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~*~
"I should go," Porsche whispers. He'd fallen asleep for a few hours after they'd had sex, and now he's rousing, blinking at Kinn with those ridiculous come-hither eyes of his, and Kinn makes a distressed noise that's slightly embarrassing.
"No, stay," he whispers back and sidles up to him until their knees are knocking against one another. "We weren't done yet." He puts on what he hopes is an inviting expression that isn't too pathetic and slips an arm around Porsche's waist.
"We weren't?" Porsche asks, grinning, sleep no longer covering him like a shroud.
"Nope." Kinn leans in. He can't get enough of kissing Porsche, would be kissing Porsche all day if he could. They'd gone on their stealth date earlier and having the freedom to do as he pleased had been heady, addictive. Even after getting back to the compound, he couldn't stop touching Porsche, kissing Porsche, pulling him in as close as possible. They'd fucked twice after getting out of the pool—once in the shower and then right here, in bed, Porsche riding Kinn, looking incandescent and in love.
Porsche loves Kinn. He'd said as much, and Kinn had nearly whited out in response. He hasn't said it back yet. Porsche doesn't seem to have let that affect him, hasn't acted differently towards him at all. Maybe he doesn't even need to hear it. And Kinn—Kinn isn't entirely sure why he's keeping him waiting. It isn't as if he isn't madly fucking in love with him. This isn't college, this isn't Tawan. This is something else entirely—something maddening and huge and all-encompassing and so terrifying, Kinn thinks he'll burn himself if he gets too close. So he keeps himself away from that thought. But not from Porsche. He can't. He needs him the way the world needs sunlight and water and air. He's drawn a line in the sand that doesn't exactly make sense even to him, and Porsche has messed it up like an ocean breeze, a wave crashing against it. It's still there, though, the faintest outline of it. Kinn clings to it like a lifeline.
But right now, he doesn't want to think beyond his bed. He kisses Porsche until he's rolled him over onto his back, then climbs back over him, covers his body with his own. Porsche's skin is so warm to the touch. He gets overheated easily during sex, his body flushing, as though primed for it. Kinn breaks off the kiss and noses against Porsche's ear, flicks the lobe with his tongue. Porsche gasps, just like Kinn knew he would. Porsche is responsive, sensitive wherever Kinn touches him. He'd told him once, in the heat of the moment, that he'd never had anyone do to him what Kinn has done to him, never had anyone touch him the way Kinn touches him.
Kinn can hardly believe that, but then again, most of Porsche's experience seems to be from random hookups with women behind his bar, which would certainly be limiting in many ways.
Kinn wonders now if, before him, Porsche had ever had sex horizontally. Surely he must have, at least once.
But the way he reacts when they're fucking is a revelation to them both.
Kinn sits up, thighs framing Porsche's narrow hips and hard dick, and the covers slip down off of his shoulders, pooling behind him. He runs his nails down Porsche's chest, eliciting a gasp and a squirm from him, and leans down. He takes one nipple in his mouth and sucks, then bites lightly. Porsche moans, his body reacting in fascinating ways, a duality: wanting more but jerking away.
Kinn doesn't let him. He holds tight to Porsche's taut waist, digging his thumbs in and loving the supple give of his body, and licks and sucks on his nipple. Porsche tastes good, the sweat from the day washed away in their shower, a new layer forming from sex. He smells good, too, musky and turned on, like skin and want and himself. Kinn runs a hand down his chest once more, feeling the softness of his skin, unable to get enough of it.
"Kinn—Kinn, don't, I'm—it's so much—"
Kinn hums. He doesn't stop. He simply switches sides, attacking the other nipple with the same fervor, sucking on the small, tight bud, grazing it with his teeth, then biting down on this one, as well. Porsche lets out an ah sound, high and strung out. He's already sounding delirious and Kinn hasn't even gotten to his dick yet. He can't help grinning, feeling powerful, triumphant. He will give Porsche everything, anything, as long as Porsche will let him. And he will let him, Kinn knows.
A hand lands in his hair and tightens as Porsche hisses through his teeth at a particularly hard bite. "Kinn…" It sounds like a warning. Kinn has never been very good at heeding those.
Kinn pulls back slightly. A line of spit connects him to Porsche's chest. He looks up, his eyes barely focusing, he's so turned on. He doesn't say anything, simply waits for Porsche to. Porsche is watching him with equally glassy eyes, lip caught in his teeth, beautiful and flushed and his. "Kinn," he repeats, but there's no warning in it this time.
