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Porsche opens his eyes to the blinding morning light. With a huff he closes his eyes again and burrows his face further into his pillow, but his eyes shoot back open when he realizes his pillow is softer than usual. He jerks his head back as he takes in the white body pillow before him with great offense as it is distinctly not an actual body. He slowly scans the bedroom until his eyes catch a familiar figure pacing up and down the hallway on a phone call. Every time his boyfriend disappears and reappears in the doorway he looks more and more animated making wilder gestures each time.
It is way too early to be doing anything, yet Kinn isn't in bed cuddling with him.
It is true Porsche swung a date with a man after years of hooking up with women in back alleyways. He certainly didn't expect it when he had called said man a rich moron for driving an obnoxiously bright red Lamborghini through the poorer streets of Thailand. Now his back's been cracked in the same car, along with his debts paid, and his house fixed and upgraded.
With a disgruntled look, Porsche lies back down on the bed. He can think of several ways Kinn is going to make it up to him once he gets off that stupid phone. His pout must be magic because his boyfriend returns only a couple of seconds later with an angry frown on his face. The frown fades away as Kinn's face turns bright and dorky at seeing Porsche naked in his sheets.
"Good morning, dearest," Kinn says as he sits back down on his side of the bed.
Porsche huffs and rolls away from him. He refuses to let such a sexy man's charms sway him. "What could possibly be more important than me this early in the morning?"
Kinn's smile vanishes fast enough to catch Porsche's undivided attention. His boyfriend groans as he rakes his fingers back through his hair ruining his perfect bedhead. "Vegas is back."
"Vegas?" Porsche questions. "Like your slut cousin Vegas?"
Kinn chuckles at his description. "Yes. One in the same."
"What does he want?" Porsche asks.
Kinn hesitates. "You."
"Kinn!"
"He wants to meet you," Kinn sighs.
Porsche blinks. "Oh."
Kinn solemnly nods in agreement.
Porsche now understands why Kinn is stressing out so early in the morning. He was warned about this inevitability a week into their relationship. Porsche has been regaled with tales of Vegas Theerapanyakul, the family boogeyman who seduced away Kinn's prospective lovers only to discard them like used tissues once the high faded. Porsche doesn't understand how it can happen so consistently. Every picture he's seen of Vegas shows a thin pasty man who looks like he would pass away from the common cold if someone sneezed on him.
Porsche supposes it doesn't matter. Kinn worries about Vegas; therefore, he will worry about Vegas. That is why he made a contingency plan months ago and it just so happens the key player is back in the city too.
Porsche reaches out and grabs his phone from Kinn's fancy nightstand. "When does Vegas want to meet?"
Kinn tilts his head, "He wants all of us to get dinner this Friday."
"Perfect," Porsche answers. "Tell him we'll choose the restaurant… and make a reservation for four."
Kinn raises an eyebrow at Porsche texting with a mischievous grin on his face.
Vegas prides himself on his silver tongue.
His way with words has always been his most powerful weapon. It is quite useful for a variety of reasons such as convincing business partners into signing weighted contracts or convincing his partners on any given night to indulge him a little further when he brings his toys out. Vegas can accomplish anything as long as speaking is on the menu. His favorite use of his silver tongue is when he turns it on the latest man who enthralls his cousin. It's become a game to Vegas mainly because nothing compares to the ecstasy of Kinn's crestfallen face when (once again) "The One" becomes another notch in Vegas' bed post.
Once he learned Kinn found himself a new lover, Vegas flew out on the next plane back to Thailand with a mission. After all, this “mysterious” Porsche isn't much of a mystery as he posts about himself constantly online. A single courtesy scroll shows Vegas has more in common with him than Kinn ever could.
This will be the easiest blow to his cousin’s ego he will ever land.
Vegas struts through the entrance of the fancy restaurant feeling a confidence he hasn't felt in a long time. He is wearing his classic crimson red silk shirt and his tightest black dress pants. His top is unbuttoned half-way down and he draped a delicate silver chain necklace to highlight his collarbone. He smells of his best cologne with the musky earthy aroma radiating from him like a nuclear test site. He is even wearing boots with a heel to give him the slightest boost in height. The hostess appreciates Vegas' efforts if the way she twirls her hair is any indication.
She guides him over to the restaurant's private seating area where Kinn and his target are sitting on one side of the table. There isn't a seating arrangement his cousin could decide on that wouldn't leave Porsche open for attack. Vegas gives them a warm smile as he calculates the seduction techniques he can use underneath the table.
