Archive of Our Own ^beta

Something feels wrong.

That’s the first thought that crosses Kinn’s mind when he steps out of the stall. He does a quick scan of the bathroom, which is mostly empty, save for one seemingly hammered man in the stall next to the one he’s just vacated. He listens quietly for a minute, fingers tightening around the handgun pushed into the back of his pants. No unusual sounds float to him and his confused frown deepens.

Huh. Kinn has been around danger long enough to know he should always trust his gut— and his gut is screaming at him that something feels off. So he makes quick work of washing his hands and drying them on several paper towels, which he discards in the trash bin as he begins to make his way out of the bathroom. Just as he steps out, the door of the only occupied stall opens and Kinn suppresses a smirk— that man was in there way too long.

Outside the door, he’s greeted by the sight of Pete leaning against the wall, one foot resting against it, and arms crossed over his chest. He looks to be in thought, but is quick to look up at the sound of the door opening, and pauses at the expression on Kinn’s face, “Khun… is something wrong?”

“Not sure yet— my gut’s telling me something is off.” Kinn says, and frowns to himself as he unrolls his sleeves, and pulls them down over his arms.

“Oh. Okay. Well, should we head back to the mansion?” Pete asks, falling in step with Kinn as they begin to head back up the hallway.

“Yes.” Kinn replies, eyes squinting to adjust to the bright lights in the club— it is such a stark comparison against the dim, almost-natural lighting in the bathroom and the hallway leading up to it.

He finds Arm, Pol, and Big sitting exactly where he’d left them; in the little VIP booth towards the back of the club. Arm and Pol look like they’re having a very private discussion as they keep leaning in close to each other, and using their hands to turn the other’s face to the side to whisper in ears, and Big is also in conversation with a skinny little pretty-boy— which is surprising, because Kinn would never have thought that twinks were Big’s type.

And then the realization dawns on him, and Kinn’s eyes narrow, “Where the hell is Porsche?”

Arm looks up at him and his expression becomes somber. He looks around, and then points towards the back exit, “He went out for a smoke.”

“Even though this is area permits smoking.” says Big, pointing towards the very obvious sign pinned to the wall. He looks slightly pissed, but Kinn brushes it off as Big’s petty rivalry with Porsche.

Pol very openly rolls his eyes, “Porsche said he was feeling light-headed inside, that’s why he went out.”

Kinn frowns, but Pete is the one who speaks, “Did you give him something to drink then? Some water, maybe?”

“He went to the bar and got some whiskey, I think,” says Arm, nodding, “but then he said that the music was giving him a headache, so he went outside in the fresh air.”

“That’s highly unlike him,” Kinn says to no one in particular, and turns to face Pete, “bring the car around, I’ll go get Porsche.”

Pete’s expression blanks, “Boss, wouldn’t it be better if you went to the car, and I went to fetch him?”

“You’re right, but I think I’ll smoke one out with him before we leave.”

“Boss Kinn, there’s no need to go after him— you can just have your smoke here.” Big interjects, apparently having lost all interest in his twink, and Kinn does his best to contain his irritation.

“I was not asking for your permission,” he tells him squarely, then turns to Pete and steps closer, “if we’re not out in ten minutes, tell Big to keep the engine running, and the three of you come look for us.”

And when Kinn steps aside, Pete looks like he wants to scream, but he does no such thing. Instead he raises a hand and makes a complicated signal, and within a second, all four of the bodyguards are on their feet and heading towards the entrance of the club.

Kinn watches them leave before his eyes lock in on the shady little corridor leading towards the back exit, and with a calculated look around himself, he ducks his head and begins taking long strides towards the door. The corridor is very dimly-lit, the only light coming from the neon ‘EXIT’ sign above the door. As Kinn approaches it, he’s a little surprised to find used paper towel thrown near the door in bunches. He cringes a little as he walks past them, and tightens his grip around the metal of the door handle. It doesn’t budge when Kinn tries to open, and it takes him two tries to realize that it’s blocked from the outside.

“Of fucking course it’s blocked— God damn it, Porsche!” he mutters to himself, as he tests the strength of the door and finds it to be not that strong. He inhales deeply and steps back a few paces, then he charges upon the door— it flies open on the second attempt, revealing a relatively empty alley.

Kinn’s sharp eyes do a quick scan of the area; the alley isn’t very well lit, but it isn’t shady either, there’s a tube-light hanging above the door, and a streetlight a few steps away spills a yellow glow on everything— the dumpster, the alley cat sitting atop them, the rundown Vespa parked nearby, the wooden planks acting as a divider between the establishment opposite the club, and the hand on the ground, the body hidden by the wooden planks.

A second passes, and Kinn’s jaw steels as he descends the three steps in front of him, and in less than five seconds, he’s crossing the alley towards the wooden planks, and just as quickly takes into account the three men sitting around the body on the ground— not the body, it’s stupid fucking bodyguard.

The men startle as Kinn thunders into view, and his expression turns murderous as he registers Porsche; he’s on the ground, unconscious, there’s a bruise on his cheek, and he’s bleeding from a gash in his forehead and his mouth— which isn’t a big deal, because he’s had worse, Kinn has seen it with his own eyes. But the thing that turns Kinn’s blood to ice and simultaneously ignites a fire of pure fury inside him is the vile way in which his shirt is ripped open— his torso bare for the world to see, droplets of his own blood glimmering on the phoenix on his chest, and how his pants are harshly undone, and pulled halfway to his thighs.

And then everything slows down— for Kinn, at least; the men shout profanities at him, and the first comes at him with just his fist— his fault, really, because it takes less than a minute for Kinn to break his wrist entirely. The second man brandishes a knife at him, and Kinn takes sick pleasure in dodging the attack and instead piercing the knife through the flesh of it’s owner’s leg. The third man, however, takes Kinn by surprise, when he kicks him between his shoulder blades— and as Kinn goes to his knees, he wonders vaguely if this fucker is some kind of jujitsu expert. But his thoughts leave him just as quickly, as another kick connects to the center of his back and he goes forward, and rolls over at the last minute, so he’s up on his knees a few feet from his attacker. His fingers lock around the gun at his back, and he pulls it out— aiming squarely for the man, whose entire face turns white as a ghost.

“Man, please, please don’t—” he holds out his hands in front of him, and wildly looks for his partners as they groan and scream on the ground.

“What? So you can defile someone and take liberties with his body, and I can’t shoot you in the fucking face for it?” Kinn’s voice drips venom as his thumb rested on the safety catch, and he pushed it down.