Kinn had a plan, but he can't help surging upwards and devouring Porsche in a kiss. Porsche moans against him, hips coming up to meet Kinn's, dick hot and hard. Porsche's hands are all over him—in his hair, sliding down his nape, then around his shoulders, on his ass, gripping him tight. Kinn's head spins just from the kiss alone, and he can feel his control slipping, parts of his plan falling down like dominoes. Porsche does this to him, makes him lose himself, lose his composure entirely. Even just a bit of attention from Porsche makes Kinn want to roll over onto his back and bare his belly and throat. Having Porsche in his bed feels as though it makes the world stop turning.
"Porsche," he whispers, breaking off the kiss. "Porsche." Sometime during the kiss he's started to move against Porsche, slick cocks sliding against one another, but it's too soon, that's not part of his plan, not yet. Feeling almost delirious, Kinn kisses his way down Porsche's neck, back to his chest, which already has marks left from Kinn's earlier ministrations. He will add more. He will make sure that anyone who happens to see Porsche without a shirt on will know he's taken. Know that he's Kinn's.
"Kinn, what the hell, you'll maul me," Porsche complains in a hot whisper. Kinn feels a grin lifting his lips. "I won't be able to look any of the guys in the eye if you keep going like that."
Kinn obviously doesn't stop. With Porsche's hand tight in his hair and Porsche's dick hard up against him, he knows what Porsche truly wants. He lowers his head back down to his nipple, licks it, then blows across it. It works and Porsche shivers beneath him, squirming. He does it again, and again, until Porsche is making continuous sounds low in his throat, trembling, the hand in Kinn's hair tightening its hold so much, it stings.
Kinn lowers himself more until he can run his tongue along the middle groove of Porsche's abs, the warm and salty dips and valleys of him. Porsche is trembling lightly beneath him, muscles jumping beneath Kinn's touch. Kinn runs his hands down Porsche's sides, squeezes, then fits his thumbs along the grooves of Porsche's hips and presses down. Porsche moans, hips straining to come up. His dick is so dark and flushed, already leaking. Kinn wants a taste so badly, but he doesn't want to go there, not yet. First, he wants Porsche entirely incoherent.
"Kinn, fuck, just blow me already," Porsche complains, sounding breathless. "I'm so hard for you, come on."
Kinn hums and lowers his head until he can run his tongue along the inviting groove of Porsche's hip, the cut of him irresistible. He bites down on the muscle there, sucks hard. Porsche cries out, dick smearing precome against Kinn's cheek.
"You fucking beast," Porsche says with a breathless laugh. "Fuck, seriously, you know Pete will clock this."
"Let him," Kinn says dreamily, then switches sides. He licks and bites his way down the other hip, allowing his tongue to explore. He lowers his head and licks a trail down Porsche's thigh, once again bypassing his dick, until he feels the hair begin, then he switches to kisses, open-mouthed and hot, lifting Porsche's thigh up and out so he can bite the inside of it, suck on the skin there. Porsche's voice goes even higher at that, shocked and breathless.
"Fuck—Kinn!"
Kinn does it again, higher, his nose nudging Porsche's tight balls. The skin there is so hot and tastes so good. He moans, gripping Porsche tight, then soothes the spot he's just bitten with his tongue. Porsche moans. Kinn switches thighs, marks the other one up where he sorely hopes Pete won't notice anything, because Kinn would have something to say about that. This spot is just for the two of them. He pictures Porsche jerking off later, tomorrow maybe, or the day after, and thinking about this very moment, the intimacy of Kinn's mouth right there, right at the most tender part of him.
"Are you gonna fuck me or what?" Porsche asks, voice breathless enough that he doesn't quite hit the demanding note he's clearly going for.
"Or what," Kinn says agreeably, then slides his hands beneath Porsche's ass and squeezes.
He loves Porsche's ass. Loves the feel of it, the soft, smooth give of it, the tender line of demarcation between it and his thighs, loves how easily Porsche gives it up to him. Kinn kneads it for a while, spreading his cheeks, knowing that Porsche is probably still open from earlier, maybe even still slick with lube. Kinn had cleaned him up after they'd fucked and he'd come inside him, but now he wants to fill him up again, mark him, claim him. Porsche makes him absolutely crazy, and right now, Kinn doesn't want to dig too deeply into why that's dangerous, why that's so fucking dangerous. He only wants to feel.
