Archive of Our Own

Rossi is an asshole, everyone knows it. Kinn knows it, his guard Big knows it, half of Bangkok knows it, even Kinn’s father knows it. Hard not to, when his own son tells him again and again, at different volumes and in more or less polite terms. It all depends on if it’s before or after a meeting with said Italian. But Khun Korn insists: Rossi is important, irreplaceable. A privileged partner. Without him, forget the Italian market. Rossi is the only one able to talk business both with the north and the Sicilians.

In Kinn's humble opinion Rossi is three-quarters bragging and one-quarter incompetent, all that to compensate for the size of his micro knot, so no danger to anyone. But who is Kinn to judge, really?

Tay burst out laughing when hearing this. According to him, that was rich coming from a beta who does not even have a knot to speak of. Well, at least Kinn isn’t at risk of getting his dick locked in a vagina where it shouldn’t even have dreamt of parking. Then he tracked back and realised the utter shit that had just slipped out of his mouth. Tay had the elegance not to utter Tawan’s name, letting Kinn avoid his gaze and polish off his whisky in peace.

It was only the next morning, his eyes blinking open and the headache of all headaches rattling around under his skull, that Kinn realised: Time wasn’t there the day before. He had called Tay immediately, saying he was so sorry for his own stupidity and offering to drag his idiot of an alpha back home. Tay had refused, as always, and as always, Kinn didn’t insist, because it’s not his place to.

So yes, Kinn is sooooo happy to be here today, in the middle of this long corridor lined with empty wine barrels, ready to spend an hour with the man everyone ironically nicknamed the Don. Kinn’s smile is strained. Rossi didn’t shave and on top of being wrinkled his shirt also looks older than Kinn. That’s the problem with black on black: first, you are at risk of receiving unasked for sincere condolences; second, it’s glaringly obvious when a piece is over-washed. But Kinn is a professional, so he forces himself and answers the Italian’s booming salutation. Nothing sincere, but that’s not as if Rossi could spot the difference, not having ever been the recipient of a real one.

Kinn sits down before he is invited to, following Rossi’s example who did not make the effort to stand from where he is sprawled in his seat. Kinn’s men spread behind him, the two alpha guards who stopped using their scent-blockers at his back, their untamed scent slipping around them, Big on his left, at the edge of his vision.

The accountant that came with them is dancing from one foot to the other until he resolves to take the one remaining empty seat.

“Don Rossi, Khun Korn apologises for not being here tonight. For the coming months, his son Khun Kinn will be in charge.”

“Kinn! Such a pleasure to see you all grown up! So, still no omega on your arm?”

Kinn’s smile gets even more strained. No, still no omega on his arm. If he wanted something on his arm he would get a watch. Less expensive, less bullshit and at least you can trust them to give you the time.

Rossi ends the small-talk there, jumping immediately to the casinos and their profits. Kinn answers amiably, his accent thickened by his rage. The profits? What profits? The ones Rossi thinks he can keep stealing from under their nose? Without any consequences?

Privileged doesn’t mean untouchable. Irreplaceable doesn’t mean indispensable. If he keeps up the disrespect, De Roubesse and his innuendos will become a less horrible option.

Big moves. Kinn freezes. He takes integrating the accountant to their discussion as an excuse to turn more toward his trusted guard. Big’s nose is wrinkled, as if the stale aftertaste of Rossi’s latest joke particularly displeased him.

Kinn’s ire takes a back seat. His mind sharpens and, for once in his life, Rossi gains his full attention. The man is still laughing at his own joke. Kinn checks and double checks the number of Italian men. There is one more than on Kinn’s side, and Kinn is counting the accountant as one of his own.

Kinn tries to slow down his heartbeat; they are on Rossi’s turf and Rossi is an alpha, just a plain, boring old alpha. But his nephew, who landed in Bangkok just last month, what is he? And the guard Big looked at twice, he has no previous memory of him.

He didn’t want to go to such extremes but…

Before anyone can react, Kinn reaches out to one of his guards. The weapon's coldness barely has time to bite his skin and his finger is already on the trigger. He pulls. The accountant has one last twitch before sliding down his chair, a hole between his brows, head thrown back, the scar of his deceased alpha’s bite visible for all.

*

“What did you smell?”

Kinn is sitting at the back of his Maserati, Big by his side. In the front, an old jazz album is playing, driver’s choice. The volume is kept low but it’s enough to cover Kinn and Big’s discussion as long as they whisper.

“The French.” Big spat the moniker. “I wasn’t sure at first with the smell of the rotting barrels, but one of the guards had a bit of De Roubesse’s scent on him. He was the only one.”

Kinn sinks back into his seat, his gaze lost in the city running by them. He should be overjoyed that Jules De Roubesse isn’t in cabal with the Italian, but the French alpha is more unpredictable than a game of Russian roulette. His father will have to be notified and a new accountant must be appointed for the European sector too.

The music stops. Kinn straightens. He doesn’t need long to see what is happening and put his guards on high alert.

*

Big has the car stop near a night market. Kinn and he crouch hidden behind a stand while the car leaves. Now they just have to wait for the back up team to arrive and fetch them.

“Shit.” Big groans, trying to be one with the stand.

Kinn slaps his arm. Big raises both hands and shows eight fingers. Shit indeed. They have to move before they get flushed out into the open

It’s already too late.

Big wrinkles his nose and after a single deep breath he slaps his hands on his face with a grunt. He is not the only one. Around them, other groans and yelps can be heard. The low groans of angry alphas and the yelps of distressed omegas. Soon, even Kinn is able to smell them. It’s a nauseating stink. What the heck, has that idiot Rossi completely lost his mind? Kinn barely touched his pile of shit and this is how he responds? By sending a gang of pro-alphas to bite his ass?

