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They've been making out in Kinn's apartment for the past twenty minutes, Kinn leaning back on the couch in his living room and Tay sitting on his lap. Tay kisses him languid, slow, his hands sliding around Kinn's neck. He's leading, pressing Kinn back onto the couch cushions and settling more firmly on Kinn's lap.
"You say when we stop," Tay says when he breaks the kiss.
His voice is low, and his brown eyes seem so dark in the low light of the room.
Kinn hasn't quite been himself since he shook Tay's hand on that first day of class, two years ago. He forgets they're supposed to be good friends, forgets that he's not allowed to look too hard for too long. It's not shame exactly, more like trepidation, the knowledge that he must keep certain things about himself contained. It’s also the fact that Tay’s the first man Kinn’s ever met who’s openly queer.
He can’t explain what it is about seeing Tay wearing his sparkling shirts, watching the way his hair changes color every few months, the eyeliner he wears to class, the boots, the makeup. Tay exists in the world as he is, unbothered, perfect. He’s alive. Human. Seeing him exist settles something deep in Kinn’s chest that he didn’t know was there.
There’s nothing Kinn wouldn’t do to keep Tay with him. Which is why he wasn’t the one who made the first move. It was Tay. It always had to be Tay.
Tay was the one who started the flirting, who started the touching. He was the one who pushed into Kinn's bedroom with the pretense of studying, who got bored halfway and started asking Kinn about his exes, about the new kids.
“What new kids?” Kinn asked.
Tay was sitting on Kinn’s office chair, across from the couch, his smile wide as he bent his wrist pointedly and winked at Kinn. “The new kids,” he said.
Kinn had shaken his head and gone back to his book, pretending he didn’t hear the interest in Tay’s voice. Something about the new kids had intrigued him and Kinn knew he was supposed to ask.
"There are two of them," Tay went on, his voice taking on a purposefully disinterested tone. "There's a freshman named Tawan and the other one is in our year. His name is Time."
Kinn heard it in the way Tay said the names, a thread of tension, something Kinn could almost think was jealously. But there was also a note of interest and when Kinn looked up, Tay was already watching him.
"And how do you know they're gay?" he asked, lowering his book just enough to keep the eye contact.
Tay shrugged, leaving his chair to come sit on the coffee table in front of Kinn. He trailed his fingers down the spine of Kinn's book.
They didn’t do those kinds of things, didn’t push past the limits of friendship. Kinn had wanted to in the beginning, but Tay had made it clear they didn’t do those things.
"Tay," Kinn said.
Tay smiled at him. "Tawan wouldn't stop looking at you,” he said, ignoring the warning, his eyes on Kinn, his expression pleasantly neutral.
Kinn lowered his book and when Tay didn’t stop him, he set it aside on the table. “And?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tay bit his lower lip, his eyes dropping to Kinn’s mouth. “And Time wouldn’t stop looking at me," he said.
-
When Kinn was ten years old, Tankhun went missing. No one would tell him or Kim what happened, only that Tankhun was gone and they needed to stay inside for their own safety. Chan took them to their dad’s office and locked them inside with four of their best bodyguards, pausing only long enough to tell Kinn to take care of Kim.
When Tankhun came back, he stopped talking to them. He flinched from Kim’s hugs, stared wide eyed at Kinn when he asked questions. No one told them what it meant. But Kinn figured it out. He overheard the maids talking once, hushed whispers hidden behind the sheets as they made Kinn’s bed. He’d been coming in to pick up a book for Kim, something he thought might get him talking again.
It had been months since Tankhun’s kidnapping and Tankhun was only beginning to come around. He was almost manic those days, laughing louder than he should, making jokes when there was no need. The louder he got, the quieter Kim was, and the angrier Kinn became. Something about Tankhun’s laughter grated on his nerves. And the way Tankhun flinched whenever a door closed too loudly evoked a deep rage within him.
