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“Absolutely not.”
“But hia—”
Porsche knows the signature puppy dog eyes are coming seconds before Chay even brings them out. That’s the only reason he’s able to put his foot down and stand firmly by his initial decision despite his brother looking like Porsche had denied him the world.
“No,” Porsche says emphatically. “When you asked to move out, you were insistent about trying to be more independent. This is not how independent people act.”
A year or so ago, he would not have been able to do this. He was too entangled with his role of being Chay’s sole provider back then. Too busy trying to put food on the table and send his baby brother to school to realize that saying no Chay’s requests every once in a while didn’t make him a bad brother.
Especially if said request included additional responsibility over another living being.
A tiny, fluffy one at that.
“It’s just for a month and a half!” Chay reasons out. “I’d bring Omelette back to the dorm right now, but my roommate is allergic and he’d kill me if I add another item onto the list of things that could kill him before he wraps up his thesis.”
Chay bounds up to Porsche and wraps him in a tight hug, big doe eyes looking extra pitiful when they look up at him. It's a talent, managing to still be this cute despite the growth spurt which made him only a few inches shorter than Porsche.
“Please, hia?” Chay pleads. “I just have to finish this semester. After that, I can move into the empty unit across from P'Kim's and we can take turns caring for Omelette there.”
“Why not just get Kim to take care of your kitten in the meantime, then?” Porsche squints. This whole thing wouldn’t even be an issue if that bastard Kim checked on Chay’s living conditions first.
“Have you seen P’Kim? Cats love him!” Chay squeaks, completely appalled. “I’m already at such a disadvantage, I can’t let him get a headstart too. Hia, you have to help me. Please. I can’t be Omelette’s least favorite dad!”
Oh god, Porsche is getting a migraine. Ten in the morning is definitely too early to be hearing about Chay’s plans to co-parent a cat with his boyfriend — with Kim Theerapanyakul, specifically.
“It’s not up for debate, Chay,” Porsche sighs. “I’ll get Arm to look for some nice pet hotels for your kitten. A month and a half isn’t that long — I’ll pay for the bills myself.”
“No, it’s fine,” Chay declares indignantly, cheeks puffed up and eyes as thin as slits. “I’ll take care of it.”
Then he’s storming off without another word.
In hindsight, Porsche should have known just from the petulant pout on his nong’s face that things were, in fact, not fine.
Chay goes to Kinn.
Of course he does.
Lesson #1: Adult cats eat about twice a day. Kittens will require more feedings depending on their age.
Porsche turns away from the sunlight filtering through the window, searching for refuge in strong arms and a warm chest that…aren’t there. He opens his eyes slowly, only to be greeted by the empty side of the bed that’s already been made.
A disappointed sigh leaves his lips.
Just two years ago, Porsche would've balked at the thought of waking up in bed with someone. Casual sex was very much on the table but he also had a set of rules that he absolutely could not break. This included not bringing anyone home. Afterall, it was his duty as Chay’s guardian to keep any emotionally-scarring experiences at bay — even if it meant having quickies in the dirty, dimly-lit alleyway behind Hum Bar.
Now, not even the incessant ringing of his alarm is enough to stop Porsche from curling around a cold pillow that smells just like Kinn.
His boyfriend had to get out of bed early today. Potential business partners had gotten in touch with Kinn and agreed to meet with him over coffee. Of course, their meeting location was set right at the heart of Bangkok’s busiest business district where traffic only ever goes from bad to worse. To make sure he got there on time, Kinn left the compound just half an hour after sunrise.
Porsche presses the snooze button on his alarm, closes his eyes, buries his face into Kinn’s pillow, then inhales deeply.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
He’s got half a mind to go back to sleep, maybe let a few hours pass until Kinn returns —
meeeow, miw, mrow, meeeeeeeow
God fucking damn it.
Porsche tries throwing the blanket over his head but it’s too late. The fabric only manages to cover half his face before he feels a soft plop onto the mattress, followed by the pitter patter of tiny paws hurriedly making their way up Kinn’s side of the bed. A ball of black fur enters Porsche’s field of vision soon after and the moment his gaze makes contact with those bright yellow eyes he knows he can kiss the thought of sleeping in goodbye.
Omelette — that's what Chay insists on calling the kitten despite his black coat; Porsche has asked why multiple times and Chay has never given him a proper answer — scans the room for Kinn then immediately beelines it to Porsche once he realizes Porsche is the only one there.