Kinn turns toward Big so they have a rough idea of their destination before running, but the persistent grimace on his guard’s face stops him.

“Big?”

“They are using enhancers.”

Enhancers? Even the Theerapanyakuls have a hard time finding those. The army and hospitals alike guard their stocks under triple locks. Those that can be found on the black market are way too unstable to be worth the risk. Even in the mafia, slaughtering your friends during a black-out is considered bad behaviour.

Kinn looks at Big, the tension edged in every line of his face and his greenish colour. He knows what he has to do.

Kinn grabs Big and pushes him under the stand. His guard falls with a yelp but Kinn is already on the move. He sees some ugly heads turn toward him while he sprints between the vendors, aiming for the busiest portion, hoping to lose them amid the masses.

Kinn has no idea of where he is going, he doesn’t have time to apologize to the people he pushes out of his way. Way too soon he finds himself in a deserted area, some kind of passage full of construction materials and pallets. Short on alternatives, he rushes in. He is only half way when the air around him became suffocating, the echo of the horde of dogs chasing him bouncing on the tilled ceilings and walls. An unmistakable click. Kinn doesn’t think. He grabs his gun, aims and fires. The closest thug falls, his helmet making a bell sound, the hole in his helmet the only indication of what just happened. Kinn aims at the next one. Fire.

Nothing.

Shit! How can the magazine be empty? He checked it before leaving!

His pursuers realize at the same time. Kinn doesn’t wait, he turns on his heels and bolts. Arriving at the end of the tunnel he takes the ramp toward the surface at full speed. The low growl on his heel gives him the adrenaline boost to continue despite his burning side stitch, or at least it does until a hand grabs his ankle through the railing. Kinn falls, the alpha behind him seizing his chance. He throws himself over Kinn, flips him over and lets out a wet gurgle when Kinn stabs him in his throat. Kinn doesn’t have time to watch the light leave his eyes or whatever bullshit. He takes his blade from the corpse, and before mister ankle-grabber can get out of his stupor he stabs the knife through his hand. The boy screams but more importantly his grip loosens up and Kinn jumps to his feet and bolts just as the four other men arrive. The door at the end of the ramp, let it open, please let it open.

The door gives under his weight. Kinn loses his balance and finds himself back on all fours. When he scrambles back to his feet it’s only to realise he just got out of the frying pan and into the fire. After the tunnel and the winding ramp, he is gifted a street lined with blind walls and pursuers way too hot on his heels for his tastes. Worse, the man who seems to be their leader smiles with all his pearly little teeth, his artificially boosted pheromones forcing Kinn to breathe discretely through his mouth.

“So, not rising to the bait? Not trying to use your own scent against us? Not even a little wisp for us?” Asks the brute with such a crass tone that Kinn wouldn’t be surprised if he started catcalling him.

“Do you know how good you smell, and that you have pretty black eyes?”

Kinn keeps his mouth shut. It’s too late to bluff. If he was an alpha, he would have let his scent loose as soon as they left the market and they knew it. He can’t let them get out of this alive.

“Come here beta. The boss wants you alive, I promise.”

How nice of him. And he bet he has petit-fours and a bottle from his best vineyard waiting on his table too. Even Rossi’s wife didn’t get that kind of attention.

Kinn turns on his heels and runs. His side-stitch is burning more and more. He just needs to hold on until his guards find him. A hand grips his jacket. Kinn lets it slide down his arms and fall, triggering a salve of swearing. He pushes a bit harder on his burning muscles. There are only three (four?) men left, he can do it, he can….

The street turns at a right angle. Kinn sees it too late. He bounces off the wall and barges in a new place. At some point it must have been some kind of patio, now it’s barely different from a back allay. Piles of empty crates and a broken bar stand under red lanterns overhead. And in the middle of all that, dressed in all black (the real black kind), is standing the most beautiful man Kinn has ever seen.

Tall, maybe as tall as Kinn, his open shirt revealing amber skin just calling to be bitten. His rolled up sleeves reveal his arms, and what arms. The man might not push as much as Kinn at the gym but those corded muscles clearly aren’t here just for show.

“Pretty.” The word escaped the man’s mouth in an awed breath.

Kinn’s eyes snap up to the face of the stranger, spending a long time on his slightly open mouth, the cigarette dangling at his fingertips, forgotten.

The hypnotic silence between them is broken by the brisk arrival of Kinn’s pursuers. Kinn grapples back to escape their nauseating smells, getting closer to the stranger in the same move.

This close, the stranger is even more beautiful. His brown eyes are lined with golden flecks and his jawline is enough to get Kinn’s mouth watering.

“Help me.” The man might be a rare find but Kinn is in no position to get sentimental. He needs someone to slow down the thugs and with some luck, they won’t bother killing the man.

A shudder seems to travel through said man. His chin raises, his mouth opening a bit more. Then his jaw snaps close and he blinks.

“Do I smell good?”

What the – Kinn breathes in. Then a second time. He stops himself before doing it a third time.

“You do?”

The stranger smiles, a smile that eats half his face and creases the corners of his eyes and – Woo fuck! Kinn takes a step back before regaining control of his instincts. What the hell are those teeth?

Sadly for mister three quarter-knot one quarter-brain that’s when he loses patience and decides to jump in the conversation.

“Hey asshole, stay out of it. Piss off if you don’t want me to rip your throat with my teeth.”

First, that was a very old fashioned threat, knives and guns were invented for a reason. Second, after seeing what he just saw, Kinn can say that the joke will be on them. Not that he will share this piece of information with his aggressors.