“No! No! We didn’t— I swear I didn’t— we didn’t do anything— we just—”

Kinn’s fingers pull the trigger before the man has even finished his sentence, and the bullet pierces through his right shoulder. He doesn’t care to watch as the man falls flat on his back, his gaze turns to the other two culprits, “I’ll give you fifteen seconds to get the fuck out of my face, or the next bullets will go through your skulls.”

They scramble to their feet, and Kinn counts the seconds down out loud— he gets to thirteen before they completely flee the scene, supporting each other, all while screaming and writhing in pain. Kinn shouldn’t have let them go— and he didn’t. He knows their faces, there’s a security camera above him, and Pete and the rest are waiting at the mouth of the alley— if he killed them here, they would get off too easy, and it would take too much time.

His eyes soften instantly as they shift to Porsche, who is still lying unconscious on the ground, and his heart sways dangerously in his chest, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he moves quick as lightning to put the safety back on the gun before he descends upon Porsche, and the gun clatters to the ground next to his body. His eyes locks on Porsche’s unmoving ones behind closed eyelids and he quickly checks his breathing— which he’s eternally grateful to find normal. It’s then that his eyes fall to the rest of Porsche; his almost-naked body, the blood glistening on his skin, the bite marks on his chest, and the scratches on his thighs— and Kinn is so furious, he sees black spots in his vision. Then something snaps in him; his time’s almost up, Pete’s going to be coming for him and Porsche.

He snaps into action and struggles a little to pull Porsche’s pants back up his thighs, and fastens the belt just as quick— doesn’t think about how much he wants to do the exact opposite of it. Porsche’s shirt however, is a task too difficult, as his attackers ripped it open— most of the buttons are missing, and Kinn has no way of closing it, of giving Porsche his dignity back.

The rest of the bodyguards cannot see Porsche like this— Big especially cannot.

So Kinn chooses the next best option; he shrugs out of his suit jacket and sits down on the ground, his back towards the mouth of the alley, and pulls Porsche upwards until his back is pressed into his chest, and he quickly slides one of the sleeves up his arm. And then he’s stumped— how the fuck is he supposed to ease the other sleeve up Porsche’s arm? It’s a struggle, and it takes him a good long minute, but somehow, Kinn manages to manhandle Porsche into the jacket.

It’s only then that he breathes in a sigh of relief. Porsche’s back is still pressed into his chest, his head is tilted so his forehead’s pressing against the side of Kinn’s neck, and it takes only a minute for Kinn to crumble inside. He wraps both his arms around Porsche’s shoulder, and leans forward, crushing their bodies together in an awfully tight embrace. God… he only left Porsche for five minutes… just five minutes and Porsche got hurt. What are five minutes even worth?

Several unwelcome questions pops into his head; what if he was late? What if he didn’t make it out here in time? What if Porsche got hurt worse than this? What if those bastards had succeeded in their nefarious plans? Kinn’s entire body shudders at the thought and his arms tighten around Porsche. He doesn’t realize it when he gently begins rocking back and forth.

“Kinn?” Porsche’s voice comes to him like an arrow parting a thick fog, and he pulls his arms tighter around Porsche as the other man stirs. “Kinn, what happened?”

And oh! Porsche doesn’t know… Kinn wonders if he was struck… then he wonders if he was drugged… wonders if he should even tell him what almost happened to him. Then Porsche groans in pain, and it takes all of Kinn’s willpower not to scream into the darkness of the night. Instead, he carefully removes himself from Porsche’s back— it’s then that he notices the wetness on his own chest, and one look down confirms the first thought that came to him; Porsche has a wound on the back of his head, which means he was struck there and lost consciousness.

“Porsche, you…” Kinn’s voice betrays him as it breaks, “You were… attacked.”

Porsche tilts his head, and tries very hard to hide his wince, and fails. His eyes are wide with panic when Kinn finally looks into them, “What happened?”

Thankfully, Kinn doesn’t have to answer, because someone else does, “Khun Kinn? Porsche? Is everything— oh!” Pete’s words meet an abrupt stop, and Kinn turns his head to look at him and exhales slowly,

“Porsche was jumped— the attackers just fled out—”

“Those three banged up men? Yeah, Arm and Pol nabbed them as soon as they got out of here.” Pete nods, his eyes widening in panic.

Relief floods Kinn’s bloodstream and not for the first time, he’s eternally grateful for his bodyguards— irritating as they may be, no one does their job as well as they do.

“God, what— ugh!” Porsche sits up, away from Kinn’s chest and presses his fingers to his head. He draws them back and grimaces at the blood shining on their tips. He turns confused eyes upon Kinn, “Will you—”

Kinn cuts him off abruptly as he turns to face the other bodyguard, “Pete… help Porsche.”

Pete snaps into action. He’s besides Kinn and Porsche in ten seconds, hands locking around Porsche’s arm, and he slowly pulls him to his feet. From where he’s still dejectedly sitting on the ground, Kinn catches a full view of Porsche’s chest, and he doesn’t fail to see Pete has the same view; of Porsche’s ripped shirt, his chest, the bite marks. Their gazes meet and an unspoken agreement passes between them.

As Pete supports Porsche by pulling his arm over his own shoulders, and wrapping his arm around Porsche’s waist, Kinn gets to his feet and quickly buttons up the suit jacket, effectively hiding Porsche’s chest. He looks back at Pete, and frowns, “Not a word…”

“You don’t have to tell me, boss,” Pete replies, jaw steeling, “have faith that I’ll make them pay.”

“Nothing happened…” Kinn says, and it’s more of a reassurance to himself than it is information for Pete.

“They touched him— that’s enough to sign a death warrant.” Pete replies, and his tone indicates that he isn’t asking for Kinn’s permission— and that raises the respect Kinn has always had for him. Pete is one of the best men he has ever known.

Porsche seems to be slipping in and out of consciousness, and Kinn sighs before he bends down and places one arm behind his knees, while the other goes around his shoulder blades, and then he lifts him up right into his own arms. Pete quickly steps aside, but helps Kinn haul Porsche up a little higher and adjust his arms securely around the barely conscious man.

“Kinn… why are you holding me like this?” Porsche asks, his voice a little breathy, as he rests his head on Kinn’s shoulder, “we aren’t together… anymore— you broke…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Kinn’s heart shatters anyway. His eyes flick up to Pete’s, and he’s not at all surprised to find an understanding in the bodyguard’s expression. He knows. Kinn hates himself a little more.

