Kinn's long legs still nudged at Porsche's feet without him having to stretch himself out. Glancing back towards him, Porsche hoped his expression conveyed how absolutely not in the mood he was for a lecture right now, but Kinn only smiled.

Kinn was almost always smiling, Porsche had noticed. There was the signature smirking, the "I'm literally in the Mafia and I'm gonna blow your fucking head off" smile, the shit-eating grin he always seemed to wear whenever Porsche did something stupid or embarrassing in front of him, and then there was this one: his most unfamiliar. It was pleasant and seemed perhaps more real than any of the others did, and if everything else wasn't already throwing Porsche for a loop, seeing that sort of smile on Kinn's face really was doing its best to send him off the deep end.

Porsche felt that he was decent at most kinds of intimacy. He was good at brotherly intimacy, friendly intimacy, sexual intimacy. But he didn't think he'd ever master the kind of intimacy he seemed to experience any time he found himself alone with Kinn. It was a whole different level of intense. Intense stares, intense words, intense everything. It wasn't that he couldn't hack it exactly, it was just that he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to yet. Kinn was a difficult man to understand, and Porsche had learnt to be afraid of people like that. In the end, they almost always take advantage of you.

He leant heavily against the blinds and the window behind them, scratching at his knee with his thumbnail, fighting off the urge to jig his leg up and down. The way Kinn was regarding him was not amused anymore, though nor was it angry or irritated. It was almost as if a hungover Porsche sitting on his bath was the most charming thing he'd ever seen.

Kinn braced himself with a hand on either side of his own legs, the index finger of his right hand absent-mindedly tapping the bath's smooth wall. He cocked his head ever so slightly and Porsche dug his thumb into his knee, feeling hot.

"I should go and clean my sick up," he said suddenly, though neither of them made any attempt to move. Porsche didn't overly want to spend the remainder of his hangover wiping his own vomit off the (thankfully) tiled floor of Kinn's bedroom, but he didn't know what else to say.

"Leave it. I'll have someone else take care of it," Kinn replied, and Porsche saw his opportunity to lighten the tense air between them.

"Can it be Big? You can even tell him it's mine if you'd like." His words came out perhaps slightly more rushed than they usually did, but the joke served its purpose. Kinn broke into an amused smile, leaning forward with an elbow on one knee, resting his chin on his hand.

"I don't think it'd be very funny explaining to my father why one of my bodyguards decided to murder his fellow."

Porsche felt the corners of his mouth turning up. Kinn very rarely made jokes, and even more rarely amused himself with any of Porsche's, it was quite pleasant that he finally was. "Well, it's good to know that you're also aware of Big's murderous intentions when it comes to me."

Kinn exhaled through his nose, the tiniest hint of a laugh, but Porsche would take it. The atmosphere in the room had become so much more bearable it was as if a weight had been literally lifted off his shoulders.

"I'm not sure Big wants to murder you so much as he wants you to make a fool out of yourself," Kinn pondered, motioning at Porsche with his flannel-hand. "If only he knew how often you actually manage to do so."

His tone held no hint of malice, and so Porsche pushed out his lips in mock-offense. "Wow okay Sir, dragging an ill person, I see how it is." 

"I thought you weren't ill," Kinn pointed out, smirking.

The way Kinn's expression suddenly hardened wiped the smile off his face like water dowsing a flame. "I'm honestly surprised that you didn't get alcohol poisoning considering."

Porsche swallowed hard for what felt like the fiftieth time since he'd entered the bathroom. Recognising that the jokes were over now, he opened his mouth to speak but Kinn got there first. "I know the adjustment is difficult for a lot of the new bodyguards, but very few of them seem to struggle as much as you. I know you didn't want to be here, but you are. Surely you understand that this isn't a game?"

Porsche bit the insides of his cheek hard enough to lay the ground work for future ulcers. He'd thought they were making progress, but as usual, Kinn remained unpredictable. "I wouldn't have gotten drunk had I thought it all a game, surely you understand that?" Porsche could feel the tension in his shoulders, wondering absently if Kinn could see it in the way he hunched in on himself.

"If this is about your brother-"

"It's about everything," Porsche interrupted, wanting to keep Che's name out of the conversation. "You ruined my entire life, after I saved yours."

Kinn sat with his elbows resting on his knees, his chin set. "Your uncle tried to ruin your life, I have given you ground to stand on. Where would you be without the money I'm paying you? Where would your brother be?"