He pulls back until he's sitting up and, feeling drunk with desire, maneuvers Porsche onto his belly, flipping him over easily, somehow avoiding getting kicked around by Porsche's long legs. Porsche moans into the pillow and there he goes, lifting his ass minutely, asking for it. Kinn leans down, eyes fluttering closed, and gives his ass an open-mouthed kiss. He gets a little lost in it, extending his arms upwards and running his nails down Porsche's back, making him squirm. He sucks on the giving flesh of his ass, bites hard to bring all the blood up to the surface. He won't leave a speck of him clean; Porsche won't be free of him anywhere. All of him is and will be Kinn's. This ass belongs to Kinn now, as does this back, and thighs, and the man himself, the one who's taken over Kinn's consciousness as easily as breathing.
"Kinn, fuck, just get on with it—"
Kinn hums again, then licks up his cleft, Porsche gasping beneath him. There's a slightly bitter taste of lube left over, but underneath it is skin and musk and the intimate closeness of sex. Kinn spreads him with his thumbs and just looks at him for a moment. His dusky hole twitches around nothing, just begging Kinn to fill it. Kinn moans and dives in, tongue-first. He hasn't done this for Porsche, not yet. In fact, he hasn't done it for years, hasn't felt a particular need to. His sex life recently has largely consisted of railing person after person, quickly, efficiently, taking what he wants and giving very little of himself.
Porsche, goddamn him, is different. Kinn wants to take and to give, to bring him in and keep him close. He licks away the taste of lube as Porsche curses above him, and then he's left with the flavor of Porsche's skin, his hole still loose from earlier, easy enough to enter. He wiggles his tongue and Porsche cries out, his voice muffled against his arms. "Kinn, fuck, what are you—don't, that's so weird…"
Kinn pulls back and blows on his hole. Porsche's hips twitch violently at that. "Do you really want me to stop?" he asks curiously, having zero intention of doing it.
Porsche moans but doesn't respond. Kinn can feel a grin forming on his lips. He squeezes Porsche's hips.
"Well? Want me to stop?"
"No." It's a tight ejaculation, sounding almost torn from his throat.
"Good," Kinn says and dives back in. He licks and kisses Porsche, slides his tongue inside and wiggles it around before sliding it out and licking all around his rim, feeling every twitch of Porsche's as though it were his own.
He can't wait to slide his dick back inside him, feel how hot he is with his whole body.
Kinn moans, going faster, his tongue not yet tiring, jaw not yet beginning to ache. He could do this all night if he wanted to, take Porsche to the brink and refuse to let him fall, keep him on edge as long as he wants. Dreamily, Kinn wonders if Porsche can come from prostate stimulation alone—he's known a few men who could. He wants to find out. There's very little he doesn't want to do to Porsche, and for a moment, he suffers true paralysis of conflicting wants. He wants to continue eating him out and he wants to suck him off he wants to slide inside him and fuck him raw and breathless until Porsche is crying on his dick; he wants to hold him close and kiss him until the sun comes up. He wants, he wants, he wants.
Kinn squeezes his eyes shut and takes a moment to breathe. Then decisively, he sits back up, folds Porsche's legs up in a way that makes him raise his ass, and flips him back over. When he looks at Porsche's face, his eyes are glassy, unfocused, his cheeks stained with a flush, mouth bitten raw. He's so fucking beautiful, it hurts to look at him. When he realizes that Kinn is watching him, something of the brat comes back to him and he lifts his chin defiantly, catching his gaze. "Like what you see?"
Kinn lowers his face, not breaking Porsche's gaze, and flicks his belly button with his tongue. "Yes," he rasps, then, not wanting to lose the upper hand, takes Porsche's dick in hand and lowers his mouth onto it.
Porsche cries out, hips lifting up. "Fuck."
His dick is so warm, so velvety smooth. Kinn moans as he begins to suck him off. The taste of salt and skin blooms on his tongue and he laps it up. For all that he'd mocked Porsche for having a small dick back in the woods, he was just being a shit: Porsche's dick is hefty, thick and long, a good weight against his tongue. He stretches Kinn's lips with it. Kinn revels in it, opening up his throat and swallowing around him. Then he slides off, Porsche's mewl of disappointment music to his ears, and licks it all around, flicking the seam of the head with his tongue. He meets Porsche's blown gaze as he does it, wiggling his tongue a bit, licking up all the delicious saltiness of him.