His gaze travels up towards the sky as his fingers dig into Porsche’s flesh— not to hurt him, but to remind himself that Porsche is here, with him, in his arms, safe. Instead of the sky, Kinn’s eyes fix on the security camera— one which undoubtedly has footage of those men… and his Porsche. Venom turns Kinn’s mouth sour, and his gaze turns sharp as it cuts to Pete, “There’s a camera— get the footage, I want it. Make sure they don’t have it.”

Pete’s eyes find the camera as well, and his gaze turns to ice. “Yes, Khun— the car’s ready to go.”

“I’m taking him to the hospital, alone. You get the footage, and take the men back to the estate,” Kinn says through a tense jaw, “I’ll meet you in the red room around midnight.”

The red room is the only place in the entire Theerapanyakun estate that is soundproof— it’s their torture chamber, where they deal with the worst of people. And judging by the unchanged expression on his face Pete clearly agrees with that sentiment. He watches Porsche for a minute too long before he looks at Kinn, nods once, and then he turns on his heel and begins making his way towards the mouth of the alley.

Kinn turns his eyes back upon Porsche’s face and does his level best not to break into a million pieces— he can’t, not now. Not when Porsche needs him to be strong and unwavering. He leans down and presses his lips to Porsche’s forehead, before he hikes him up a bit and begins the tedious walk out of the alley.

In the adjacent street, he finds both cars parked in line, with Pol and Arm exchanging a worried conversation with Pete, and Big is standing with his back pressed to the side of one of the cars. He notices Kinn approaching first, and straightens— his gaze locks on the unconscious body of Porsche, “Let me get him.”

Arm, Pol, and Pete all turn to face Kinn— Pete gives him a curt nod and turns right around, heading towards the other establishment to get the footage— Kinn realizes it’s a brothel, and he cringes in distaste, he has never liked conducting violence inside such establishments; he finds it to be demeaning to the women who work there. He turns to Arm, and raises an eyebrow, “Go with Pete— no violence until it’s absolutely needed.”

Arm stands straighter and nods once, before he turns and quickly jogs up to catch with a quickly retreating Pete. Pol’s gaze shifts to Porsche too, and he steps forward, but Big steps closer to Kinn, “Khun, let me get him— you shouldn’t have to hold him up so long.”

A muscle jumps in Kinn’s jaw and he clamps down on the urge to yell profanities at Big, instead he fixes him with a steely look, and says, “No. I’ve got him— open the passenger door.”

And no sooner are the words out of his mouth that Pol shoves Big out of the way and wrenches open the door of the car, and Kinn silently walks forward before he gently sets Porsche down in passenger seat. He cards his fingers through the hair falling into his eyes and pushes it away from his face, before leaning closer and quickly pressing a kiss to his forehead. He retreats and finds Big watching with an amused expression.

“He drink too much, boss?” comes the insulting question and Kinn thinks, that’s it.

He turns then, a hand darts out to fist Big’s tie and he pulls him close, “Keep running your mouth and the next thing to come out of it will be your teeth,” then he uses the same hand to shove him away from himself, from the car, from Porsche. His gaze is still icy as he looks Big up and down and says, “I left my gun in the alley, go fetch it for me— and if I don’t have it by the end of the night, I’ll have your head instead.”

And it’s so shocking because Kinn has never threatened any one of his bodyguards with violence before, but then again, he has never felt as enraged before. Big gulps and nods quickly, before turning around and all but running towards the alley. Kinn rounds on Pol, “The three men?”

Pol points to the back of the other car, “They’re all in there; zip-tied and gagged.”

“Good. Call Bas— tell him to bring another car. You and Pete take these fuckers back to the estate, I’m taking Porsche to the hospital. Tell Arm and Big to ride back to the estate with Bas.”

“Yes, Boss.” Pol nods, face passive. Then his gaze flickers towards Porsche in the passenger seat, and a crack appears in his expression. “Is he… will he be okay?”

And there it is, the simple truth, the reason for their broken expressions. Pol loves Porsche. So does Pete, so does Arm— so do the rest of the bodyguards, and even his brothers and his father— even Kinn. Everyone except Big, clearly. But Big doesn’t matter, Porsche matters. And the concern that the others have for him, matters. So Kinn nods, forces his expression to go pliant, and tries to muster up a smile, “He’ll be alright. Just a bottle to the back of his head— not like he hasn’t had worse.”

Pol lets out a sound and it’s equal parts nervous and relieved. He nods once and steps back, and it’s clear indication for Kinn to also leave, close the door on Porsche’s side and get behind the wheel. So he does. In less than a minute, the car is zooming quickly down the streets of downtown Bangkok.

Kinn plans to drive up to the Sikarin Hospital— where the Theerapanyakun family has the most connections, and the most associates, and are afforded the most discrete treatment for all their unlawful ailments— such as this one. Dr. Sapol Songsakdina will treat Porsche the second he’s aware of Kinn’s presence in the hospital, and that’s enough for him to drive a little faster than necessary.

“Kinn…” for the second time that night, Kinn’s heart drops to his knees upon hearing his name tumble past Porsche’s barely-moving lips. His knuckles turn white on the steering wheel and he takes a sharp turn. The tires let out a horribly loud screeching sound, and Porsche groans, “Slow down… I’m not dying… yet.”

“Porsche, baby, shut the fuck up.” Kinn tells him, unable to hear even the mention of death in the same sentence as his name.

“I’m okay…” Porsche says and Kinn risks a glance at him to see him blinking furiously to clear his vision, and he turns his eyes back to the road, “and don’t… call me that.” Kinn’s grip tightens on the steering wheel and he doesn’t say anything. Porsche apparently believes it to be invitation to continue speaking, “Everything hurts.”

Air rushes out of Kinn’s lungs in a shaky exhale, and he nods, more to himself than to Porsche, “I know, and I’m sorry— but you’re… I’ve got you now. I’m here.”

A few seconds pass, and then Porsche’s fingers bump against his thigh before he gently wraps them around it and gives a light squeeze. Kinn risks another glance to find him smiling a little, “You’re here. I’m safe with you.”

His eyes drift closed again, and it takes every fiber of Kinn’s being not to bang his head against the steering wheel and scream and set the whole entire world ablaze, and then once the fire has razed everything to the ground, to just scream out into the void so that Porsche can hear, scream out that he’s sorry, that he’s an idiot for letting him go, that he loves him, that he loves him, that he loves him— and oh! There it is, the simple truth he’d been hiding from for so long.

He loves Porsche. He has always loved Porsche. But he was always too afraid to admit it.