Though he hated the truth of it all, Porsche wasn't bold enough to outright deny Kinn's words. Raising his eyebrows for a moment to indicate that yes, he knew Kinn was right, he tried to relax backwards into the blinds again, frowning down at his hands.

He heard shuffling as Kinn moved, but determinedly decided not to look up at him. It wasn't until Kinn was crouched directly in front of him, sat on one knee and resting his arm on his other bent leg, that he was left with little choice but to.

Kinn was practically enveloping his right leg, leaning on it rather lazily, as if no part of this interaction was strange at all. His fingers crept up to tap away at Porsche's thigh and the flannel was gone, discarded on the floor outside the tub. The silence between them was deafening, and if Kinn couldn't hear Porsche's heart thudding against his ribcage now, he might have to go and get his hearing checked, because Porsche felt like he was delivering his own private drum solo.

As Kinn leaned closer, Porsche pressed himself backwards as much as he could, ignoring the soreness of his back as it hit the solid surface behind him. Kinn followed him though, sitting up on his haunches and manoeuvring himself so that he was now perched between Porsche's shivering legs. There was something so absolutely fascinating about the way he moved, smiling and unabashed, that Porsche felt transfixed. The way Kinn's bare skin tinged gold in the bathroom light and the way his hair looked unkempt and soft where it always seemed so tidy and slick was sending all of Porsche's blood South. Kinn really was handsome.

As quickly as Porsche had come to the conclusion that he wanted to move away, he then decided that there were actually few places on the planet he'd rather be. It was a rather harrowing and eye-opening conclusion to come to if he was honest with himself, but something to note down nonetheless.

Before either of them could make another move however, a loud knock on the bedroom door tore the aching warmth from the room, and Porsche jumped about a foot in the air at the sudden noise. Kinn's head shot round as though he expected someone to barge directly in on them, the lines of his shoulders stiff. Porsche could imagine that even a shameless man like Kinn probably wouldn't enjoy being caught in between the legs of his newest bodyguard.

"Boss?" Came the same voice from earlier, and Porsche almost let out a sigh.

What a time to interrupt.

"Yes?" Kinn replied, his voice so steady that Porsche couldn't help but throw the back of his head a betrayed look because surely he'd been feeling at least half as fervent as Porsche had been?

"I've been told to ask if you wanted any lunch?"

Lunch? Fucking lunch? Kinn glanced back at Porsche as if to say "yes, I know. Lunchtime, you slept for that long, now shut up," but by the time Porsche thought to shoot him a glare, he'd already turned around again.

"I'll be alright, do send someone in to clean up the floor though, there was an incident."

Porsche might've punched him at that, but then he probably would've been the one having to clean the floor, so perhaps it was better for both parties that he restrained himself.

"Of course Boss, I'll send someone in in just a few minutes," the sound of the man's footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, receding away until Porsche couldn't hear them at all.

"Did he just you leave you unguarded?" Porsche asked, feigning concern as Kinn readjusted himself between his legs, fingers playing with the shirt at Porsche's waist.

"Well you're here are you not?" Kinn replied, smiling not unlike a Cheshire cat.

"Yeah well-"

"He knows you're here Porsche," Kinn grinned, and that grin very rapidly transformed into the most evil smirk Porsche had ever seen when he felt himself physically blanch, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. "Well someone had to help me get you here you idiot, you're not light," Kinn went on, and if looks could kill, Porsche would've already been shot for murdering the middle child of the Theerapanyakul family.

Kinn tapped him playfully on the cheek, and Porsche tried to throw his hand off, but Kinn was already standing up and moving away. When he saw what must've looked like a question in Porsche's eyes, he paused. "I'll only be gone a moment. But he clearly said "I'll send someone in in a few minutes", so unless you're an exhibitionist we'll have to hold fire."

A shaky breath forced its way out of Porsche and his entire body seemed to shake, suddenly cold. Kinn regarded him carefully for another moment, as if something about Porsche fascinated him in a way that he didn't understand. Then he turned, stepping out of the bath, the muscles on his back contracting as he bent to pick up the flannel, flinging it into the sink. Once he got to the door, he spared only the briefest of glances back at Porsche before pulling it shut behind him.

It wasn't until Ken said his name, asking if Kinn knew where he'd "disappeared to" that Porsche felt himself snap to attention. Whether or not Kinn decided to sell him out really would make or break the strangest few hours of his entire life. In fact, Kinn's words could mean absolute social suicide for him among the other bodyguards, or even-

"He's ill, no need to concern yourself over it."

The third voice, this one feminine, piped up, "All done sir, I'll be taking my leave now." And when Kinn told Ken to leave with her, announcing that they would discuss the final plans for that evening's dinner later on, Porsche felt all the tension leave his body.