Said aggressors move forward, Kinn moves back, the stranger moves in between them, arm extended in front of himself. Kinn has to throw his head back before getting burned by the forgotten cigarette.

“Hey, calm down lads. I know he smells good but he is still just a beta. Doesn’t have the bits that would interest you.”

An idiot. Kinn fell upon an organically certified idiot. All magnificence and lack of self preservation. An opinion the thugs must share because after a brief stupor their leader loses it.

“Move out before I cut your throat. You don’t want to die with that knot-less.”

Ah, what happened to the - our boss wants you alive - from a few minutes ago?

The stranger tilts his head, looking like an adorable puppy but on a dangerous level, before giving the man who just threatened to kill him one of the best customer service smiles Kinn has ever seen

“One moment please.” Then to Kinn: “Are you free Monday evening?”

Is this man for real?

“What?”

“Monday evening, you, me, the restaurant of your choice.” The man grimaces. “As long as it’s not too expensive. In exchange I get you rid of these half-knots.”

It clicks in Kinn’s brain, at last. He should have guessed with those muscles and the way he reacted to the enhanced alphas’ threat. The stranger is part of their world and recognizes Kinn. He is trading his help for a favour. Kinn should really have seen it coming. Disappointingly, He-

The gang leader takes another step forward, snarling with a red ring around his irises.

This time when Kinn moves back it’s a conscious choice, his eyes jumping from one aggressor to the next, to the machete that appeared from fuck knows where.

“Deal.”

The stranger smiles, his eyes reduced to two croissants. He bloody giggles.

“Great, just another moment please.”

Flabbergasted, Kinn looks at him skipping toward the broken counter, leaves his cigarette in an ashtray, grabs an empty bottle and – No, certainly he won’t – yes - he is taking a piss in it. Who let this lunatic out?

Kinn isn’t offered the leisure of going further in his thoughts. The four men unilaterally decide they have waited long enough. Kinn has to push back their leader then has to block the machete right before it falls on him. The blade tilts, closer and closer to his face. Kinn raises his leg, hard and fast, crushing the blade wielder’s jewels with his knee. The brusque move upset his centre of gravity. He tries to disengage too fast and falls on the floor, once again. His shirt isn’t enough to dull the abrasiveness of the asphalt, his skin is torn and his watch takes most of the impact. The cracking sounds leave no doubt on the state it’s in. Above him, the thug smiles madly through the pain, ready to slash down his machete.

“I told you to wait.”

The bottle explodes on the man’s ugly face, the impact so violent that he falls down on his back, out cold.

The stranger doesn’t give the three men left time to react. In two strides he is on them. He plants his converse in the first one’s solar plexus, his fist in the second’s face. The third gets his guard up but is way too slow to block the rain of strikes falling on him. He drops down like a bag of potatoes.

In the meantime, his two little friends get back on their feet. They should not have. One ends with his head in the bottle crates, the scream of agony from the second and the loud crack when the stranger targets his knee, leaves no doubt about the necessity of a hospital trip. And when mister ‘bottle of piss in the face’ gets back on his feet one last time, it's a matter of millimetres that he doesn’t end with his vertebra displaced.

From the floor, ass in something vaguely damp, Kinn looks with round eyes at the four men lying unconscious. At least two of them were alphas under enhancers and this man just chewed them up and spit them out as if they were a bad culinary experience.

A man who is now closing in on him with the biggest smile, proud as a peacock. Kinn hesitates for a second to take the outstretched hand but this man just saved his life. Even if there is a risk he is working for another family, it’s still best not to turn one’s back on him. Kinn closes his fingers around the stranger’s wrist and is pulled to his feet so fast that he falls directly in the man’s arms. He smells even better from here, is he using some kind of special product? Kinn realizes his thumb is caressing the skin left accessible by his saviour’s open shirt. He immediately removes his hand but the man won’t free him.

“So,” said man starts, his smile even bigger than before. “About that dinner on Monday, where do you want to-”

Kinn stops listening there. A movement out the corner of his eyes gets his attention. One of the men is stumbling back to his feet, a Glock in his hand.

Kinn doesn’t think. He rips himself from his saviour’s arms and kicks him away.

The bullet whizzes past both their faces and ends its course into one of the neons, making it explode into thousands of tiny shards.

The stranger freezes, his eyes fixed on the imprint left by Kinn’s shoe on his shirt. The gun’s aim moves. Kinn knows he is on the wrong side of the barrel but is strangely rooted to the floor.

Then, all of a sudden, the smell explodes.

A fire burning down your throat, devouring your lungs and demanding you show the back of your neck. Kinn staggers, bent over by the pain. He hears the Glock falling, the laboured breaths and the pitiful yapping.

The low growls have Kinn shaking to the marrow of his bones.

“What did you just try to do?”

The alpha thug is crying in pain. Kinn raises his eyes, just in time to see the stranger grab the shooter by his throat. The thug doesn’t even try to fight back, instead he pisses himself. There isn’t any trace of red left in his eyes. The strangers are the colour of rage and lava, his sharp teeth and dropped fangs on full display.

Kinn’s muscles are completely locked. The fear makes his heart beat double and his vision swim. A high alpha. he just kicked a high alpha. and the thug is going to pay for the both of them.

“Give me one good reason not to rip out all the useless things between your dead brain and tiny balls.”

“Please alpha, please.” The pro-alpha thug is now crying like a baby between the claws of a creature more dangerous than he could ever dream to be, enhancers or not. “I didn’t know alpha, I wasn’t shooting at you, I promise I wasn’t.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire. And one he shouldn’t have tried if one is to believe how the high-alpha's growl intensifies. His prey starts panicking, his hand twitching in the air, his fingers scratching in vain at the hand around his throat.