Vegas nods at his cousin, though his eyes never leave the man next to him. "You must be Porsche. His photographs don't do you justice-"
Porsche beams and springs to his feet—Vegas smirks at himself already gaining Kinn’s boytoy’s attention—and waves his hand, "Pete! Over here!"
"Porsche," a monotone voice full of exhaustion greets him from behind Vegas.
Vegas keeps his smile plastered across his face when he turns around to see the intruder.
He sees the owner of the voice standing before him. The man is slightly taller than Vegas and, he hates to admit, certainly more muscular. His eyes gleam out from underneath a truly hideous bowl cut. He looks out of place among the ironed white tablecloths and glittering gold chandeliers in his ill-fitted black suit and a thrift store matching black shirt. The man, Pete, takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair across from Porsche. Annoyance flashes through Vegas at having to stare at Kinn the entire dinner, but the feeling fades quickly when he notices how Pete's back muscles strain against his surprisingly form-fitting turtleneck.
"Vegas, this is my friend Pete," Porsche introduces. "Pete, this is Kinn's cousin Vegas." Porsche straightens before he turns towards Vegas with an apologetic expression. "I hope you don't mind us having an extra guest. I just realized we forgot to tell you."
"Porsche thought if he is meeting someone important to me," Kinn starts as he gazes at Vegas with a smug smile. "He should also introduce me to someone important to him. Isn't he considerate?"
Vegas fights to keep the smile on his face. "He is."
There is no way one man is going to derail his plan.
Pete doesn't know why Porsche insists on being in the same room as Vegas in any capacity (he certainly wouldn't), but he does know he gets a free meal on Kinn's debit if he runs interference. There is no way he could ever afford to eat here otherwise so he considers this a reasonable investment of his time and energy. He even provides free entertainment. If he's lucky he might get some free entertainment for himself as he watches all the ways this Vegas character tries and fails to woo his best friend.
Pete sizes up his target from his seat beside him. He gives him a fifty-fifty chance. Pete knows from their numerous extensive calls and texts Porsche is head over heels for Kinn, but he is new to the whole "being into men thing" so he might give into the temptation of exploration.
Pete considers it a bit further before he shakes his head.
Honestly, Vegas only has a twenty-five percent shot as Porsche believes in silly little things—like morals.
Pete blinks away his thoughts and finds himself staring into Vegas' amused eyes.
"Do you see something you like?" Vegas teases with a smirk.
Pete returns his eyes to his plate where a single truffle scallop sits as an appetizer. "Did you see something you liked when you were checking me out earlier?" It is a shame Pete doesn't see the way Vegas' face contorts through several expressions before landing on sheer annoyance at the audacity.
"Porsche," Vegas drawls. "In all Kinn's bragging about you, he has never mentioned what you do for work."
"I'm a mixed martial artist," Porsche deadpans. "When I'm not kicking ass in the ring, I bartend."
"Those sound like respectable professions," Vegas remarks. He turns his head towards Kinn. "It makes you wonder why my cousin never mentioned it before, don't you think? Was he perhaps ashamed?"
Porsche furrows his brow as he shoots a look towards Kinn.
Oh no you don't.
"From our conversations, Porsche makes Kinn out as two glasses away from becoming an alcoholic. If anyone knows when to cut someone off it is a bartender," Pete jokes. "I'm sure Kinn is just protective over his favorite way to unwind. Besides, they've only gotten to know each other in our off season. Wait until Porsche starts whining about how brutal our training sessions are." Pete winks at Kinn. "I'm sure he'll be requesting some special massages."
"His hands are big," Porsche marvels as he intertwines his fingers with Kinn's.
Vegas frowns as he wraps his fingers tighter around his fork.
"I doubt your bony fingers are as fulfilling," Pete mutters to Vegas under his breath.
"You would be surprised the spots my fingers can reach," Vegas hisses back. He turns back to the doting couple. "I thought you would be a mechanic with all your posts about motorcycles. I have a collection of Ducatis myself if you ever want to see them sometime. I will even let you ride."
Porsche's eyes sparkle at the offer.
"Why would he?" Pete asks. "Kinn can just buy him as many as he wants." Pete's eyes slowly move towards the man in question. "It would make for a good gift for a special occasion like a birthday, an anniversary, or your future wedding."
Porsche, oblivious to the way Kinn furiously types on his phone, laughs. "Looking at your collection would be nice, but I'm afraid I am way too busy. It's hard finding time with my friends, my brother, and my boyfriend as it is." Kinn quickly hides the store page on his phone screen when Porsche bats his eyelashes at him.