"You're a sadist," Porsche says, the severity of the words hampered by the breathless tone.
Kinn grins and gives him another quick lick. Then he slides his eyes closed and licks him up and down, slowly, relishing everything about the feel of him. Kinn is so turned on, it's hard to see straight, but it's almost as if he's forgotten he's got a dick himself, he's so wrapped up in Porsche. His own needs have narrowed down to wanting to taste and to feel, he's not even desperate to fuck Porsche yet, even though his entire existence recently has become just being desperate to fuck Porsche all the fucking time.
Tonight, he will only feel sated once he's touched and tasted every single part of him. Doing it slowly and torturously to drive Porsche out of his mind is a delightful bonus.
"Kinn…fuck, just put it in your mouth already," Porsche grouses, voice hitching. Kinn gives him another slow lick, then sucks the head in, grazing it lightly with his teeth. Porsche kicks out, his moan high and whining. "Not like that!"
Kinn grins around his dick, then does it again. Porsche groans, and slaps a hand over his eyes, falling back against the pillows. Kinn runs his hands over his hips, up over his twitching abs, then down beneath his smooth, firm ass. He hikes him up and then swallows him almost all the way down, Porsche's dick pushing its way down his throat, forcing it open. Kinn's turn to moan. He squeezes Porsche's ass, his nails digging into the flesh, and begins to suck him off in earnest, pulling almost all the way off, then going back down. Porsche's gasping is continuous now, and he grips Kinn's hair, hard, holding on.
Kinn has no intention of letting him come, but Porsche doesn't know that. Kinn is already anticipating his scandalized, furious face when he pulls off right before. He's getting to know Porsche, know what and how he likes it in bed, and for all of his protests, he likes to give up control. And Kinn loves to take it.
He can feel when Porsche is getting close as he gets more and more restless, his voice hitching higher. With one final suck, Kinn pulls off and, as an added bonus, blows cool air across the twitching head of Porsche's dick. Porsche hisses and whines. "Why did you—why did you stop—"
He can still talk, which means Kinn hasn't done his job.
"Felt like it," he says with a smug grin. Then he takes hold of Porsche's hips and flips him over onto his stomach once more, zeroing in on the vulnerable back of his neck, his muscular back, running his gaze down his ass and powerful thighs. Porsche groans into the pillow but doesn't protest for once.
He's beautiful all over. It wasn't the first thing Kinn had noticed about him, but it wasn't far down the list. Even while in danger of being assassinated by a biker gang, he had noticed the smooth, muscular slope of his chest, the gorgeous eyes, the pouty, sinful mouth.
Now, he runs a gentle hand up his back, then grips the back of his neck and presses on it as kisses his way down the long lines of him. Porsche shifts beneath him, then turns his head, but doesn't say anything, allowing Kinn his moment. As though he's on a lever, as soon as his neck was pressed against the bed, his ass came up a bit, presenting. Kinn is all about his ass, but not just yet.
Instead, he lets himself get lost in kissing his way across Porsche's back, feeling every twitch and shift of his muscles. He runs his tongue down the length of his spine, flicking it at the top of the cleft of his ass. Then he goes back up, drawing invisible designs as he goes. He notices that the closer he gets to Porsche's ass, the more responsive Porsche is, as though he were more sensitive there. He focuses on his lower back, then, drawing out a series of high gasps and moans from Porsche, another bump of his ass.
Kinn blows across the wet spots he had left behind and Porsche whines.
"Sensitive?"
"I didn't…didn't know," Porsche slurs. Kinn gives the spot just above his ass a slow, lingering kiss. If Porsche hadn't known, that means nobody had ever done it to him before. Nobody except for Kinn. Another wave of proprietary satisfaction goes through him. I'm the first. The first to discover where and how Porsche likes to be touched. The first to be allowed to.
"Now we know," Kinn murmurs and proceeds to bestow kiss after hot kiss onto his lower back, earning gasp after gasp, so many, they blur into one. Porsche is so responsive in bed. It makes Kinn's head spin. He's had boys who've performed sensitivity, performed responsiveness and pleasure. Not all: some have genuinely enjoyed him. But it had been their job to, and he hadn't wanted anything else. Those encounters had been just that: transactional. No feelings, no muss. He had allowed them from time to time to take care of him, but there had always been a line.