“No.” whispers the high-alpha. “You wanted to kill him.” The last word is a roar, the burning eyes turning to Kinn and Kinn has no idea what the high-alpha sees on his face but he abruptly frees his prey and runs to Kinn. A first whine escapes the high-alpha’s throat, then another and another. His hand slips on Kinn’s skin, under his hair.

“Breath, please breathe. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want that, I promise you I didn’t.”

Kinn lets his head rest on the hand holding his neck, its coolness welcomed. The smell around them gets lighter, still bitter but easier to breathe in.

“I’m OK.” Kinn rasps between two breath-ins. “Just need to move away from here.”

The alpha doesn’t need to be told twice. Kinn is swept off his feet and raised in the hair bridal style. He knows the exact position of every ten fingers on his thigh and shoulder. Under his cheek the skin is soft, the heart beats under his ear a regular lullaby making him drowsy. The alpha tries correcting his grip, inadvertently pressing on one of Kinn’s forming bruises.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Kinn's answer isn’t verbal. Instead he presses his cheek against the warm skin. The alpha lets out a low and subdued growl that almost sounds like a purr. Kinn hears the warning nonetheless and keeps his hand nicely lying on his own lap. That’s harder than one would think, especially with that pert little nipple playing hide and seek under the black shirt.

Soon the alpha gets them inside… somewhere. There is a mop against the wall, some old beer kegs and it smells like bleach. Strangely that’s when the alpha tries putting him back on his feet. Kinn clings to him. In respect for the Italian leather of his shoes of course. The alpha lets out another whine. Kinn releases his grip. Must be the guy’s only good shirt.

“Are you too hurt to walk?”

Kinn’s head snaps up, unsure of what he just heard. The alpha face is lined with worry but his eyes have returned to their golden hue, only a vermilion circle remaining. Kinn raises his hand and caresses the crease that appeared between his eyebrows. The alpha’s fingers squeeze him a little bit more, his lips parting on an inhale. Kinn would only have to let his fingers slide along his jaw and behind his ear, to pull him a bit in…

“You can let me down.”

The alpha does. Kinn is still a bit light headed, so when his saviour removes his hands he is kind of wobbly on his legs and the alpha has to rush to get his arms back around him before he falls down.

“I’m sorry.” The alpha says for the nth time.

Hadn’t Kinn seen him terrorize full grown alphas with his pheromones alone, Kinn would have a hard time believing this is a high-alpha. The few he met before were rougher. All muscles, chin high and an even bigger ego. A privileged social status they felt obligated to embody.

This one is none of that.

Too graceful, made of too much coiled muscle and insolence. Who only revealed his primal type after losing control.

“Are there others?”

Kinn gets back to the present.

“The men pursuing you, are there others?”

Kinn opens his mouth, ready to thank the alpha and tell him he will manage by himself from here. His men surely won’t be much longer. They only have to follow the GPS tracker… sewed in his jacket, the one currently lying somewhere on the street. Or the other one, placed in his smashed watch. Well, nothing that can’t be fixed by a phone call. He only has to ask his saviour, who doesn’t have a phone on them nowadays?

“I think there were eight of them.” He says instead. “I managed to shake off some of them. I think.” The man doesn’t need to know about the two he killed or the one he mangled.

The arms around his waist tense, bringing him closer to the warm alpha. The red circles eat a bit more the brown of his eyes. Kinn bites the inside of his cheek. He never thought he would think that of an alpha, even less of a high one, but the man is cute post-craze.

“Eight!” The alpha yelps. He looks around them, as if he was expecting an assassin to jump from behind the cleaning stuff.

“You’re not safe here, we have to move.”

That would be the perfect moment for Kinn to say that he might know the perfect place, the most secure of all Bangkok even, and by an incredible coincidence it also happens to be his home. But before he can decide to be irresponsible or not the alpha is grabbing him by the hand and pulling him behind him and all Kinn can see are his own pale fingers intertwined with the alpha’s darker ones. Their hands are almost the same size, but the alpha’s fingers are slender, more dexterous. Their heat is already warming up his signet ring. Kinn wonders, what they would look like against his torso, would he feel their heat if the alpha was to press all ten of them in his muscles?

The sudden noise forces Kinn to look at his new surroundings. There are women in short dresses everywhere, dancing to the tempo of the music, cocktail glasses in hand, a few delicate men thrown in for the mix, black clad waiters moving between them.

Despite the noise one of the waiters turns to them as soon as they put a foot in the room, his eyes immediately falling on their linked hands. If this is him masking his surprise, Kinn hopes for him he’ll never play poker. Or if he does, he does it in one of his own casinos.

“Porsche.”

So that’s his saviour’s name. Porsche’s colleague moves toward them, not noticing how Porsche moves to get himself between him and Kinn. He rummages in his pocket and produces a scrunched-up business card:

“The girl you took out, she asked me to give you this.”

Porsche takes it without looking at it. Instead he is scanning the room, measuring up every person, ignoring the burning looks thrown his way. Kinn moves closer to Porsche until above their joined hands their forearms brush against each other.

“Bank, can you cover the rest of my shift? You can keep tonight tips in exchange.”

Bank doesn’t protest, instead his eyes get that shiny finish given by the idea of money. Those tips must be quite substantial. Porsche’s hand releases his and instead moves to the small of his back, where it’s easier for Porsche to guide him. Kinn is pushed toward the counter, a brave omega is trying an approach, well, at least until Porsche's low growl gets him to back off. Porsche snaps his fingers and immediately one of the barmen gives him what looks like car keys.

Kinn only understands his mistake once outside, when faced not with a car but a Ducati. Red, shiny and the textbook definition of death on two wheels. Porsche, sitting on it, is extending his helmet to Kinn, as if he was expecting him to jump on that monster.