Because love is the most powerful thing in all of creation— and in Kinn’s world, the deadliest weapon. Finding out about someone’s loved ones in this world, was like being handed the keys to the complete and utter obliteration of the person. So Kinn hid away his love like his most awful secret, he pushed Porsche away when Porsche got too deep under his skin, he shut down when his bones became Porsche’s home, he froze him out when Porsche brought warmth to his heart, he put distance between them when Porsche’s existence became entwined with his own— and he did it all, to keep Porsche safe.

But now… but now Kinn’s sitting beside Porsche… and he realizes that Porsche is the safest he can ever be, right next to Kinn, that pushing him away and keeping him at a distance doesn’t stop anyone from realizing what he means to Kinn— it only leads to Porsche being left out in the cold open, exposed and vulnerable. All because Kinn pushed him away… because he didn’t protect him by keeping him right next to himself, where he belonged.

Kinn’s hand begins to hurt because of how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. He’s so fucking stupid— Kim was right; wisdom doesn’t come with age, and it was arrogant of him to believe he knew what he was doing. Tankhun had warned him that the consequences of pushing Porsche away from himself would be dire— but he’d just thought his brother was talking about heartache and longing, he’d never even thought to consider that there would be real-world consequences to it. Fuck, even his father had warned him against it. Kinn is a stupid motherfucker.

But he loves Porsche, and he loves him entirely, and he knows better than he did a month ago— he’s never, ever going to let go of Porsche again.

Kinn’s eyes leave the road quickly disappearing under the bonnet of his car, and settle upon the peaceful expression on Porsche’s face, “I’m so sorry— and I need you to wake up and give me the chance to tell you that I love you.”

~*~

Porsche is released from the hospital a day later, and he comes home to a surprise party for him. He yells in surprise, and Kinn bursts into laughter behind him. He makes note of all the people present; Khun Korn and Khun Chan are at the very back of the room— the patriarch is sitting on his favorite high-back chair, and his bodyguard is, as always, close by. Khun Tankhun is sat on the leather sofa, and although he’s still dressed in his pajamas at three in the afternoon, he raises a glass of champagne at Porsche and grins. The bodyguards not currently on duty; Pete, Pol, Arm, Yuri, Knock, Bas, Ollie, Ten, and Neo are all crowded together, and Porsche grins when he sees them, they’re his favorite friends. And he’s most surprised to find that Khun Korn’s brat, Kim, is also present, most surprising is the fact that he has an arm around the shoulders of Che— who is at the forefront of the people waiting to welcome him, and he hits Porsche’s chest the minute he can.

At that, Porsche lets out an offended ‘hey!’ that gets drowned out when his brother throws his arms around his neck and pulls him into a crushing hug— one he returns with equal fervor. Che is crying into his shoulder when Kim pries them apart, “You can hug him to death later, Che, we’re late.”

Porsche frowns questioningly at his brother, and his nuisance, and asks, “Late for what?”

“He has a paper due on the Forest Snakehead, and the marina closes in an hour.” Kim tells him, looking bored.

“What the hell is a Forest Snakehead?”

Kim’s eyes narrow in disappointment, “Let’s see… Porchay studies Marine Biology, he has a paper due tomorrow, and I’m taking him to the marina for it— why don’t you take a guess, Porsche?”

With great difficulty, Porsche resists to urge to sucker punch him into next week, and instead purses his mouth and turns to Kinn, who is standing behind him, arms crossed and an expression of amusement plastered on his face.

His smirk turns into a smile when he sees the pissed expression on Porsche’s face, and steps forward, hands raised in truce, “Don’t be a brat, Kim— and shoo! I thought the marina was closing in an hour, no?”

Kim watches the two of them with barely concealed amusement dancing in his eyes. He casually drapes an arm around Che’s shoulder, “Alright, then… we should get going,” he doesn’t wait for a response before he’s dragging the other guy out— he stops shortly after and turns to face Porsche once again, “and I— I’m glad you’re back, Porsche, and I’m glad you’re okay.”

The way Porsche’s eyes widen and his mouth pops open, Kinn knows he’s surprised to his very core— and so is he, truly. Kim has never been one to express his emotions as such. He is the aloof one, the one who doesn’t actually care for menial things such as expressions of love and care— or at least he used to be. Things have changed, though, ever since Kim met Porchay— Kinn is starting to feel his brother has become much more gentle than he was.

Che turns to Kim with an expression of utter softness, before he turns to his brother and says, “I’ll be back really soon, Porsche, we will have dinner together.”

“Yes, uh… of course, Che.” Porsche nods quickly, still a little dazed by Kim’s words.

Porchay nods as well, and turns to face Kinn— his expression melts into resignation, “Please don’t let my brother out of your sight.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Kinn manages to reply solemnly just before his younger brother, clearly having had enough of them, wraps his arm tighter around Che’s shoulder, and drags him away.

He watches them leave then turns back around, eyes searching for Porsche, and finds him a few paces away, surrounded by the rest of the bodyguard— Porsche’s friends. Kinn smiles, and it’s not surprising that it comes from his heart, his happiness is always genuine around the hazel-eyed man. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his slack and ventures over to where Tankhun is sprawled out across the sofa, and promptly kicks his legs off, and ignoring the offended ‘hey!’ from him, plops down into the newly vacated spot. He leans back into the sofa and crosses his legs so his left ankle is on his right knee, he then reaches for the bottle of whiskey on the table in front of the sofa and pours himself a generous amount.

Tankhun doesn’t acknowledge his presence anymore than that— not until five minutes later when the episode he’s watching is finished, and he tosses the remote control aside with a dissatisfied grunt, “That was severely underwhelming…” he sighs, and glances at Kinn, and pauses when he finds his brother staring intently across the room, where Porsche is sitting with his friends, laughing and talking. Tankhun purses his mouth and his eyes narrow, “Kinn, don’t.”

That snaps Kinn’s attention back to his brother, and a frown replaces his previous expression of unguarded affection, “What are you talking about?”

“You have that look on your face, in those beady little eyes of yours— and it just screams you’re up to no good.”

Kinn lets out a surprised laugh, and he leans back, one arm draping across the back of the sofa, the other resting on his left knee, “I do not have beady little eyes— and brother, I am never up to any good.”

“Yes, yes, I am well aware of your debauchery, believe me— but I told you before and I’ll say it again; you should stop whatever it is that you’re doing to Porsche— that boy deserves better.” Tankhun says, and snatches the glass of whiskey from Kinn’s hand before taking a big gulp.

“You’re not supposed to drink alcohol when you’re on anxiety medication.” Kinn says, a little passive.

“Yes, I know.”