It didn’t help that his father was asking for him more frequently, taking extra walks with Kinn without Kim. He hadn’t said anything directly, simply asked about Kinn’s plans, his goals, what school he wanted to go to. He talked about business and keeping the family together. Rarely did his father mention Tankhun, but he was like a ghost, haunting every conversation.
Kinn didn’t dare ask. He could imagine the relief on Tankhun’s face if Kinn were to ask him what it meant that their father was giving him extra classes. Besides, Kinn already knew what it meant that his father was bringing him along to meetings when, before, Tankhun had been the only one with that privilege.
Kim figured it out much quicker than Kinn expected. It was almost a year since Tankhun’s kidnapping, and Kinn was accompanying his father to functions at a monotonous, predictable rate. He’d been on his way in from a charity event, already pulling his tie apart. He’d been itching to loosen it the entire night, but his father had told him that appearances were more important than comfort. And Vegas had been there too, wearing what was possibly an even more uncomfortable suit and smiling as though he’d been having the time of his life. Kinn would have rather cut his own hand off than given Vegas the satisfaction of knowing he was uncomfortable.
He was eleven and in a bad mood, and Kim waiting for him on his bed in the dark had irritated him.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Kim sneered, looking Kinn up and down, lingering on the undone tie at Kinn’s neck. “Nice suit,” he said.
He sounded almost like Vegas when he said it, the same disdain, the same mockery, as though he too thought that Kinn was the replacement, the knock off brand, the second thought.
“Get out,” Kinn said, his shoulders tensing, preparing for the fight that usually followed Kim in his nastier moods.
They’d both been in bad moods for months, bickering more than usual, no longer content to share the same space. It got worse when Tankhun was around because he was so goddamn cheerful, it made Kinn want to punch his teeth in. Kim felt it too, but oddly enough, hanging out in Tankhun’s room was the only place they ever really understood each other now. Their mutual exasperation made them one and so long as they stayed out of each others way, it was almost all right.
Almost.
They rarely hung out with Tankhun these days. Kinn was busy with his father. Kim was busy doing whatever he did when he wasn’t sneaking into Kinn’s room. And Tankhun stayed inside, locked away with his toys or his games, watching TV. The only people he talked to were the maids, mostly because they were the only people willing to listen to him ramble on about whatever he found interesting.
Their dad stopped by often, but he had events and business meetings, and Tankhun was safe inside the house.
“You’ll never be him, you know,” Kim said, his voice much lower this time.
Kinn’s head snapped up at the words, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open in surprise before he could stop himself. He blinked back the sting of tears at the corner of his eyes and closed his mouth to swallow back the knot in his throat. He wasn’t fast enough, nowhere as fast as his father was in hiding his emotions. Kim saw it, the way his words landed, how deep they cut.
Kinn clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. “Get out,” he said, the rage spilling from his mouth.
“You’re not taking his place,” Kim said, venom behind every word. “I won’t let you.”
“I don’t want it,” Kinn said. “I never wanted it.”
Kim watched him, his dark eyes boring into Kinn. “I don’t believe you,” he said at last.
And what could Kinn say? After all, even he wasn’t sure he was telling the truth.
-
There wasn’t anything particularly loud about Tay or what he was wearing the first time Kinn saw him. His hair was its natural dark brown, falling over his forehead in a style that was popular among college-aged boys in their year. He was wearing the same uniform all freshmen wore, white shirt, black pants. He could have been anyone, but Kinn took one look at him and thought, this is one of mine.
-
Tay's hands are soft on the side of Kinn's face and he keeps kissing Kinn as though there's nothing else he can imagine doing. He's running his tongue carefully at the edge of Kinn's jaw, his soft sighs right by Kinn's ear. He's so beautiful Kinn can't do anything but hold onto him and open his mouth.
It’s a combination of many things: the jealousy over some faceless new kid, the cologne Tay wears that smells like spiced oranges, the way Tay is the first man Kinn has kissed.
Really kissed.