“There is no way you-”

Some shouts and engine sounds from down the street have Kinn snap his head in that direction. Two motorbikes are gunning down the road at full speed, four men in total. At least it corroborates what he said to Porsche. Kinn takes the helmet and jumps behind Porsche, hands firmly gripped to the alpha. The Ducati roars and jumps into the traffic. Porsche slaloms between the cars, weaving in and out so close to the other vehicles that their pursuers don’t dare to follow. In barely a few seconds, the thugs are lost.

*

When Porsche talked about bringing him to safety, that’s not what Kinn had in mind. The family house is nothing out of the ordinary, if one accepts that Porsche only needed a kick to open the door. There isn’t even the pretense of a lock on it. The grass is yellowish, not a single flower in the beds, just a stone table and an old swing chair. The house itself is in better shape but the numerous bay windows offering a direct view of the inside do not put him at ease either.

Something cold presses against his palm, having Kinn jump.

“Get inside, I have to park the bike.”

Kinn is tired. Every car passing in the nearby streets, every neighbour opening or closing a door, every single dog barking makes him jump in his skin. He needs silence, calm and four walls around him. He takes the key and moves to the door.

The key turns thrice, causing multiple low thuds from the locks each time. The inside is dressed in shadows. Kinn trips on a sneaker before finding the light switch.

He never felt so relaxed. The house smells of laundry detergent and something else, something more familiar and woody with a touch of citrus. A natural scent is more and more prominent while he moves toward the living room. The pictures displayed on the bookshelf could use a quick dusting but Kinn doesn’t remember ever smiling as much as the two young men on them. They look a lot alike.

“My brother.”

Kinn puts down the picture and turns toward the alpha. Porsche is standing at a respectful distance, back straight, but his eyes are jumping from an empty cup to the plaid thrown over the sofa then the half filled desk bin. Kinn is way more tired than he thought. It’s only now that it hits him: Porsche brought him to his family home. Kinn closes his hand on the key, taking comfort in feeling the indents in his skin. He doesn’t want to give it back.

They are at Porsche’s, where he lives and fall asleep at night. Where he allows himself to be vulnerable. On his territory.

Forget the high walls of the compound or the guards rotations, Kinn might never have been as secure as here, bay windows and broken door included. One would have to be out of their mind to threaten a high-alpha on his own territory. It would be the surest way to end with a torn throat and with the house in Porsche’s name, the law would also be on his side. An alpha’s territoriality is well known. History books are full of examples about it. That’s genetic: better senses, more muscles. Advantages balanced by a tricky hormonal cycle that makes controlling instincts more difficult. All that is dialled up to ten in high-alphas, to the point that they can snap loose without meaning to. Touch what they considered theirs, their home or family, and you can consider yourself a dead man.

And yet, here Kinn is, all because when he told Porsche he was in danger, the high-alpha instinctively decided to hide him at the heart of his territory, in his own home. Kinn’s head turns back to the pictures, looking at every single one of them. Porsche, his brother, in the living room, two commemorative pictures of who must be their parents. Another one, on the lower shelf, where the two brothers are flanked by two other young men. One covered in tattoos, the other soft looking.

“And them?”

Porsche moves closer.

“Friends.”

Kinn straightens up to his full height, turning his head to look Porsche directly in the eyes. He could turn to bodily face Porsche but that would mean losing the point of contact between his shoulder and Porsche’s torso. And Kinn was right, he barely has three centimetres on the high-alpha. The bike was deceptive with Porsche being all legs.

“Friends?” Kinn asks again with an emphasis that can’t be missed.

“Friends.” Porsche answers with a low growl at the back of his throat.

Kinn makes that turn that brings him face to face with Porsche and instinctively tilts his head, freeing the long line of his neck, but refusing to look down. Porsche's attention is focused on the delicate skin on display, where his blood pulses under the skin. His torso is brushing Kinn when he breathes in. His growl calms down.

Kinn wonders how he is going to ask Porsche for his phone. He should wait for him to be completely at ease. After they took a cup of tea maybe? Kinn wouldn’t mind sitting down for a bit.

It’s Kinn’s turn to take Porsche’s hand, depositing his keys in his palm even if it’s the complete opposite of what he wants. Trust is the base of any successful negotiation.

Kinn is testing formulations in his head when Porsche puts some distance between them and moves away.

He climbs the first few steps of the stair before stopping, his brown eyes on Kinn.

“My brother is sleeping, mind the next to last step, it creaks.”

That would be stupid, very stupid, at the opposite of everything Chan ever taught him. Kinn notes: the penultimate step.

Porsche waits for Kinn to step on the first step before switching off the lights. Their universe is draped in blue hues. The only thing Kinn can see is the outline of Porsche’s figure in front of him. Tall, imposing. Reassuring. Fingers brushing his, finding them and reclaiming their rightful place between his, calluses against calluses. Where did Porsche earn his? If Kinn had a say in it, Porsche’s hands would get soft in a matter of weeks.

A step then the next, a closed door on the middle landing that Porsche ignores after a short stop. More steps. Porsche’s hand pressing his. Kinn avoids the next step.

Porsche’s room is in his image: warm and welcoming. Kinn knows it without seeing it, just by the smell of wood and plants. When Porsche switches the bedside lamp on and reveals the blue sheets on the bed and the pile of books beside it, it’s only a confirmation. The singular light projects Porsche’s misty shadow against the wall. Lit from beneath, the reddish hue of his eyes reveals itself. Kinn feels Porsche’s eyes on his skin, coiled around his throat, sliding under his shirt and along his arms. Kinn’s instincts are screaming at him to run, to flee. He can smell the amber under the wood ready to burn.