Kinn narrows his eyes, but doesn’t badger him any further about it— Tankhun does whatever he wants. Instead, he chooses to turn his eyes back towards Porsche, and frowns. He thinks about what his brother just said to him, and finds it a bit offending. “What did you mean when you said Porsche deserves better?”

Tankhun watches him with a careful expression, then pushes the glass back into his hands. “I mean that he deserves better than being tugged around like a dog on a leash. You’ve been too careless with him, and you know it, Kinn.”

And fuck him six ways from Sunday because he’s right. He’s always right. Tankhun knows more than he lets on, and he observes more than you’d think, and Kinn both admires and hates it. Tankhun’s observations about him make him feel small and stupid, and he hates feeling that way. But sitting there, he’s grateful for it— because his brother’s observation helps him understand just how precious Porsche is. Not just to him, but to everyone around him.

Kinn nods slowly, “I know. But don’t worry, Tankhun, I don’t plan on being careless with him ever again.”

Tankhun raises an eyebrow and smiles as if he’s completely unconvinced. “What do you plan to do then?”

“Everything that he wants me to do.” says Kinn and then abruptly gets to his feet, glass of whiskey abandoned on the table in front of him. He crosses the room in a few long strides until he’s a few paces away from where his father is sat, with a tablet in his hands.

Korn looks up just as his son approaches him, “Kinn. I trust everything went smoothly with Dr. Songsakdina?”

Kinn nods, as he sits down in the armchair opposite from the one his father is sitting in. “Yes, everything was just fine. He didn’t ask any questions, I didn’t provide any answers.”

Korn smiles at him over the rim of his coffee cup, just as Chan asks Kinn if he too would like a cup of coffee which he denies with a shake of his head. Korn takes his time sipping his coffee before he puts it down on the table, and extends the tablet towards Kinn, “The papers for the Thanasravanitchai acquisitions just came through— they require your signature. Read through them and sign where necessary.”

Kinn takes the tablet with a grunt, “Well, it’s about damn time, isn’t it? We acquired their company about two weeks ago. How kind of them to take fourteen days to mail the papers through,” with a smirk, he turns towards Chan, “whose leg did you break for it?”

An amused expression spreads across Chan’s face, and he graces Kinn with a raised brow, “No broken limbs are necessary when you make deals with half decent men.”

Kinn chuckles, before he brings the tablet closer to his face, and quickly scrolls down the fifteen pages. Then he whistles low in throat and looks back up at Chan, “On second though, I will take you up on that coffee.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of Chan’s mouth and he nods, turning around to call for one of the staff to bring a coffee. He returns shortly after and informs Kinn that his coffee will be with him in a few minutes. Korn watches their exchange with a deeply amused smile. The two of them carry on with their usual banter as Kinn scrolls through the papers, providing his electronic signature wherever needed. Korn watches, a world of pride held within his eyes, as his son immerses himself into his work, shaping himself up to be the next ruler of Thailand’s underworld. Most days when Korn lays himself down to sleep, he rests his eyes easy knowing Kinn is his successor— he could not have asked for a better one.

On the surface, most people make the incorrect assumption that Korn favors Kinn over his brothers, but that is simply what it is; an incorrect assumption. Korn loves all three of his sons equally, and he’s grateful for them just the same. He’s grateful for Tankhun, and the comfort of his presence and his exceptional way of holding the fort down— he’s the glue that holds them together. He’s grateful for his youngest, Kim, and how he’s often harsh with his words, but stays true to himself and to the world— Korn often thinks of him as their moral compass. And he’s just as grateful for Kinn— his successor, his heir. In Kinn, he sees the man he could’ve been all those years ago, he sees all of his failures becoming his biggest wins. Kinn is relentless and determined, and Korn could not be more proud of him if he tried. Every day, he thanks his lucky stars for his late wife, Anita, and the three perfect children she gave him— she was the perfect woman, of course the children she birthed were perfect too.

So Korn sits in his armchair, and watches with tender eyes as Kinn focuses all of his attention on the document worth millions of bahts, and watches as his son forgets all of his worldly troubles in that red armchair. His eyes eventually drift over to where the bodyguards sit, on the other side of the room, and settle on Porsche. The newest addition to the ranks, and by far the most dynamic one.

Korn admires Porsche— and he likes him a great deal. Porsche is a highly skilled bodyguard, and he’s quite exceptional at what he does. Korn often thinks hiring Porsche was one of the best decisions he’s ever made. Porsche had brought everything that had previously been missing from the ranks of their bodyguards— and he’d brought Kinn the happiness he’d been void of for so long.

It is not in Korn’s nature to pry into his sons’ personal lives too much, but that isn’t to say that he in unaware of their doings. He always knows. He knows what Tankhun does on his biweekly trips to the Sunnyside Apartment Complex in Silom. He knows what Kim is doing when he and Porchay visit the Theerapanyakun family’s numerous properties all over Bangkok. He knows what Kinn was up to every time he and his personal bodyguard disappeared into thin air, and later returned with nothing to account for their absence.

Korn knew exactly when Kinn and Porsche got involved sexually, and he also knew when it ended. He could see it in their faces, their heartbreak etched into their skin for everyone to see— no one had the power to question either one, so no one did. And although Korn didn’t ask Kinn about it, he knew why things had ended between the two young men— Kinn and his ridiculous urges to protect the people he loves. His son was a man of many traits, but emotional intelligence was not one of them. Ever since he was young, Kinn believed that in order to protect the people he loves, he had to keep them at a distance. Korn has always believed most of that stems from losing his mother at a young age— and it is just one of the many reasons he hates their world.

But Kinn is grown now, and he should know better by now. He should know that you can’t protect people by pushing them away, you protect them by keeping them close, within reach of the shelter of your arms— Kinn had to know by now.

Where Korn sits in his chair, thinking extensively about his son— Kinn sits, quietly drowning himself in work. Because if he isn’t drowning in work, then he’s going to be drowning in thoughts of Porsche, Porsche, Porsche. And he cannot afford to think about Porsche any more than he already does, he can’t afford to keep this cycle up— not until he can have a moment of peace and quiet alone with Porsche. But that moment of peace and quiet seems to be far away, as Porsche sits surrounded by his friends, laughing and talking, paying no mind to Kinn— who is engrossed in his work, the million-baht acquisition dancing across his brain in black letters across a too-bright screen.