Kinn has only ever kissed close-mouthed, lanky teenagers who walked away before he could touch them properly. Nothing about Tay is comparable to the rushed, nervous press of lips Kinn exchanged with the boys in his high school. How could they compare with a man like Tay? One who touches him the way Kinn needs to be touched, without reserve, without shame. Tay kisses like he means it. He’s solid under Kinn's hands, so beautifully responsive in a way that drives Kinn crazy. He wants to have Tay everywhere, press him into every inch of his body.
“You’re doing so good,” Tay says when they break the kiss.
Something ravenous stirs deep in Kinn’s chest. He wants to put his hands all over Tay, pull him down by the hair so Kinn can see his back bow, wants to kiss him until they’re both desperate for what comes next. Instinct tells Kinn that what he wants is to press Tay into the cushions beneath him and put their bodies together, to feel every hard plane of Tay’s body.
Kinn’s hard and so is Tay. They’re leaning against each other, Kinn’s hands sliding up Tay’s mesh shirt, muffling groans into each other's mouth. Kinn's hands are shaking as he digs his fingers into Tay’s sides. Everything in him is ready to keep going, to keep touching, to keep kissing Tay until his lips are numb, until he presses himself into every inch of Tay’s skin.
But they don’t do this, and Kinn’s never touched anyone with intention, with unfiltered want. He’s never had the chance to explore the novelty of kissing a man who wants him, of sucking someone off without scaring them, of wanting a man with enthusiasm and getting it in return. Tay’s queer but that doesn’t mean he wants Kinn. Even if he’s hard in Kinn’s lap, it doesn’t mean he wants this. It doesn’t mean Kinn can give it to him, even if he did.
“We should stop,” Kinn says.
The effect is instantaneous. Tay leans away abruptly and the sudden space between them lets in too much cold air. Kinn’s hands tighten on Tay without his permission, his head coming down to rest on Tay’s chest.
Tay is quiet for a long moment. Kinn can feel those eyes on the top of his head. He breathes hard through his nose, closing his eyes as he feels Tay’s hands sliding up his neck. Tay’s touch is soft as he lifts Kinn’s head, bringing his face close.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he says.
He’s so sweet, so kind, so gentle, so beautiful.
Kinn wants to be good for Tay, wants to make what they’re about to do worth his time. He wants Tay to be his first because he trusts him, because he’s Kinn’s in a way that no one else is, because Kinn saw him and knew they belonged together. Most of all, Kinn wants Tay to want him back, to fall apart in Kinn’s arms. Kinn wants all of him, every bit he can get, wants to live in the sounds Tay makes when Kinn kisses him, to make him feel as good as Kinn is feeling.
But he doesn't know how to put that into words, doesn't know what to do with the pounding of his heart and the way his hands are shaking.
"Help me," Kinn says at last. "I want to be good to you."
Which is perhaps saying more than Kinn wanted to say. But Tay takes his face in between his hands and kisses Kinn hard on the mouth.
"I'll make us both feel so good, baby, don't worry," Tay says in the space between their mouths.
No one calls Kinn "baby,” anymore. No one holds him like Tay does, with his long fingers pushing back Kinn's hair, gently, softly, as though Kinn deserves to be treated carefully.
“I love you,” Kinn says, feeling it all through his body, in the surge of emotion that threatens to push itself out of his chest.
“I love you, too,” Tay says, kissing Kinn’s forehead, his nose, his mouth. “But not like that. You don’t love me like that.”
Kinn closes his eyes and buries his face in Tay’s neck, breathes him in. He’d cry if he thought it would help. But Tay’s right. They love each other. Kinn loves him more than he’s ever loved another person who wasn’t his family. Tay loves him. But that’s it. It can’t be more.
-
“The family needs you,” Korn said when Kinn turned sixteen. “There’s no more time for games.”
Kim didn’t live with them anymore. He'd packed his things and moved to a boarding school somewhere in Europe. He never told Kinn where he was going and Kinn never asked. Tankhun was still around, still doing his best to make sure that Kinn had whatever he needed, still around when their father wanted him for something. But Tankhun’s scars ran deep, and no one was brave enough to ask him for more than he could give.