He takes a few steps back and, by touch only, closes the door.

Porsche uncoils his form, his black shirt darker than the darkness, his jawline the only part of his face in the light.

Kinn stays with his back to the door, hands on the lock, while Porsche prowls toward him. He keeps his chin up, his throat accessible.

Porsche stops, barely a breath between them. At the edge of his irises, the brown is melting into the red.

Fingers brush the lapels of his shirt and Kinn’s lungs stop working. The fingers anchor themselves behind the first button.

“Throw it in the laundry basket. You’re not staying in my house reeking of someone else.”

Kinn’s heart misses a beat.

“And whose smell should I wear?”

Porsche lets out a low growl and, in a heartbeat, Kinn is pressed between the wood of the door and the hard planes of Porsche’s body, their noses doing more than brushing. Kinn’s head falls against the door and takes a long, calming, breath.

“Not theirs.”

Porsche’s words resonate under Kinn’s skin more than he hears them.

“Your territory, your rules Alpha.” He answers calmly.

Porsche’s growl gets tamer, now almost a purr.

The pressure of the warm body leaves Kinn. His body doesn’t move, only his head lolling to follow Porsche’s moves. The alpha opens the closet built against one of the walls, and from a drawer extracts an old T-shirt and a well worn grey joggers.

*

Kinn finishes drying up, looking at the clothes on the side of the sink. Under the white light his injuries are quite obvious. He has no difficulties breathing and there is no particular pain in his ribs, but a bruise is forming. He has multiple scratch marks on the arms and legs, nothing on his face however. The ones on his legs will be hidden under the joggers, the T-shirt however will be inefficient against the marks left on his arms and wrists. Kinn wonders what it would have changed had they still been behind the bar, Kinn’s aggressors within hands reach.

Kinn hangs the towel and rakes his hand in his hair. It is still kind of damp but Porsche doesn’t own a hairdryer. He washed it twice, Kinn hopes it will be enough for Porsche. On the vanity, the toothpaste is rather high end for a simple barman, as the rest of the products are. Only unscented ones or natural perfumes. None matched the woody scent emanating from Porsche.

When Kinn leaves the bathroom the windows have been left ajar. There is a wet towel thrown over the rickety chair and Porsche exchanged his black clothes for a T-shirt and flannel trousers. He is finishing up replacing the sheets. Kinn keeps his mouth shut. The fresh linens smell and the outside breeze? That’s not what he wanted for tonight.

“Chay wakes up around 10a.m. When he doesn’t have classes, I usually wake a bit sooner. Don’t hesitate to wake me up if you’re first.”

Porsche fluffs the pillow one last time before straightening up. His eyes stop on Kinn’s arms, just as expected. His half revealed teeth and the brown of his eyes tinting red warm Kinn up from the inside.

Porsche looks away and moves away from the bed.

It’s only when his host has his hand on the handle of the door and wishes him a good night that Kinn realises.

“Where are you going?” There is a bit of Khun Kinn in his voice but Kinn doesn’t care.

Porsche is looking at him with a lost expression.

“I’m going to sleep on the sofa.”

Kinn looks at the clean sheets, the neatly made bed and the opened window. He closes it with a harsh move and in a few strides is on Porsche. Looking right in his eyes, he locks the door for the second time tonight. Porsche doesn’t even try to growl at him.

The books are on the right side of the bed. Kinn moves to the left and pulls at the blanket.

“Are you going to spend the night by the door or are you coming to bed?”

“But… You’re the guest.”

Kinn levels a flat look at Porsche.

“And this is your bed. A rather large one might I add.” Porsche is still rooted on his spot. “Porsche, come to bed. I promise your virtue is safe with me.”

Porsche takes a careful step toward the bed, then another. Kinn slips between the sheets. Porsche’s fingers hoover over the blanket. Kinn smiles. Some omegas would have lessons to take from Porsche, maybe their carefully crafted demureness would look real at least.

“Porsche, please, I’ll feel safer if you sleep by my side.”

At last Porsche pulls back the sheets and slips into bed. Kinn watches his shoulder relax minutely. He only lets his head sink in the pillow once he is certain Porsche is not going to run for the door.

A few minutes later the light switches off.

Kinn falls asleep in a few heart beats.

*

Kinn eyes open languidly. The room is dark. His back is a furnace. Porsche’s arm is thrown over his waist, his finger slipped under his shirt, spread on his skin. Their legs are intertwined and Porsche’s nose tickles his nape. Kinn moves his arm over the covers and gets a leg out. Porsche groans and pulls him tighter against him. Kinn is asleep in seconds.

*

Kinn is waking up for real. Light is filtering through the blinds and Porsche isn’t in bed any more. His side of the sheets are cold but his scent permeates the air. Kinn rolls to the middle of the bed, closes his eyes and breaths. His heartbeat slows down immediately.

If he listens carefully he can hear some noise downstairs. That’s also the moment his stomach chose to remind him he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday.

Kinn forces himself to get one foot, then the other, out of the bed. Under his feet the wooden floor is cold. Someone re-opened the window and blinds. Kinn wonders if Porsche woke up still hugging him.

On the stairs Kinn is careful to avoid the second step.

Porsche is in the kitchen, bent over a cutting board. There already are multiple bowls and plates on the table, almost exclusively vegetarian dishes. Kinn leans against the door, taking advantage of Porsche’s concentration to watch him. The alpha has exchanged last night’s T-shirt for a slimmer one that flatters his broad shoulders and tiny waist. In the yellow light of the morning, Kinn can savour the veins on his arms, the muscles under his skin and the dexterity with which he uses his knife. Kinn wonders what he would have seen this morning had he been the first one to wake up. Next time.