For once, Kinn had chosen not to be an arse hole to him. He must've felt sorry for the slap.

A few seconds later, Kinn pushed open the bathroom door and leaned heavily against the doorframe, his hands in his trouser pockets. He looked Porsche up and down and then narrowed his eyes, considering something for a moment. Once he'd apparently decided on whatever it was that he'd been thinking about, he swung himself into the bathroom and brushed past Porsche to the sink, opening a cupboard beneath it and pulling out a still-packaged tooth brush.

Turning, simultaneously ripping plastic from cardboard, he jerked his chin, indicating that he wanted Porsche to come closer. Porsche made no objection, wandering over to him, feeling skittish.

Kinn rinsed the brush and then squeezed some toothpaste onto the bristles before handing it over to Porsche. "Now that we're not doing things quite in the heat of the moment, I'd rather you brush your teeth before we go any further. You did throw up earlier."

Porsche hoped he looked as indignant as he felt, snatching the brush from Kinn's hand and then using it to point at him, trying and failing to not look scandalised. "Brush your teeth as well then you twat, christ knows where your mouth's been," he scoffed, turning towards the mirror and dramatically sticking the brush into his mouth.

Kinn laughed at that, and Porsche tried not to choke on his toothpaste. "Alright," he smiled, his tone almost suggesting that being hygienic was an indulgence that Porsche had somehow earned.

The pair of them stood there for a couple of minutes, silent except for the sounds of bristles against teeth. Once Kinn spat into the sink, Porsche followed suite, and almost immediately he felt the heavy atmosphere from before weighing down his shoulders.

Kinn gently took his toothbrush from him and placed both of them into a fancy crystal vase just by the mirror. He leant heavily on his hands, each one flat on the surface of the sink basin, and looked up, catching Porsche's eyes in the reflection, sucking in his cheeks.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

"You tell me, in the next few seconds, If you want to leave. If you do, you go now," Kinn said, and his tone was firm, serious. Porsche felt a warmth in his stomach and ears, his breath hitching, the air caught in his throat. If he'd wanted to go, he would've had to do so silently, because he wasn't sure his brain could've formulated any words.

Kinn took his lack of a response for what it was, and turned around to face him, reaching forwards and pulling at Porsche's shirt. Porsche raised his shaking hands, fiddling with the first button, but Kinn quickly took over for him, swiftly leaving Porsche's front bare.

Sliding the shirt from his shoulders, Kinn threw it somewhere off to the side and in a second his large hands were all over Porsche's midsection, fingers gliding over each and every muscle and scar as though they'd never before touched another human being. It was a desperate sort of touch, but not careless, as though there was thought behind it, as though Kinn had been waiting to do this.

Porsche was stock still. It wasn't like him to await orders but this was uncharted territory. Not only had he never been with someone like Kinn before, he'd never even been with a man. He was flying blind.

Finally, after what felt like an age, Kinn realised that Porsche wasn't reciprocating his touches, and he looked up at him, concern evident on his face. He frowned and then, apparently throwing all caution to the wind, leant forwards and kissed him.

Immediately Porsche brought his hands up to Kinn's chest, scrambling for purchase as Kinn tugged him so close he found one wrist crushed between them. Kinn's mouth tasted very strongly of mint, and was as soft as his jaw was rough, despite looking relatively clean-shaven, and when Kinn bit down hard on his lip, Porsche's unlikely gasp was immediately swallowed by the other man's tongue.

Porsche scratched lines up Kinn's solid back as he began backing them up towards the door, his steady fingers all over Porsche's chest as his tongue swept around Porsche's mouth. It was a merciless kiss, the sort that left no room to breath, and Porsche was starting to struggle when they broke off momentarily as Kinn caught his shoulder on the doorframe, releasing a pained grunt. Apparently he was only clumsy when desire outweighed the need to be perfect.

Porsche huffed out a laugh at Kinn's pissed-off expression, immediately regretting it when Kinn looked back at him and raised one eyebrow. His eyes were hooded and the corners of his mouth were wet with both his and Porsche's saliva, his lips already redder from where Porsche had attempted to avenge where he'd been bitten.

"Something funny?" Kinn asked breathlessly, and Porsche felt all the remaining blood in his body rush so quickly to his nether regions he felt almost light-headed. His hands were cold and sweaty where they still hung around Kinn's back and neck, and he was finding it difficult not to reach down and adjust his trousers, where an uncomfortable tightness had assumed itself beneath the fabric.