The line between him and Porsche has been worn away, made utterly useless.
He licks between his ass cheeks and Porsche cries out, pushing back. He's still somewhat loose, and it would be so easy to slide his dick inside and take pleasure from his body that way; to give up control. But that's not what Kinn wants tonight. He's feeling wide awake and needy, his need all-encompassing, bordering on greed. Greed for Porsche's body, greed for his loss of control. Greed for all of him, really, that he is willing to give. And Porsche is willing to give a lot.
"Just fucking fuck me already," Porsche slurs. "God, you're gonna fucking—ruin me, I wanna come, come on, Kinn, I'm…" Desperate. He's desperate. Kinn grins and abandons his ass in favor of sliding down lower and kissing the line between ass and thigh, then the thigh itself. "Fuck you," Porsche mutters, sounding more resigned. "I'm gonna drill through your mattress."
"I'll get a new one," Kinn murmurs, then flicks his tongue against the back of Porsche's knee. Porsche jerks—ticklish?—but doesn't talk back for once. Kinn does it to the other knee, then slides down even lower and bites the muscle of his calf. Porsche makes an incoherent sort of hnghh sound. Kinn grins to himself before doing the same to the other calf. And then he reaches up and flips Porsche back over, Porsche's dick swaying with the movement. He's aware that it makes him look like he doesn't know which side of Porsche he prefers.
And Porsche really is so hard, it must be bordering on painful. Kinn's own arousal has definitely taken a back seat, but it lets itself be known now, a pull in his lower stomach, a need throbbing through him. But he won't allow himself the satisfaction, not yet.
Porsche throws an arm over his face, his mouth dropped open, lips shiny with spit. "Are you trying to fucking kill me?" he asks. His other hand is fisted in the sheets. He's trembling. Good.
"Just enjoying myself," Kinn tells him, then lifts his foot to his mouth and gives it a kiss right on top of his arch.
Porsche jerks and sits up. "What are you—Kinn, don't, it's—"
Kinn keeps eye contact as he lowers his face once more and gives the big toe a kiss. Then he moves and kisses the next one, and the next. Five kisses he bestows under Porsche's shocked, conflicted gaze. Then he lifts Porsche's foot and kisses the soft skin underneath. Porsche groans and squeezes his eyes shut. His next protest is much weaker sounding. "It's dirty," he whispers, but it's not the whisper of someone not wanting it.
Kinn, still not looking away, takes the big toe into his mouth. It's salty, but clean—they had showered earlier, after all. He grazes it with his teeth and Porsche's mouth drops open, his gaze unfocused, blurry. He drops back down onto his elbows. Kinn slips his mouth off the big toe, then does the same with the next toes. Porsche twitches and his head falls back, revealing the gorgeous line of his throat. His flushed chest is heaving, abs shifting in the low light of the room. Kinn gently sets his foot down, then picks up the other one. He watches as Porsche swallows, the bob of his Adam's apple almost too much to bear. Kinn is suddenly not even close to feeling playful. He shuts his eyes as he kisses Porsche's foot all over, starting with the arch, then moving onto each toe, the soft, vulnerable underside. It should be rough—feet get the brunt of it, after all—but it isn't on Porsche. It's soft and pliant, smooth. Kinn gets a little lost in his exploration of it, listening for Porsche's every breath.
Finally, after he's had enough, he kisses his way back up to his ankle, his shin, his bony, defined knee. He bites there lightly and Porsche groans, body slumping all the way down onto the sheets. Kinn shifts positions until he's in between Porsche's legs and leans in. He sucks on the smooth inside of his thigh, bites and licks his way across the most sensitive parts of him, and there's a rushing in his ears, like the rushing of a waterfall into a river. He can't think beyond the moment, can't pay attention to anything that isn't Porsche's body. Porsche gasps with every bite, and every suckle elicits a new moan. Kinn revels in it, gets closer and closer to giving in. He spreads Porsche's thighs and gets in between, nudges his balls with his nose. Then he dives in and licks him out some more, Porsche spread out before him like a feast on a silver platter. His thighs are rock hard under Kinn's hands, his hole dusky and inviting.