The moment Kinn is looking for doesn’t come until later that evening, when he finds himself in his suite, undoing the buttons of his shirt. A sharp knock on his door draws him out of his reverie, and he hasn’t even turned around when the door opens— and Kinn has a fleeting thought that whoever just entered possibly has a death wish; because everyone knows you don’t enter Kinn’s suite without his permission. But the thought leaves him just as quick as the scent of coconuts greets his senses. Porsche. It’s his stupid shampoo and body wash.

And of fucking course it’s Porsche, he’s the only one with enough guts to enter the suite without Kinn’s permission.

Kinn turns around quickly, to be greeted by the sight of Porsche leaning in the doorway of his bedroom. The two of them watch each other with careful eyes for a minute, before the bodyguard gestures around the room, “Is this a bad time?”

“No, not at all. I just got in.”

Porsche frowns at that, “What do you mean? Did you go somewhere?”

“I didn’t. I was with dad in his study, reading through some documents, signing them— you know, the usual.”

Porsche’s mouth rounds in an ‘o’ shape and he nods. He slowly approaches Kinn’s bed and sits down at the foot of it. Then he leans back on the palms of his hands and looks up at Kinn— and it nearly knocks the breath out of his lungs. Because Porsche looks delicious— he’s freshly showered, and his hair is still wet where he has it pushed away from his face, he’s wearing gray sweatpants and a white muscle tee, and even though Kinn wants to shudder at the sight of the bandages peaking out from under the fabric, he doesn’t.

He clears his throat, however, and turns his back towards Porsche as he continues undoing the last of his buttons, and pulls his shirt away from his shoulders. Behind him, Porsche sucks in a sharp breath, and Kinn has to physically stop himself from snickering with giddiness. A few seconds pass, and then Kinn feels fingers pressing in to the skin of his back, and every touch alights a dull stab of pain.

“What happened?” Porsche asks from behind him, and Kinn has to rack his brain to understand what he’s talking about.

And once he does, he has a moment of pure discomfort, “Nothing.”

Porsche’s fingers press firmer, “Kinn.”

“Why can’t you ever let things go?” asks Kinn irritably as he moves away from Porsche’s touch, and crosses the room in a few long strides. “I got kicked in the back. Twice.”

He pauses in front of the door of the bathroom, and takes in a deep breath as he turns around. Standing where he left him, Porsche is watching him with an unreadable expression, “I was out for like a day— what the fuck did you do? And when did it happen?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, you didn’t? Then who kicked you in the back? Pete?”

“Porsche.”

It’s a warning, and Porsche knows it. Kinn doesn’t want any more questions. So Porsche doesn’t ask any more questions, instead his lowers his head and closes his eyes. There’s a moment’s pause, as he gathers his thoughts, and forms the words to say, “The men who attacked me hurt you too.”

Standing right there, Kinn feels like he wants to do so many things; he wants to wrap Porsche is a hug and kiss his forehead, he wants to tell him that it’s fine, they’re fine, he wants to breathe life into the men who hurt Porsche just so he can snuff it out— again. But he doesn’t do any of it, instead he quickly makes his way towards Porsche until he’s standing right in front of him, and reaches toward him.

“Don’t go back to that night,” he says as he cups Porsche’s face in his hands and raises it, “you’re here now, and you’re safe.”

Tears glitter in Porsche’s eyes as he finally opens them to look at Kinn, “I know… but could you please tell me that if you’ve found them yet?”

Kinn’s brow furrows and he steps closer to Porsche. His thumbs are gentle as he caresses Porsche’s cheeks with them, “I didn’t have to find them, Porsche, I got them before they could do anything or even had a chance to run.”

With shallow pants, Porsche’s fingers wrap around Kinn’s wrists, and he stares at Kinn with a mixture of hope and fear, “Wait, so… so they didn’t—”

Kinn’s eyes widen impossibly as he jerks back in surprise. “What? Oh God, no! Porsche— no! They didn’t— nothing happened to you, I swear it. They only managed to knock you out before I got there. These scratches— they’re the worst of what happened to you that night.”

Porsche lets out a complicated little sound that is somewhere between a sob and a laugh, as if he’s relieved to hear Kinn’s testimony, but there are still remnants of his fear gripping his heart. He steps closer to Kinn and rests his forehead against his bare shoulder, “I’m— God, could you not have told me that earlier?”

“I— I thought you’d… know. I’m sorry, I should’ve clarified it in the hospital.”

“It’s okay,” he says and sniffles a little, then he looks up at Kinn and gives him a smile, “thank you for everything, Kinn.”

Kinn watches in silence, as Porsche’s smile falters, and the tears previously held back slip past their confines, and roll freely down his cheeks. So it’s only natural for Kinn to use his thumbs to wipe Porsche’s tears away, and he does so, “You never have to thank me for anything, Porsche, I would do anything and everything for you— and you owe me nothing in return. I only want you to be safe.”

“So you keep saying,” Porsche nods, and sniffles again, “that’s why you keep me at a distance— I know.”

Kinn’s heart drops dangerously low in his chest, and he leans his forehead against Porsche’s, “I’m sorry— it was stupid and arrogant of me to think you were better off away from me. I thought I could keep you safe by pushing you away, and I was wrong. You’re safest in my arms, Porsche, I know that now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If I wasn’t stupid, and I hadn’t pushed you to the side, I would never have gone to that club, because you wouldn’t have let me. And if I hadn’t gone there, and if I hadn’t dragged all of you there with me, you would never have gotten hurt, and I—” Kinn doesn’t get any more hollow words past the brokenness of his voice, his shoulders slump and it’s a clear indication that he’s on the verge of breaking into a billion pieces.

“Stop. You are right about one thing, Kinn, and it’s that you’re really fucking stupid.” Porsche says, before he steps closer, his arms coming up to wrap around Kinn’s neck, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders.

A tender hug from Porsche is all it takes for Kinn to absolutely break down into many tiny pieces, as he buries his nose in the crook of Porsche’s neck, and wraps his arms around his shoulders in a crushing embrace. He breath ghosts over Porsche’s throat, and his shoulders shake as he lets his own tears fall. For the second time in his life, Kinn Anakinn falls apart in someone’s embrace.

For his part, Porsche does his best to gather Kinn, his embrace tightens, and one of his hands finds it’s way into Kinn’s hair, fingers rubbing gently through silky strands. They cling to each other, as if they never again want to be apart, and they know that if either one asked, the other would happily oblige. That simple thought just makes Porsche tighten his embrace, and he hides his face into Kinn’s shoulder, feels his scent overtaking his senses, and tries to make his heart, which is acting like a one-man marching band, settle down.

“I’m sorry— I’m so sorry.” Kinn manages to whisper between his tears, and Porsche nods into his skin.