"No," he replied, inwardly cringing at how high-pitched he sounded. This was no time to act like a terrified virgin.

Kinn just smirked again, and then dragged Porsche over to the bed as though he weighed little more than a doll, his hand moulded to the space just between Porsche's collarbone and neck as thought its only purpose in life was to settle itself there.

Well, Until Kinn shoved him down onto his back however, using that same hand to fumble with the belt buckle of Porsche's trousers as he clambered on top of him, one knee pressing up into Porsche's crotch, sending a shudder up his spine.

Leaning up on his elbows, and then using his decent abdominal strength to hold himself up, he began dragging the hem of Kinn's trousers- joggers, far easier to remove than the fancy suit bottoms Porsche was still wearing- down his hips with a desperation quite unknown to him.

Though, Whether it was because his hands were steadier or because he was simply more experienced in undressing other men, Kinn managed to undo Porsche's belt first, yanking his trousers down to his thighs and sending Porsche careening back into the mattress as he was pulled even further down the bed.

Not pausing for a moment, Kinn slid Porsche's trousers even further down and as his brain finally threw itself into gear again, Porsche did his best to help by kicking the material off his ankles, leaving himself bare on the bed apart from his boxers.

Kinn did stop then, one hand planted firmly in the bedding just to the left of Porsche's shoulder, his other brushing the waistband of Porsche's underwear, fingernails catching at the hem. His eyes caught a reflected spot of light and the pupils flashed silver, his stare almost fanatical. Finally, deciding that simply looking at Porsche was no longer enough, Kinn leant down, ignoring the fact that his own trousers were still a quarter way down his thighs as he pressed his mouth to Porsche's throat, almost as if he were about to bite at his Adams apple. Instead, he pressed a hard kiss there, before letting his tongue lick a stripe up towards Porsche's jaw.

Porsche could feel his heart in his throat, his hands in Kinn's hair, gripping at the soft strands as the son of the mafia finally slipped his hand into Porsche's boxers, forcing a very unfortunate pant out of his aching mouth.

Every part of Porsche ached as if he'd been in a fight that he'd lost horrendously. He groaned, and blinked his eyes open, first aware that his throat was sore and barren of saliva, his jaw aching. Groaning again, he moved to bring his legs up towards his chest, only to realise that his entire lower half was throbbing as if he was bruised black. It was a sudden and rather painful reminder of what he and Kinn had been doing before he'd fallen asleep.

His eyes snapped open and he winced, reaching a hand down to press it against the very bottom of his spine, where the noticeable ache seemed to be spreading both up his back and down his legs.

Shaking, he made the brave decision to try and sit up, rolling very slowly onto his back before pushing himself tenderly up against the headboard, his arms threatening to give out beneath him. Once he'd managed to get upright, he released the breath he'd been holding, blowing air out through gritted teeth, before making a quick sweep of the room.

The first thing he noticed was that it was still dark, the second being that it was also empty.

He hadn't realised quite how expensive everything looked when he'd woken up here the first time, too busy throwing up and having sex to take too much notice of the decor, but he saw now that it was really quite alright considering how extravagant rich people tended to be. Everything was a muted tone, all blacks and whites and greys.

Floor to ceiling black curtains hid away what must've been an entire wall of windows on the wall opposite the bathroom door, and Porsche suddenly wondered what time it was. For some reason, Kinn's interior design team had decided that a clock wasn't a necessary addition for his bedroom, and so in the darkness, Porsche had no idea for just how long he'd actually been asleep.

Begrudgingly, and more out of curiosity about whether Kinn had actually had to leave for his dinner party, or whether he'd abandoned Porsche of his own accord- than anything else, he very slowly slid out of the bed to find out for himself.

It was a very long and very painful journey to the curtains. All dignity had been left behind in the bed as Porsche dragged his feet across the cold floor, noticing that his and Kinn's clothes were nowhere to be seen. He himself was wearing a pair of boxers though, and judging by the luxury brand name on the waistband, they actually belonged to Kinn.

His ears felt inflamed at the thought of Kinn dressing him whilst he slept, even if it was only underwear. He remembered how warm the other man's hands had been as they'd embraced, a knot of human limbs and fingers in hair, tugging and desperate and passionate. He shivered, feeling strangely empty now, likely because he'd woken up alone- though he wasn't sure what more he could've been hoping for. Kinn slept with men frequently, Porsche was probably just another name on a very long list.

Finally reaching the curtain, he grabbed the edge of it and yanked it sideways, immediately blinding himself as he stared directly into the setting sun.