Kinn's heart is beating hard and fast in his chest, and his dick weighs him down. He wants him, so badly, even as he's getting to have him. He runs his hands up and down Porsche's thighs, damp with sweat, squeezes the muscle there, spreads him out further. He licks his hole again and again, getting lost in the close scent of him, the sweat and the musk, beginning to lose pieces of his mind the longer he goes on.
Porsche, for his part, is absolutely losing it. Despite Kinn not having asked him outright, he doesn't reach for his dick, grabbing the sheets beneath him instead. "Kinn—Kinn, please, I can't, Kinn…"
You can, Kinn thinks. You can do it, you can stay with me, stay with me here. He doesn't stop licking him out, but he does insert a single finger, sliding it in in a way that guarantees it will brush against Porsche's prostate, and Porsche cries out, his voice high and broken. He tries to curse, but all that comes out is a jumble of incoherent, mixed-up words. Kinn pulls back and slides a second finger in, watching in fascination as Porsche's hole stretches to accommodate him. Porsche is all but liquid around him, the only tension in his thighs, which he's keeping open without Kinn's help. Kinn swallows hard and watches Porsche's dick twitch and slap against his belly with every thrust of his fingers. Then he looks up at Porsche's face.
He’s so flushed, and there's a sheen of sweat across his skin—his forehead, cheeks, his neck, the dip of his throat. Kinn doesn't think before leaning in and licking that spot. Porsche gasps, grabbing the back of his neck and keeping him there. Kinn is more than happy to stay. He licks the spot again, then bites down on Porsche's clavicle. Porsche doesn't resist, and Kinn lowers his head further until he can get at Porsche's chest again. He doesn't stop fucking him with his fingers as he flicks his tongue against his nipple, then bites down and sucks. Porsche shudders beneath him, voice utterly shot. The only word left on his lips is Kinn's name, and he repeats it over and over and over again until it loses all meaning, even to Kinn himself.
Kinn switches sides, giving the other nipple its due attention as Porsche continues to tremble beneath him, crying out and lifting his hips with every thrust. They're really going now, no gentleness left at all. Kinn is so hard, he could come from the smallest of touches, but that's not what he's focused on, not even a little. He wants to make Porsche come just like this, wants to make him lose it utterly. And Porsche is close, Kinn knows he is. He's grabbed onto Kinn's hair with one hand, the other fisting the sheets, and he's nearly sobbing now. Kinn can almost feel the need throbbing through him, or maybe that's his own. He finds himself gasping along with Porsche, he hadn't even realized he'd been doing it. Porsche is so hot inside, so tight. Kinn drops his head down to his chest and holds on as his hand and wrist begin to ache from the awkward angle. He doesn't let that stop him, continuing to fuck Porsche steady and hard. And when he lifts his head to look at Porsche's face, he jolts with shock.
Porsche's mouth is open in a silent gasp, his eyebrows drawn in a tragic sort of arc, and tears are leaking from his eyes. Kinn doesn't think before leaning in and licking them up, hungry and desperate. Porsche shudders, hand tightening in Kinn's hair, and maybe that's what breaks him, or maybe it's the taste of salt on his tongue. Whatever it is, Kinn slips out his finger, then hikes up Porsche's hips, lines up, and slides inside. They both gasp from the feel of it, and Porsche's legs come around his hips the next moment, pulling him in harder.
"Kinn, fuck—fuck fuck fuck—"
Kinn is utterly lost in the feel of him. He grabs Porsche's hand, laces their fingers together, and holds on. He fucks him fast and hard, driven by need and desperation. Porsche's face is so flushed, his eyes red-rimmed, and when Kinn leans in for a kiss, Porsche all but devours him. They kiss how they fuck, hard and deep and dirty. They're a connected circuit, a feedback loop of sensation. Kinn can feel Porsche's dick hard against his belly but he can't coordinate himself enough to jerk him off. Porsche isn’t reaching for it either, grabbing onto Kinn instead, his nails digging into Kinn's back. He breaks off the kiss and sinks his teeth into the junction of Kinn's neck and shoulder. Kinn cries out, hips snapping. The next moment, Porsche jerks and stills and then he's coming between them, untouched, smearing their skin with it.
"Porsche," Kinn rasps, and Porsche's only response is to cling to him harder, burying his face against Kinn's shoulder. "Porsche, baby—Porsche—"
He comes the next second with very little warning. The pleasure had been building, but he had been almost mindless of it, and the next moment, he's shuddering with it, gasping out Porsche's name once more and spilling inside him.