“The family comes first,” Kinn said. "I understand."
There was heat washing down his back, heat up his neck that settled around his ears. He could still taste the boy’s mint gum in his mouth. He hadn’t even asked his name. Kinn wasn't sure they even went to the same school.
“Do you understand?” Korn asked.
Kinn wouldn’t look at him. The disappointment in his voice was more than enough.
“Look at me,” Korn said. “I’m not angry.”
Kinn glanced up at his father. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“You have to be sure, Kinn,” his father told him. “Whoever you choose, you have to be sure that you want them to be part of this family. You can’t just bring anyone around because you like them. You saw what happened to Tankhun.”
Kinn never forgot, would never forget. Tankhun’s kidnapping had changed everything.
“Family has to come before anything else,” Korn said.
And so, Kinn understood, he must come second.
-
"It's all right," Tay says, and he looks devastating under Kinn, beautiful and welcoming. "You won't hurt me."
He’s naked underneath Kinn, his body lit by the orange lamp on Kinn’s beside table. Tay’s fingers are slippery with lube from when he opened himself up for Kinn. He’d been perfect as he did it, his mouth hanging open as he knelt above Kinn. He’d asked Kinn to touch him, told him how and where, and responded enthusiastically, calling him “baby,” telling him, “Yes, there, please.”
“Now what?” Kinn asks, his voice hoarse from sucking Tay off, from wanting it so much he gagged on Tay’s cock.
“Now you fuck me,” Tay says, reaching out to throw his arm around Kinn’s neck to bring him closer, his legs dropping open wider around Kinn.
“How?” Kinn asks, letting Tay kiss him, leaning into Tay’s body, feeling him hard and ready.
“Hold my leg up,” Tay says, groaning low in the back of his throat when Kinn slides his hand up the back of his thigh, pushing against the back of his knee.
The movement gives Kinn more room as he sits back, watching his cock slide down the crease of Tay's thigh. He inhales, mesmerized by the sight of Tay waiting for him, open and trusting. Kinn loves him. There’s no other explanation for the way he feels, for the enormous emotion that threatens to consume him.
“You won’t hurt me,” Tay says, again.
Kinn takes himself in his hand and moves forward. There’s heat all down his back and a hunger that makes it difficult to breathe. He recognizes the need that runs through his body, the desire that he locks away for fear it will consume him. He doesn’t get far inside of Tay before he can’t take it anymore. He can hear Tay’s punched out moan and Kinn can’t help his own groan, the way the sounds want to come out. He pushes in deeper and Tay gasps.
“Go slow,” he says in between breaths.
But Kinn doesn’t know how to. He can’t take the heat that’s enveloping him, the need that runs through every inch of him. It’s too good, too much. He wants to come, wants to shove himself deep into Tay until there’s nowhere else to go, wants to lie down and let Tay fuck himself on Kinn’s cock. He’s imagined hundreds of ways this could go since the moment he saw Tay and now that he’s there, it’s impossible to remember what he wanted.
“It’s okay,” Tay says. “Fuck me.”
Kinn moves his hips and Tay opens his legs wider, his hands going around Kinn, reaching down his back to pull him closer. Kinn pulls out halfway and moves back in, and it’s not quite right, not exactly the way it’s meant to go.
“It’s all right,” Tay says, kissing the side of Kinn’s face. “Go slower. Pull out, yeah, just like that. Now back in. Yes, just like that, baby.”
He keeps talking as Kinn moves, his hands stroking Kinn’s sides, his mouth by Kinn’s ear. His kisses are so soft, his mouth so welcoming. He tells Kinn what to do, how to move, where to touch so that Tay’s words turn into low groans. It takes them a while to get a rhythm going, longer still because Kinn keeps needing to stop, to take a moment to pull himself together.
He doesn’t think they’ll do this again. They can’t. And he’s not about to waste his only opportunity by ending things too quickly.
It’s a long time before Tay comes. Kinn’s already come twice, loudly.