For obvious reasons, it was still light outside, although the sun was far too low in the sky to call it the afternoon. Trying to blink away the splotch of dull green imprinted onto his vision, he turned his back from the window and its view of Bangkok's sprawling cityscape, feeling rather despondent, the emptiness inside of him ever-growing. It was actually fear, he suddenly realised, but he wasn't sure why.

Before he could figure it out, the door to the bedroom swung open and Porsche momentarily froze. He was, of course, still standing almost naked in the boss' bedroom, and that would be a difficult situation to explain to anyone, even Pete. He was saved from such an uncomfortable fate however, when Kinn himself marched in, looking reasonably pissed off and with his maroon suit jacket folded over one arm, his white dress shirt absolutely covered in what looked like coffee. He was muttering to himself, clearly quite irate about something, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw Porsche standing stiffly by the window.

If Porsche was honest, it was quite nice to watch the way Kinn's entire being seemed to mellow as their eyes met. The stiffness in his shoulders melted away as if it had never even been, and the crease between his eyebrows reduced to nothing. He inclined his head- quite the ordinary greeting- but then smiled, which felt to Porsche rather like being shot whilst wearing a bullet-proof vest (something he'd been subjected to in training).

"I thought you'd still be asleep," Kinn said, his tone warm.

Porsche waved a hand towards the window at his back. "Well, I think I've fucked up my sleep schedule," he ran a hand through his rather lank hair, and must've made a face as he looked down at his now-greasy fingers because Kinn spoke up again.

"You can use the shower if you want, I did already put some clothes in the bathroom for you." 

"Why didn't you just wake me up?" Porsche asked, confused, because surely that would've been easier for Kinn. Porsche was 90% sure that a maid came into clean each boss' room whenever they departed the house. That meant that Kinn would've had to tell at least one person not to come into his bedroom, probably two if you considered the bodyguard stationed in Kinn's private quarters 24 hours a day as well.

Kinn looked as though Porsche's suggestion amused him. "You looked a right state. Cute, but a state- my fault I suppose- and contrary to your popular belief, I'm not evil."

Porsche tried to scoff but it got caught in his throat and he coughed violently instead. Rubbing a finger along his Adams apple, and pretending not to be embarrassed, he assumed an air of indifference. "Whatever you say boss, whatever you say."

Rolling his eyes, Kinn wandered over to a door just by the bed that Porsche had seen but not taken any notice of. When Kinn pushed it open, the light inside came on automatically, and he realised that it was a walk-in closet, because of course it was.

As Kinn re-emerged with a new white shirt over his arm, fingers already undoing the buttons of the ruined one he was still wearing, Porsche raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

Kinn snorted. "One of the newer hires, been here a couple of months longer than you. He came running round a corner like a mad-man, coffee in hand apparently meant for my father. As you can see-" he gestured dramatically at his front. "the coffee did not find its intended owner," he undid the final button, ripping the stained shirt from his skin and throwing it onto the bed before he began pulling the clean one on.

Porsche couldn't help but grin, admiring the way the natural light really brought out the definition of Kinn's abs. He folded his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, feeling the sudden absence of his pockets. "I so wish I'd been there to witness that."

Kinn shot him a stern look, but there was something in his eyes that suggested he was pleased to have gotten the chance to talk to Porsche before having to leave again. "Count yourself lucky I don't intend to force you from my humble abode," he sniffed, adjusting his white collar. "I'm sure having to shuffle back to your room sounds most unappealing."

Porsche stuck out his lower jaw, trying not to look too happy at Kinn's subtle way of saying "you can stay in my room until I get back".

"How long is the dinner?" He asked instead, studying the way Kinn's delicate fingers did up each individual pearl button, stopping about four from the top to leave a long triangle of skin exposed to the air.

"Hopefully not long- Enjoying the view Porsche?" Kinn teased when their eyes met and they both realised he'd been staring. Porsche bit the inside of his lip as Kinn folded his hands into his trouser pockets, shifting his weight onto one leg, ever a picture of confidence.

Porsche turned to look back out of the window, fingernails scratching at the skin of his hips. "I am enjoying the view," he replied, nodding as he brought his arms up to cross them tightly over his chest. "It's very nice."

He heard Kinn snort but didn't try to turn around until the other man was suddenly at his back, hands at his waist and his chin on Porsche's shoulder. Instantly Porsche was rigid against him, fighting off a would-be noise of pain as Kinn's hand snaked their way down to his arse. Even just the light touch of his palm enough to send a blinding ache up Porsche's lower back.