MEEEEEOW MROW MIIIIIW
Porsche closes his eyes and counts to ten. For a kitten that's no more than a few centimeters taller than Porsche's phone, Omelette can meow pretty well. Loudly. He's persistent too — especially when it comes to food and attention. Only ten weeks on this earth and weighing a little over three pounds, but he's already a pro at making demands.
Kinn claims it's because Omelette has “a big personality” — that he's a Siamese mix and those cats are known for being a talkative bunch.
Porsche thinks it's much simpler than that.
Omelette is a cat. All cats are born with the innate ability to have humans wrapped around their padded little paws. The little shit has had Kinn absolutely whipped for him since they first met and he knows it, too.
Of course, with Kinn gone for the time being Omelette goes after the closest thing to a minion that he can sink his claws into.
Porsche sees a blur of black fur zooming towards him and then he's got Omelette nuzzling at his face like all nine of his tiny little kitten lives depend on it. There's a brief lick to the tip of Porsche’s nose that is immediately followed by a full body brush, insistent paws patting at his face as Omelette flops onto the mattress next to him.
MEOW!
“There's no way Kinn didn't leave you any food,” Porsche grumbles, glancing at the time on his phone. It's 9:43 AM. “Are you telling me you already finished all of it?”
Miw.
The kitten blinks up at him. When Porsche doesn't budge, Omelette gets up and starts rubbing his whole body against Porsche’s face with twice as much force as before.
“Fine,” Porsche sighs, climbing out of bed. “Let's get you your food. “
Lesson #2: Cats have different personalities that they grow into as they mature.
(But kittens? All kittens are gremlins. Especially in front of food.)
Porsche tips his head to the side as he scans a bronze-colored can wrapped in fancy gold and black packaging. Cali Cat Premium Tuna and Salmon, it says on the front in big, cursive gold font. There’s no photo of a cat anywhere on it. Instead, there's a photo of tuna flakes in a clear bowl reminiscent of the ones they use in cooking shows.
If it weren’t for the odd portion size and the fine print at the bottom saying GRAIN-FREE ALL-NATURAL CAT FOOD FOR ALL AGES, Porsche would’ve grabbed this from the pantry and cooked it for his own breakfast.
“Look at these. They're ridiculously tiny but they're still as big as your head,” Porsche frowns, turning to the counter top where Omelette is currently staring at him with big yellow eyes. “I'm sure Kinn wouldn't have left without feeding you, so how are you already hungry after three hours?”
Omelette just licks his jowls. An empty food bowl sits in front of him. This one is freshly washed because Porsche tried giving Omelette the one he ate from just a few hours prior — it was mostly clean, save for the tiniest specks of old food — and he’d looked at Porsche in disgust, absolutely offended.
Porsche gets a plastic spoon from one of their drawers then opens the can of cat food, thinking he can portion it in half — one for now and another for later.
With his back turned away from the counter top, he only hears a muffled landing moments before short but sharp claws dig into the fabric of his sweatpants.
Porsche yelps in surprise. He looks down and finds Omelette scaling up his leg, the kitten's tiny head shaking from the sheer intensity of his cries. Omelette is loud and demanding, meowing like he's on the verge of starvation.
Fuck it, Porsche is nowhere near caffeinated enough for this. He and Kinn are going to have to talk about how much Kinn has been spoiling the kitten later.
For now, Porsche picks Omelette up by the scruff and sets him back on the kitchen counter top .
“I’ve got your food here, chill out,” Porsche grumbles, quickly scooping half of the can’s contents into the plastic food bowl.
As soon as Porsche finishes, Omelette is there and munching away. Soft purrs fill the kitchen, escaping from the tiny kitten's frame.
Porsche finally has his peace.
Until he starts cleaning up and makes the mistake of looking at the price sticker attached to the can of cat food, that is.
“Why the hell is Kinn buying you sixty-baht cans of tuna?” Porsche looks at Omelette, aghast. He's ignored. Of course. Porsche rests his chin on the counter top until he is on eye level with those bright yellow eyes. “You're pretty much eating at a Michelin star restaurant, you gremlin.”
Omelette finishes his meal in minutes. He all but inhales his first serving, meows at Porsche until he's given the second portion which was supposed to be for later, then polishes that off too.
With all that food, Porsche thinks he should get the kitten off his back for a few hours.
Unsurprisingly, he's wrong.