Tay’s release is quieter. He comes in Kinn’s mouth, his hands in Kinn’s hair, his whole body going loose on the bed. He’s barely pulled himself together and Kinn already wants to watch it again, wants to be the one who makes Tay look like that over and over.
“Come here,” Tay says,
Kinn goes, settling down next to Tay on the bed, knowing deep in his bones that Tay belongs there at his side.
“Thank you,” Kinn says, feeling the rest of his world settle into place.
He knows who he is now, as strange as it may seem.
Tay grins, his smile as disarming as it’s always been. “You’re welcome,” he says.
They lie together, breathing, letting the moment wash over them.
"We'll always have each other, you know that right?" Tay says, turning on his side to look at Kinn. "It doesn't matter what happens. You always have me."
And that’s something.
That’s more than even Tankhun and Kim have promised him.
“I know,” he says.
And that’s that.
-
"I don't like the way he looks at you," Kinn says.
Tay leans back into his chair and looks over at Kinn. "We don't do that, remember," he says.
The whiskey in Kinn's tumbler shines under the yellow lights. He swirls the contents of his glass, watching the amber liquid go gold for a moment. He takes a sip, watching Time from the corner of his eyes and pretending he isn't.
"I wish you would let me take care of you," Kinn says, turning to look at Tay over the rim of his glass. "What could anyone else possibly offer you that I can't?"
It's implied that Kinn is talking about Time. Time is the only person who's ever approached Tay since Kinn and he started talking. Which makes Time either very brave or very stupid, and Kinn isn't sure which one it is.
Tay smiles, putting a hand on Kinn's arm. "Time doesn't come attached with two years of friendship," he says.
Tay knows exactly what he's doing, knows how it eases the sting. Time will never have what Kinn and Tay have. Time is expendable, extra. But he's also a second son without a mafia empire waiting for him. There are less burdens there, more space for loyalty to Tay and Tay alone. Time doesn't have to think about his brothers and his father and the future of their family. Time only has to care about Tay or whatever other pretty boy he decides he wants to fuck.
Kinn exhales hard through his nose and pretends he doesn't know why Tay won't date him. "Do you mean Time will be easier to drop when it all inevitably goes to shit?" he asks.
Tay laughs. "Who says it has to go to shit?"
Kinn looks at Time properly, the way he's dressed in fine clothing, dark colors that compliment his hair. He's put together in a more muted way than Tay, the eyeliner less obvious but still there. He's attractive in a way that's not entirely hard, softer than Kinn is. He studies the edges of Time's jaw, the lean lines of his body, and tries to figure out what Tay sees there that Kinn doesn't have in spades.
"Stop it," Tay says.
Kinn sets his jaw and looks away. "I'd treat you right," he says to the table.
"I know you would."
Tay's voice is gentle, kind. Kinn looks at him and finds himself captivated by the soft curve of Tay's lip. He can remember the way Tay's mouth felt against Kinn's when they kissed, the way his sighs disappeared into Kinn's neck. He can still feel those fingers digging into his back.
Kinn would treat him right. He'd fight his father for as long as he could if it meant treating Tay right. But he knows the difference between wanting and actually doing, between succeeding and losing, and he'd never do that to Tay. He would never set him up against the family. It wouldn't be fair because, eventually, Kinn will have to take over the Theerapanyakul business. Eventually, Tay will have to be second.
"Don't do that," Tay says, quietly.
Kinn looks at him and wants to be angry at the unfairness of it all, how he has to twist himself into knots to get even a fraction of what he wants. He's frustrated that what he wants is so vastly different from what he can have, it might as well be unattainable. He might as well be miserable for the rest of his life. Angry. Bitter.
Like Kim.
But Tay is still there beside him, not in some far off country with a new phone number Kinn doesn't have. Tay is there, with his his hand on Kinn's arm and his beautiful brown eyes on Kinn's face. And Kinn can either have Tay in his life or he can want him, but he can't have both. So he makes a choice, the same way he has been making choices ever since Tankhun said he couldn't anymore.
"Fine," Kinn says. "You can invite Time over."