The wind blows through the open windows and Porsche’s head snaps up, nose humming the air.

“Sit down, I’m almost done.”

Kinn pushes himself away from the wall and gets the chair closest to Porsche. Porsche keeps cooking but Kinn knows he has his attention. A small thing in the angle of his shoulders, in the sharpness of his movements.

“I hadn’t slept that well in years.”

In fact, there is a bit of that sleepiness remaining in his bones.

Porsche puts the last dish on the table. Papaya and shrimps carefully cleaned up, even the dorsal black thing was removed.

“I only have coffee.”

Kinn smiles.

“Perfect.”

Porsche’s answering smile makes Kinn wish he could turn it into a blanket - the kind he could cocoon himself in at night.

“Start eating.” Porsche says while removing the hot water from the heating plate and getting a vacuum coffee maker from the pantry.

Kinn’s choice falls on the warm dishes: eggs, rice and what looks like some ragout. Some beef maybe? He doesn’t recognize the texture. A hand appears in his field of view, the smell of coffee mixing with the one of spices.

“What is it?” Kinn asks, mouth full, showing the ragout on his plate.

A light blush blooms on Porsche’s cheeks, only visible thanks to the morning light.

“Beef tail. Don’t force yourself if you don’t like it.”

Kinn doesn’t understand. Then it clicks. Kinn puts down his fork and grabs the spoon instead. Easier to fill to the brim with rice and beef’s tail. And eat it whole. Porsche purrs.

Kinn smirks. Good, message received.

A noise above their head breaks the moment. Then a complete regiment tumbling down the stairs. The next moment an adolescent runs into the kitchen, hair a bird nest and still in his pajamas.

“I’m starving! What did you cook? Smells so good!” The adolescent asks, already zeroing on the coffee. It’s only after his first sip of caffeine and stealing a shrimp that he realises his brother isn’t alone in the kitchen. He stops chewing on the shrimp, tail dangling out of his mouth. His eyes jump from Kinn, to the dishes on the table, then Porsche. Kinn’s plate again, his brother. Kinn, his brother.

“Porsche, are you… are you courting?”

Porsche purring stops. Abruptly. Everything stops. Kinn looks at his plate, Porsche, his plate. The feast that must have taken more than an hour to cook. Not a normal breakfast. 

All colour leaves Porsche and when he opens his mouth, only apologies tumble out of it. He didn’t realize, he swears, he -

“Your phone.” Kinn cuts in. “Please.”

Porsche gives him his smartphone, head hung low and eyes fixed on Kinn’s plate. Kinn gets to his feet, moves toward the living room, comes back and grabs his plate and does not flee away, taking the stairs four by four.

*

There are five strides from the window to the opposite wall of Porsche’s room. Kinn bites his nails, phone glued to his ear. The plate is cooling off on the chest. Every unanswered ring is torture. Then he is redirected to the voicemail.

“Call me back.”

Wall, U-turn, back to striding.

The phone screen lights up. Kinn connects the call before even the first ring.

“Where are you?”

“How do you start a formal courting?”

A long silence. A very long silence. Kinn puts some distance between his ear and the phone.

“What the fuck Kinn! You disappear, sixteen hours of complete radio silence, everyone is looking for you, I was asked to come and keep Tankhun company for god sake! And you, you’re telling me that all this time you were sweet-talking an omega?”

Kinn trips over his own feet. An omega? He feels sick. Why would Kinn chase after an omega when he has Porsche? But instead of correcting his friend:

“Yes.”

“Holy shit! Time! Come h-”

“No! Not Time. You. How is an alpha supposed to court an omega?”

A silence, a hesitation on Tay’s side. Then:

“What’s happening Kinn?” His friend now sounds worried.

Kinn hesitates. Tay is his best friend, even if they keep forgetting to inform Time of it, but Tawan’s corpse is still decaying in a corner of his mind and he knows that’s the same for Tay. He doesn’t need to hurt his friend needlessly.

“I met an… omega… yesterday. I spent the night at his. And apparently, we had some exchanges that could be interpreted as courting.”

“Some exchanges? What kind of exchanges? How far did you go? Tell me you used protection.”

Kinn’s frayed mind is swarmed by a series of images he didn’t need. Porsche under him, moaning and begging. On him, head thrown back, accompanying every grind of his hips with a deep groan. His thighs wrapped around Kinn.

“What? No! He made me food! Food! How did you immediately jump to the conclusion I slept with him?”

Silence. OK, Tay might have a point.

“Please Tay, I’m a beta. All I know about courtship is what your sister told me of hers and Tawan’s lies. You’re the only one I can ask about it.”

A new silence, different this time.

“That omega, what do you want from him? What kind of message do you want him to receive?”

Kinn looks at the unmade bed, the imprint of their two heads on the pillows. The plate waiting on the chest of drawers, their intertwined scents still permeating the air despite the open window.

The noises coming from the kitchen and the feast waiting for him there. Porsche, yesterday, in the semi-darkness of the neons. The pretty that had escaped his lips when he first saw him.

The fierce way he protected him.

“I want him.” Kinn feels it like a roar in his veins. “I don’t want to leave him any doubt that he is mine.”

Porsche will not get out of it without a ring on his finger, an acceptable compromise for the bite Kinn won’t be able to give him back.

There is a big inspiration on the other side of the line before a new silence.

“OK.” Tay finally says in a strange tone. “Do you have something to take notes on?”

*

Kinn is back downstairs. Porsche and his brother are still in the kitchen, but the rest of the little scene he is looking at? They’ll need to have a talk. A very clear one.

Plates and bowls disappeared, replaced by tupperwares, most of them with their lid on.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Porsche looks up, sheepish.