“I know you are, I am too.” he says and presses his lips to Kinn’s shoulder, keeps them there for a minute as his fingers slip out of Kinn’s hair and his arms loosen from around his shoulders. He switches them so they wrap around Kinn’s waist, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh there.

A minute passes by in silence, and a thought crosses Porsche’s mind. Kinn captured his attackers— which means he still knows where they are, which means he can have his revenge. “Where are they?” he asks, and Kinn’s arms tighten around him.

Silence follows Porsche’s words in which Kinn thinks about lying to him, thinks about sparing him the details of his whereabouts after he left Porsche safely under the care of Dr. Songsakdina, but in the end he decides not to. Porsche deserves the truth, and Kinn’s going to give it to him. “Dead.”

“How—?”

“I killed them.”

There’s a sharp gasp in the too-quiet room and Kinn pointedly does not let go of Porsche. They stand still, arms still wrapped around one another, hands still rubbing through hair and nails still digging into skin, and they don’t speak.

Kinn killed the men who, according to him, had only managed to knock Porsche unconscious. Porsche finds himself terrified to think what he would’ve done to them had they done something more. “You… you killed them… because they knocked me out?”

A pained sound originates somewhere in the center of Kinn’s chest, and Porsche quickly raises his head from his shoulder, his arms go lax around Kinn’s waist, and then he tries to steps away from him.

“No,” Kinn says, and his arms tighten around Porsche again, keeping him in place, “please don’t.”

Porsche sighs and attempts to step back again, and he manages to put enough space between them so that he can look at Kinn, whose eyes are closed and his head is hanging down. “Look at me, Kinn, please.”

He’s unwilling, but he does it anyways— because Porsche asked. He raises his head and slowly opens his eyes, and is surprised to find Porsche’s eyes void of the fury and disgust he was expecting to see there. Instead, he finds Porsche looking back at him with love and adoration, and maybe even a hint of relief in his eyes. “Thank you.”

They’re unaware who leans in first, but the next thing Kinn registers is Porsche’s lips on his own, gentle but firm. Porsche’s hands are back in Kinn’s hair, and his mouth is soft as he presses it against Kinn’s own. His touch ignites every single one of Kinn’s senses, and he vaguely feels like this is their first— not another one in a sea of kisses they’ve shared, but the first. He gasps when Porsche pulls back for air.

They stare at each other, chests heaving up and down, breaths mingling together in the little space between them. Every other part of their bodies is touching save for their mouths, and Kinn thinks to rectify that.

There isn’t a single moment of hesitation. Kinn’s mouth is on Porsche’s, and he forgets how to breathe. Porsche shudders, a sound originates from the back of Kinn’s throat; half growl, half moan. Tiny little tremors of pleasure and longing shoot through Porsche as he deepens the kiss, lips parting and tongues colliding in the middle.

The room spins entirely and the world dims down to a quiet halt, everything falls away except for the two of them. Porsche pulls Kinn forward by his hair, sealing event the tiniest bit of space between them, pressing against him, digging his fingers into his hair— pulling, tugging.

Kinn’s hands are now on Porsche’s hips, and he lifts him up as if he weighs next to nothing. And if there’s one thing Porsche’s body knows better than combat, it’s how to fit around Kinn’s body. His legs, possessing a mind of their own, wrap tightly around his waist, and Kinn lets out a low moan.

Porsche’s fingers trail downward, nails scratching across Kinn’s naked back, and he grunts as he turns, and they move to the left. There’s a crash, and they barely register that they’ve knocked into a table and the lamp previously sitting atop it is now scattered in fragments across the carpet. Their mouths, however, remain sealed. It is like they cannot get enough of each other— their mouths are devouring one another, and neither one wants to stop. This kiss was months in the making— they’d waited long enough, they’d been depraved of the other long enough.

Kinn’s attempts at navigating them towards the bed end up with Porsche’s back colliding against the wall, and he groan a little. Kinn’s mouth leaves his to venture to his jaw then lower, and he’s stopped short by the neck of his tee.

“Off, off, off.” he says and Porsche unhooks his feet until he can place them on the floor, and Kinn’s wicked fingers get a hold of his shirt and yank it up. They break apart long enough to pull Porsche’s shirt over his head and toss it aside. Then Kinn’s hand slide back around Porsche’s head, pulling him back to his mouth.

Porsche is many things; a skilled bodyguard, a talented mixologist, a doting brother— but he isn’t patient. With Kinn’s tongue on an expedition inside his mouth, his fingers fumble with Kinn’s belt buckle, and he’s soon pulling it out of the loops and then he’s working on the zipper.

Once Kinn’s pants are pooled by his feet on the floor, they begin moving to the side, lips still sliding and smacking together, hands wandering and purposeful. The back of Porsche’s legs hit the corner of the bed and they go down, a tangle of legs and hands moving. Kinn pushes himself up on his elbows long enough for Porsche to hook his fingers inside the waistband of his boxers and push them down his butt. He lets out a little gasp of pleasure as Porsche’s hands slide between his legs.

There’s a little tussle on the bed as Porsche pushes at Kinn’s shoulders until they roll over and he’s on top, and only then does he deem to discard of his own sweatpants and boxers. Kinn’s eyes, with his pupils blown to high heavens, watch him with a quiet sort of desperation, and Porsche smiles as he leans down to kiss him. “So beautiful,” he murmurs against swollen lips, and for all his vanity, Kinn absolutely unravels at the compliment.

And then they’re kissing once more. The deep kind of kisses that leave little room for thought. There’s only room for feeling and wanting and longing. Kinn wraps muscled legs around his hips, pulling him closer, telling him what he wants to do, and Porsche sinks down on top, every single inch of skin pressed together.

Porsche’s mouth is as wicked as his fingers, as he kisses Kinn’s mouth, his nose, his eyes, his forehead, his jaw— then trails downward, over his throat, his collarbones, his pectoral muscles, teeth scraping over his nipple— and Kinn arches off the bed with a gasp, but Porsche is a man on a mission, and he pushes Kinn back down with one hand on his chest, and the other slipping between his thighs until he grips his flesh and raises himself so he can pull his thighs apart.

“Porsche,” Kinn breathes out just as Porsche’s lips trail over the tops of his thighs, and his hands are in Porsche’s hair again, fingers curling around the dark brown strands, “wait, Porsche, wait.”

Lips, previously sliding towards the inside of his thigh, halt and then leave a gentle kiss there, before Porsche raises his head, looking expectantly up at Kinn from between his own legs, and the sight is so obscene that Kinn nearly unravels all over again. “What?”