He fucks Porsche until he's done, then does his best not to slump down and crush him. Porsche makes an unintelligible noise and squeezes around him, milking the last drops from Kinn. Kinn shudders and whines, then gives in and drops down until Porsche has all of his weight. Porsche makes an exaggerated oof sound, and then he laughs. It's thin and thready and sounding a bit clogged up, but it's a laugh. Simple and joyful.
Kinn pulls himself up and looks at Porsche's face. He's a mess: tear tracks, wet eyelashes, red-rimmed eyes, flushed cheeks, puffy mouth. His hair is a rat's nest. If anybody saw him just now, there would be no mistaking what he's been doing. Another wave of primal satisfaction rocks Kinn. He grins and simply has to kiss him—he's got no choice.
Porsche makes a happy humming sound against him and then finally puts his hands on Kinn's chest and pushes him away. Kinn slips out of him and falls onto his back next to Porsche. He's pretty sure he won't be able to move again for a while. Three rounds in one night is a lot even for him. He can't even imagine how sore Porsche is going to be tomorrow.
He turns his head and finds Porsche already watching him. He seems unapologetic in his staring, in the seriousness of his gaze. "What?" Kinn asks, suddenly craving a cigarette.
"You fucked me up," Porsche tells him. "If I can't leave your bed in the morning and then get fired for fucking the boss, that'll be your fault."
"Technically," Kinn says, "I would have to be the one to fire you."
Porsche snorts and looks away, rubbing at his forehead with the back of his hand. They're quiet for a long moment. Kinn wishes he was privy to all of Porsche's thoughts. Wishes he knew what he was thinking at this very moment. Porsche is a fairly open person, and easy to read, but there are times, like now, that Kinn can't quite read him, and he wants to, so very badly. Wants to crawl inside him and find out all his secrets, everything he's keeping close to the vest.
It occurs to him that he can just ask, and so he does.
Porsche stares at the ceiling for a long moment, then says, "I'm thinking about you."
Kinn, heart lurching inside his chest, turns to his side and props his head on his hand. "What about me?" He can't seem to stop himself from reaching out to touch Porsche. He runs his hands down his hips, then in between his open legs. It's a mess in there and Porsche hisses but doesn't squirm away. Kinn plays with his own come that's seeped out of Porsche.
Porsche hums and settles deeper against the sheets. He doesn't seem to be objecting to what Kinn is doing. "Thinking that I am…stupidly in love with you." Kinn smiles, joy fluttering through him. "And you could absolutely destroy me."
Kinn stills. He swallows, smile dropping off. "Porsche—"
"Not on purpose," Porsche continues, as though Kinn hadn't spoken. He doesn't sound upset; he sounds thoughtful. "Just because of what I feel for you. You have all the power."
Kinn swallows again and lifts up to hover over Porsche, who finally meets his gaze. There is no reproach there, only acceptance. Kinn takes a deep breath. "Don't you know how I feel about you?" he asks, his voice breaking on the last word. "You could destroy me just as easily."
Porsche chews on the inside of his cheek, then lifts a hand and runs it over Kinn's hair as though to fix it. He watches himself do it while Kinn watches Porsche. Then their gazes meet once more. "Mutually assured destruction," Porsche murmurs.
Kinn takes his hand and kisses the back of it. "It doesn't have to be that way," he says quietly. "It could be…mutually assured happiness."
Something shifts in Porsche's gaze, softens. A small smile blossoms on his face. "You think?"
Another kiss to his hand. "I do." It's possible; anything is possible. If they pretend like they are the only two people on earth, nothing bad ever has to happen. It can just be the two of them.
"Okay," Porsche says easily, then leans in. Kinn kisses him—slow, sweet. Porsche kisses back just as sweetly.
It's going on four in the morning. Soon enough, Porsche will have to leave his bed and go back to his duties. But for now…for now, there's this: Kinn's bed, Porsche in it. In a minute, Kinn will make himself get up and clean Porsche up. He will tuck him under the covers and make him sleep for the next two hours before having to send him back out. He will watch him fall asleep, and he will spoon up against him. He will feel his warmth and closeness and, for those two hours, he will think of nothing else.
The morning doesn't have to come just yet. Not if they don't want it to. The morning can wait.
~*~