“I’m sor-”

Kinn slams his plate on the table and grabs the closest tupperware, ripping his lid off. He does the same with a second, then a third. All of them, one by one, looking at Porsche right in the eyes.

He doesn’t see the papaya and shrimp combo anywhere. Kinn rounds the table and opens the fridge. He knew it! Here they are. And that too, on its left, it looks good. Kinn grabs both and adds them to the one waiting on the table.

On his plate, the rice and eggs have cooled off but still look good enough to eat. He pushes them on the side none the less, adding others dishes on the freed place until his plate is full. Without sitting, he fills his fork and gulps it down. Porsche watches him do it. Frozen to the spot

“Why aren’t you eating? Sit down and eat.”

Porsche movements are hesitant but he complies. The teenager who kept to the corner up until now comes to the table too and sits beside his brother.

“We weren’t introduced. Porsche told me you’re his brother?”

The lanky teenager is swimming in his T-shirt, the kind of cloth Kinn has no problem imagining a younger Porsche wearing. He doesn’t have Porsche’s muscles or figure, but even without seeing the pictures yesterday Kinn wouldn’t have had any doubt about them being family. Same eyes, same jawline hidden under the remaining softness of childhood.

The boy nods.

“What’s your name?”

“Chay?”

“I’m very glad for the occasion of meeting you Chay. I’m Kinn. Your brother and I met yesterday evening.”

That seems to surprise the teenager. He turns toward his brother but the alpha won’t meet his eyes. The curl of his ears deep red.

*

Chay opens up quite easily. His answers to Kinn’s questions are more and more lively and soon he moves the conversation to music by himself. Porsche’s silence should worry Kinn but it doesn’t. Not when the alpha’s eyes are following every single one of his movements, not when a purr escapes him every time Kinn takes another portion of food. Not when he gets taller when Kinn giggles.

*

There is some food left on the table but Kinn is full. Porsche and Chay are cleaning up the table. Kinn forces himself to rest in his chair.

What you told me isn’t enough to know how traditional your omega is. But if he is, even just a little bit, He will want you to prove you will take good care of him before going any further. A few decades ago that meant beating up a few other alphas to show what kind of big bad alpha you are yourself. Thank god nowadays society is a bit more civilized, you’ll just have to show you’re a considerate partner: make dinner, shower him with attention and all that jazz. You, not your debit card or bank account. You could take him to a three star Michelin restaurant, it wouldn’t be a lack of investment on your part any less. It might seem archaic, but omegas can’t afford to choose the wrong alpha. If you’re not making any effort at the beginning, why would you later? In a few months? Or in a few years? Second….

So, to not give Porsche the impression he isn’t an adequate alpha, Kinn sits on his hands and his education and waits.

When all the leftovers are in the fridge and the cutlery in the sink Chay looks around the kitchen for anything left to do, his fingers playing with the hem of his T-shirt. Finding nothing, he turns to his brother, then Kinn.

“I have to study. Exam tomorrow. It was nice meeting you, P'Kinn.”

Kinn doubts the kid has an exam on Sunday but he sees the delicate offer of privacy for what it is.

Kinn waits until he is certain the teenager is in his room before turning to Porsche. The alpha is keeping his eyes to the floor.

“Sit down.”

The alpha moves away from the counter and returns to his chair. The second he sits down, Kinn jumps on his feet and in a few strides he is on Porsche. Before the alpha can’t react, Kinn sits on his lap. The alpha yelps but his hands immediately find their way to Kinn’s hips. Kinn shuffles until he is a bit higher on Porsche’s lap. The alpha helps him, unconsciously trying to press him closer to him. Kinn smiles.

“Thanks for the breakfast alpha. It was delicious. One of the best meals I ever had.” Not a lie. It was fresh, tasty, and with no chance of being poisoned. Kinn’s fingers press into Porsche’s shoulders and caress down his arms. “Thanks for yesterday. For saving my life. The way you fought for me, it was magnificent. I would like to say it won’t happen again, but that would be lying. I barely have a single week without someone trying to kill me.” 

Porsche’s growl can’t be compared to a purr any more, far from it. His fingers will leave some marks on Kinn’s hips. Kinn’s smile grows bigger. “That being said, I think that in exchange for your help you wanted some of my time. Monday, wasn’t it?” Porsche nods, the brown slowly warming up to the red once again, His pupils extending black at the center. Kinn caresses his lower lip with his thumb. “I want all of them. You choose the place and what we are going to do, but you give me the itinerary in advance and I reserve myself a veto. If it’s in the evening, I’ll sleep here.” 

Kinn leans over a bit more. Without warning, he grips Porsche by the hair and pulls hard. “We both know what you were doing behind your bar yesterday, before I arrived.” Kinn certainly did not forget the card that Porsche slipped in his pocket before leaving the bar. He made sure to tear it in very small pieces before burning it. “That was the last time. From today, touch an omega, an alpha or another beta and you’ll regret it. I will make sure of it. Personally.” Porsche’s pupils are dilated, his lips slightly parted. Kinn feels him chubbing up under his ass. And now the final blow: “Chay and you should meet my brother, he is going to love you.”

Kinn’s world tilts. Between one breath and the next he finds himself lying flat on the table, the inferno that is Porsche looming over him, devouring him with his eyes, his hands and soon his lips. Kinn arches, his fingers brushing Porsche before being slapped against the table, his legs wrapping around Porsche’s hips, his heels planted in the small of his back. He squeezes to bring his alpha even closer to him, to feel his weight, all of it. He tilts his head, just enough to keep kissing him without the fangs in his way. The alpha’s hips start pushing and moving against him forcing moans out of Kinn, making him smile in bubbly bliss.

He is gonna love every step of this courting thing.