Omelette weaves in and out by his feet as Porsche returns to the bedroom. Then he climbs up Porsche's sweatpants until Porsche has no choice but to pick him up and carry him in his arms. Omelette claws his way up Porsche's robe this time around, climbing higher and higher until he's balanced on Porsche's left shoulder.
Everything seems to be going well despite the negligible scratches Porsche now has on his arms and legs.
That is, until Omelette starts making these wet sounds that Porsche has never heard him make before.
Porsche is immediately alarmed — What did he do wrong? Was it even possible to feed cats wrong? Should he call Kinn? — but before he can even get through the initial panic, he hears a retching noise and feels something wet and warm sliding down his chest.
“Did you just vomit on me?” Porsche asks even if he already knows the answer.
Omelette hops off of his shoulder and sits on the bed, looking at Porsche with an expression that says he's never done anything wrong in his ten weeks of life.
Meow.
Lesson #3: Cats are natural predators. Certain movements can trigger their hunting instincts.
Porsche slips out of the bathroom in Kinn's crimson robe, the silk ribbon tied around his much slimmer waist earning him some modesty.
He knows he smells heavenly.
The past half hour has been spent making certain preparations for the night. Every step he takes sends sparks of pleasure down his spine, the plug deep inside him brushing up against spots that make heat pool in his belly.
Kinn has had a pretty stressful couple of weeks and now that he's got some much needed time out Porsche is here to help him unwind.
Porsche calls his name. He's immediately rewarded by the sight of Kinn looking up from his tablet, jaw dropping, and rushing to get said device filled with important work-related documents into the bedside drawer.
“That's my robe,” Kinn smiles at Porsche, eyes growing dark.
“Mmm,” Porsche hums, undoing the ribbon tied around his waist and letting the silk slip off his shoulders then fall to the floor. He knows when Kinn sees it — the pretty pink cock ring Porsche put on for him. Can easily read the hunger in those eyes.
It feels good, letting Kinn's gaze wash over him.
“Sorry,” Porsche smiles, not a hint of apology in his voice as he turns around and bends over to pick the robe off the floor. He knows the angle shows off his plug and he wiggles his hips, knowing what Kinn likes.
When Porsche turns back around, he sees Kinn crook his fingers in an all-too familiar gesture.
Come here.
Porsche giggles as he tosses the robe aside, getting on his hands and knees to crawl across the plush carpet afterwards. He reaches the foot of the bed and slips under the sheets, crawling up until he can wrap his lips around Kinn.
Porsche starts slow, almost teasing. Little flicks of the tongue at the tip, tongue exploring Kinn's slit before lapping at the full length, getting lower and lower until he reaches the root.
He's encouraged by Kinn's moans, the trembling of his thighs as he parts them to give Porsche more access.
Porsche takes Kinn fully in his mouth then. He starts bobbing his head, up and down, over and over with his tongue swirling around the tip of Kinn's cock every time he almost pulls off. It hits the back of his throat sometimes but he's learned how to resist his gag reflex by now.
He continues his pace, mind blissfully blank except for how much he likes the weight of Kinn his tongue. Maybe, Porsche muses, he can bring Kinn close enough to the edge so that he'll fuck Porsche a bit more recklessly later.
The next thing Porsche knows there's something jumping onto his head, tiny claws poking through the sheets. He pulls off of Kinn immediately, the shock making him choke on his own spit.
Kinn is laughing, loud and breathless.
It’s chaos.
The weight is lifted off his head while Porsche is in the middle of a huge coughing fit. He throws the blanket off moments later and sees Kinn, smiling down at the ball of black fur curled up on his chest.
The culprit.
“Kinn,” Porsche growls. “You said you closed the door.”
“I did,” Kinn insists through his laughter, nosing at the top of Omelette’s head then pressing a kiss to it. “This baby must have fallen asleep here. You know he likes burrowing behind the pillows of the sofa.”
Omelette, for all the trouble he's caused, yawns. His usually round eyes narrowed into slits as he nuzzles into Kinn.
Miw.
Lesson #4: Do NOT feed your cat chocolate. Cocoa is extremely toxic to cats and it can cause death without proper treatment. In the event of suspected ingestion, take your cat to the veterinarian immediately .
“Are you ready?” Kinn rushes out, the blue windowed backpack containing Omelette already strapped to his chest. He's in a plain gray sweater and the first pair of pants he could grab from his closet. His hair is a mess.
Porsche nods.