“I have to— fuck, you look absolutely gorgeous— oh, fuck me!” Kinn gasps out, head thumping back against the mattress.

“Yes, I plan on doing so, but the other way around.” Porsche replies, and it’s so quintessentially him that Kinn lets out a little laugh as he raises his head and brings his hands to Porsche’s hair and gently tugs a little. It’s an invitation for him to come back up and Porsche willingly obliges, until his nose bumps against Kinn’s, and the man under him gives him a kiss, and it’s short and sweet and Porsche knows Kinn means business.

“I want you, Porsche, I always want you— but there’s something I have to say to you before I can have you.” Kinn says, arms wrapping around Porsche’s back, hands gently tracing the curve of his spine.

Porsche sighs and drops his forehead against Kinn’s, “Do we have to talk about anything right now?”

“I’m sorry, love, but I have to say it.”

Once again, Porsche sighs but he gives him a little kiss on his forehead, and then he rolls off him. “Alright, I’m listening.”

Kinn watches him quietly as he sits back up against the headboard, and places a pillow in his lap, his expression turns expectant as he looks back at him. Then Kinn’s mouth tips into a smile, and he pushes himself up into a sitting position, and then he’s on his haunches. Slender fingers wrap around Porsche’s ankles and yank him downward, and with a yelp of surprise, Porsche slides along, until he’s sprawled across the bed, with Kinn between his thighs.

“I thought you wanted to talk!” he exclaims just as Kinn grabs the pillow from his lap and tosses it aside.

Kinn nods, moving forward, until he’s hovering above Porsche, elbows on either side of his head and thighs entrapping his own. “I do want to talk, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you panting under me at the same time.”

Porsche’s whine of his name gets smothered out as Kinn kisses, slow and steady at first, then wild and breathless. Tongues slip out again, and hands continue wandering and exploring each other’s bodies, until Kinn’s got his between Porsche’s thighs, and Porsche’s fingers are pulling at his hair to the point of pain mixing in with the pleasure.

It’s only when Kinn finally manages to nudge himself inside Porsche, that he actually remembers the talk they were supposed to have. His lips trail from Porsche’s jaw to his ears, and he kisses it, “Remember that super important thing I had to say?”

Porsche groans, and it’s half annoyance and half mixture of pleasure and pain— it has been a while since he’s felt himself being split open on Kinn’s dick, and he all but writhes under his touch, “Oh, fuck you— now?”

“Yes, now—” Kinn growls out, hips snapping forward until he’s buried deep inside, and he pauses then. His breath ghosts over the side of Porsche’s neck in shallow pants and he takes a few seconds to recover, then he moves his hips backwards, much to the pleasure of Porsche, if his too-loud moans are any indication. Kinn’s lips press to Porsche’s skin again and he times his thrust perfectly with his words as he whispers them out, “I wanted to tell you that I love you.”

Porsche lets out a loud gasp, and it isn’t entirely for the burning mixture of pain and pleasure in his nether region, because there’s another burning mixture of pain and pleasure which originates somewhere deep in his heart. His arms tighten around Kinn’s neck just as he pulls out half-way and pushes back in again, and for the second time that night, Porsche’s tears fall. “Kinn…”

It’s for the way his voice shakes and his tone is too tender, that Kinn ceases the movements of his hips and lifts his head so he’s looking right into Porsche’s eyes, and for the second time that night, instead of finding hatred and disgust, he’s surprised to find love in Porsche’s gaze. “Say it again.”

With a single pause, or a moment’s hesitation, Kinn’s lips stretch into a smile and he says, “I love you.” And the smile that Porsche mirrors back at him is worth getting kicked in the back for, a million and one times over.

“Say it again.” Porsche repeats, tears slipping down the side of his face, just as Kinn starts moving his hips again.

Kinn’s smile widens and he leans down, pressing his lips to Porsche’s again in an open-mouthed kiss. Then he murmurs against his mouth, “I love you. I love you. I love you…”

Porsche lets out a delighted little sound, which is half for the way Kinn inside him feels like home, and half for how Kinn’s words make him feel. The circle of his arms around Kinn tightens once more, and he clings with every thrust, mouth sliding against Kinn’s, tongue slipping out to meet the other’s. “I love you too.”

There are few things in life Kinn cherishes beyond reason; the way his father’s embrace still makes him feel like he’s six years old, and something terrible has happened but with his father there, he’s untouchable— the way Tankhun smiles at him during a rough moment, and he feels like everything is okay, so long as his brother’s beside him— the way Kim’s little quips and snarks about life in general, bring him back from the brink every time, as if his younger brother’s disdain for the world is the only thing that keeps it turning— or the way being inside Porsche, having him wrap strong arms around him, kiss him, and whisper countless confessions of his love to him, feels like coming home from the blizzard, to find fire burning in the hearth, and a warm hug waiting for you. Kinn cherishes these things more than he cherishes his life.

So when all is said and done and tens of minutes later, they’re both cleaned up and Porsche is curled into his side, Kinn watches his face silently, and falls in love all over again. In Porsche, Kinn sees his chance to have the kind of love they say doesn't exist anymore. The type that spans far longer than one lifetime. Kinn has always wanted want a love that's passion and determination, fire with earth, yet is also a serenity souls can dwell in forever. With Porsche, Kinn has that.

So Kinn watches him, quietly and peacefully; the smoothness of his forehead, as he rests against his lover peacefully— his dark but somehow neat eyebrows, that Kinn’s so used to seeing being furrowed together in annoyance, usually directed at him— his eyes, the gorgeous color of the finest honey, golden as the first ray’s of the new day’s sun— the slope of his nose, slender and perfect, as if artificially structured— his lips, plump and swollen red from being kissed an unfathomable amount, and the way they stretch into a smile whenever he sees Kinn— the bone of his jaw, so strong and so sharp, that Kinn often thinks he could cut through diamond with it. Kinn’s heart flutters dangerously and he leans forward to press a tender kiss to his forehead.

Then, in that instant, Porsche turns his head and catches Kinn’s eye, and before he can turn away, divert his gaze, a genuine grin spreads across his face, turning it from handsome into divine. “Hello, lover.”

Kinn’s mouth splits into a grin, and his heart sways dangerously inside his chest. “Hi, you.” he leans down then, and presses his lips on top of Porsche’s in a too-tender kiss. And it’s the way that Porsche’s fingers find their way to the side of his neck, and he smiles against his mouth, that Kinn knows; Porsche was the man he would love forever.

And he was stupid to think he could ever have it any other way.