“I've already told Arm to get the car—”
“That'll take too long, Porsche!” Kinn interrupts frantically. “We'll use your motorcycle. You can get us there faster, can’t you?”
“I can,” Porsche concedes, pressing a kiss to Kinn’s forehead. “Let me grab my keys and the spare helmet. I'll meet you outside, okay?”
The closest veterinary clinic with an emergency room that can accommodate them at a quarter past two in the morning is halfway around town. It takes Porsche twenty minutes to get them there by motorcycle.
Kinn phones in on the way there.
A short woman with a chin-length bob straightens up to greet them when they push through the clinic’s glass doors. “Are you the Theerapanyakuls?”
“Yes,” Kinn confirms. “I’m Kinn. We spoke on the phone.”
“Right this way, sir,” comes the reply.
They’re taken down the hall, to an empty observation room that smells like disinfectant. There’s a steel table inside and on top of it is a beaker holding a small syringe filled with black fluid. The assistant tells them the vet will be with them shortly, then closes the door.
“How’s he looking?” Porsche murmurs, wrapping a hand around Kinn’s wrist.
Kinn unzips the backpack and Omelette’s head pops up almost immediately.
Mrow!
The door opens and closes before Kinn can reply.
“Hi, my name is Winai Chaisiri,” comes a warm voice, matched with a kind smile. “You can call me Mor Win.”
The veterinarian is at least four inches shorter than Porsche but his lithe proportions make him appear taller — almost elegant, with how he holds himself. He’s got fair, milky skin and almond-shaped eyes that grow round and interested as soon as he spots Kinn. There’s a split second where he looks almost daydreamy before the expression is covered up by warm professionalism.
Porsche takes immediate note, eyes narrowing even as he remains silent and lets Kinn do all the talking.
“Hi, we're here with Omelette,” Kinn says, scooping the kitten out of his backpack and placing him on the table. “I was the one who called you earlier? We think he may have eaten some chocolate.”
“I see,” Mor Win hums, scooping Omelette up and inspecting his eyes, then his teeth, before pressing his stomach. “Tell me again what happened.”
“He got into our room and nibbled at the end of a piece of chocolate,” Kinn sighs, tone filled with guilt.
“Huh,” Mor Win blinks, momentarily stunned before trying to sneak a glance between Kinn and Porsche. To his credit, his voice sounds normal when he next speaks. “You’re certain it was just that one?”
Porsche knew it. He fucking knew that look. The expression was a dead giveaway, no matter how brief it was. Porsche had seen in on himself, the first few times he and Kinn slept together.
“Positive,” Porsche confirms. And because he wants to provide as much information as possible to aid the diagnosis, he adds: “It was the only piece left. I was keeping it by the bedside table so Kinn and I could share it after he woke up, you know? But I took a shower and when I came back Omelette was there, nibbling on it.”
“Right. Well the good thing is you got Omelette here in time. He isn’t showing any alarming symptoms yet. What I’m going to do is give him some of this,” Mor Win smiles as he holds up the beaker with the syringe inside. “This is activated charcoal. It’ll absorb most of the toxins he’s ingested. Afterwards, I’ll also give him an emetic. What that will do is encourage him to vomit all that chocolate out.”
“And we can go home after?” Kinn asks.
Porsche internally glows at the words. We can go home after.
“It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes,” Mor Win nods. “But yes, you can go home after.”
The process takes no more than ten minutes. Porsche steps out for a moment and gets their bill processed so that they can leave as soon as Omelette is cleared to go home.
Only Kinn is in the room with Omelette when Porsche comes back. He’s murmuring low and comforting, fingers running down the kitten’s spine while Omelette finally throws up the contents of his stomach. There’s bits of chocolate in there, along with cat food, a hairball, and the black fluid of the activated charcoal.
Porsche grimaces as Omelette turns away from his own vomit and walks closer to Kinn, meowing loudly until he receives his requested chin rubs. “He’s loud, petulant, and always making a mess. A walking disaster.”
“I know. He’s so cute,” Kinn laughs, pressing a brief kiss to Omelette’s head before smiling at Porsche. “Apparently I have a soft spot for those.”
Lesson #5: Kittens should be dewormed and vaccinated at about eight weeks of age.
Kinn is seated on the sofa, scrolling through some documents on his tablet when Porsche gets back home.
Porsche unzips the backpack at his chest and unleashes Omelette onto his boyfriend. Predictably, Kinn sets the tablet aside to play with the kitten.
“How did things go?” Kinn asks.
“Today’s shots were the second to the last round of shots for him. He’s got the same recommendation as before: keep physical activities restricted for a few days so that his body can recover,” Porsche explains, taking the backpack off and plopping down beside Kinn. “The next set of shots will be some weeks from now, when he’s back with Chay.”
Kinn looks at Porsche with this teasing smile. “So you’re planning on actually giving him back, huh?”
“The hell does that mean?” Porsche frowns.
“I’m just saying,” Kinn teases, lifting Omelette up and bringing him close to Porsche’s face until their noses touch. “It’s clear you got attached. ”
“He’s my brother’s cat,” Porsche reasons, even as he places his fingers beneath the kitten’s chin to give him scritches. “I just took care of him.”
“Mmmhm,” Kinn shoots a smug grin at him. “Sounds like denial to me.”
“Denial?” Porsche chokes out. “Oh, if you want to talk about denial then tell me why haven’t you come clean about your past with the vet, hm?”
“What?” Kinn asks in complete disbelief. He looks so confused, Porsche finally takes pity on him by taking a business card from his wallet and handing it over.
“If you didn’t recognize his face then maybe you’ll recognize his name.”
Kinn reads the card and freezes.
“So are you going to admit it or should I dig up your old phone and look for his name in the contacts?” Porsche challenges with the confidence of someone who has already done that and had favorable results.
“Porsche,” Kinn swallows, white as a sheet. “I swear. I didn’t know.”
Porsche holds it in for all of three seconds before he starts cackling.
“Your face!” Porsche cuddles into Kinn’s side, absolutely delighted.
Kinn looks at him suspiciously. “How long have you known?”
“Since the night at the ER,” Porsche answers proudly.
Kinn sputters.
“Oh please,” Porsche rolls his eyes. “He was making eyes at you the moment we walked in.”
Kinn is at a loss for words.
Then, everything clicks.
“Wait, is that why you kept insisting on taking Omelette to his checkups?”
“No,” Porsche denies vehemently.
(Yes, it was.)
Kinn tilts his head and raises one triangular brow.
“Look, you and Chay are both busy! I have the most flexible schedule so I figured I could do it,” Porsche supplies. “Besides, Mor Win’s a cool guy. He’s a very good vet.”
“Uh-huh.”
A kiss. First on the cheek, then on the lips.
“Shut up.”
Lesson #6: All cats love heat sources.
(For Omelette, this includes Porsche's chest. He stays there and kneads until he falls asleep. It's cute.)
Porsche sighs as he wakes up. In the span of a month and a half, he has grown used to waking up with a warm weight on his chest — to Omelette, curled into a ball and purring up a storm.
However, today is the day.
Chay finished moving in and he’s dropping by this afternoon to pick Omelette up.
In the meantime, Porsche elects to stay in bed and scroll through his phone while listening to the calming sound of purrs coming from the kitten sleeping on his chest. Now that he thinks about it, Omelette has grown a lot. Porsche can’t carry him with one hand as effortlessly as he used to.
His ears are still much too big for his head, though.
Kinn wakes up a few moments later and curls into Porsche, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. His feet are warm against Porsche’s beneath the sheets.
“Good morning,” Kinn mumbles, voice low and scratchy. “Did you sleep well?”
Porsche hums. He’d fallen asleep to soft vibrations on his chest. “Perfectly.”
(Lesson #7: Cats are the best.)
“Wait,” Kinn says, trying to catch up to Porsche after forgetting something in the car. “These came in this morning after you left for work.”
Porsche wants to do anything but wait. He wants to rush into the building right now because he’s been waiting for weeks.
But he sees the matching set of collars in Kinn’s hands and he immediately sets down the large pet carrier he’s holding.
They’ve been looking to adopt a cat recently and Porsche knew as soon as his eyes landed on this orange tabby with beautiful golden eyes that he was the one. However, the shelter they’d gone to had been hesitant to adopt him without talking to Porsche first.
We understand you like Tiger, but he’s got special needs because of a chronic medical condition, the shelter assistant had said. He’s also one half of a bonded pair that we’d prefer to adopt out together. If you would like to proceed, we could let you meet his friend Milo while our resident veterinarian explains how you can care for both of them properly.
“You had these custom made?”
“Of course,” Kinn confirms. “Khun picked out the colors. He said he wouldn’t forgive me if I got collars that clashed.”
Porsche laughs with a lightness in his chest.
Their babies are coming home.