"Training is a nightmare," Pete agrees. "We don't need any other commitments on top of it."
"Are you an MMA fighter too?" Kinn asks him.
"I am," Pete answers. "They love pitting me and Porsche against each other in the ring."
"According to Tem, it paints the perfect story!" Porsche exclaims. "The Phoenix and the Naga, two legendary best friends who rumble before the divinity of Thailand. Who will win?"
"They only make it sound so dramatic because our fights go on for so long," Pete remarks.
Porsche sighs as he leans back in his chair. "It is true. No one can keep up with us."
"I can believe it," Vegas smoothly says as his eyes roam over Porsche's body. "I'm sure your opponents fear having such strong thighs around their heads."
Porsche shudders under his gaze.
Pete knows it is in disgust but Kinn wouldn't.
"My biceps are bigger," Pete comments as he moves to headlock Vegas. "Want to see?"
Porsche groans, "Oh not this again!"
"What about you Kinn?" Pete asks as he pulls away from Vegas before Porsche can go on a tangent. "What do you do?"
"We are the heads of the Theerapanyakul business empire," Vegas answers before Kinn can get in a word.
"That is interesting, Kinn. What business?" Pete asks, shooting a glare out the corner of his eye.
"We dabble in a little bit of everything," Kinn informs him. "One of our primary sources of income is getting other businesses everything they need to operate smoothly. Although, we do own a lot of hospitality services such as hotels, restaurants, night clubs, bars, resorts, and anything else in the industry as well."
"I own many 'nightclubs'. If you ever want to have some fun I can guarantee you a good time," Vegas proclaims.
"No thanks," Pete rejects. "We have our favorites places. Besides, Porsche says it loses all appeal when you know what the employees go through every night. I love it though."
"You do," Porsche agrees with a grin. "I've never seen a more cuddly, or angry, drunk."
"Maybe I wouldn't have been so angry if my mattress stopped wiggling."
"That mattress was me and we were passed out on a pier," Porsche retorts.
"Well if we were passed out how would I know you were wiggling?"
"You rolled off and into the water!" Porsche shouts. "The splash was so loud it got the guards attention. We had to run through the streets naked-."
"My restaurants are better anyways," Vegas interjects. "I have become quite the proficient cook over the years from taking care of my younger brother."
Shit, Pete thinks. This is Porsche's weak spot.
"I would be happy to cook for you sometime," Vegas continues, "and your brother."
Porsche's fork stills from where it hovers over his shrimp covered devil eggs. He slowly moves his eyes upwards to Vegas' face with a wide open stare in a stunned stupor. Pete's eyes flick upwards with his own surprise and he meets Kinn's eyes across the table. This might be the first time they've met but the exchange of understanding between Porsche's boyfriend and best friend is only known through Porsche's undying love for his younger brother Porchay.
Pete and Porsche are MMA fighters which make them public figures. The professional fighting scene might not be as huge as it is in other countries, but it doesn't change how even with their lower celebrity status that they still have to worry about creeps. Porsche's social media presence might be strong, certainly stronger than Pete's, but he's always been careful when it comes to his posts about Porchay.
Pete knows this firsthand as he is usually the one taking the pictures. He knows the strict criteria Porsche has. One of the most important rules is to never show Porchay's face in any of the photographs. All the photos Pete's taken of them have been candid in some way, and Porsche only posts them on special occasions like holidays or the first day back to school. Their organization would never fail to flood their pages with seasonal promotions afterwards completely burying any Porchay dedicated posts before too many people saw them.
Kinn glowers at his cousin. It is the angriest Pete's seen him all night.
Vegas smiles with a smug expression believing he made a strategic play, but all it did was expose his hand. Pete can only wonder how far back and how much time he scrolled through Porsche's social media accounts to uncover any of those pictures.
Pete's thoughts come to a standstill when he feels something touch his leg and starts creeping upwards. It takes him a full second to register what is happening and who his seatmate mistook him for, but once he does he shakes the boot off and immediately stamps his own boot heel down onto Vegas' foot.
Hard.
Vegas jolts so harshly in his seat it rattles the whole table. The alcohol in their glasses slosh over their rims and the silverware clatters from where they knock against each other. Porsche and Kinn are equally frightened by his sudden movements as they stare at him in bewilderment.
"Is everything alright?" Kinn carefully asks after a moment.
Vegas winces through the pain. "Yes."
They sit in awkward silence until the waitress delivers their main courses.
There is one more course after this one.
Pete sighs. This is going to be a long dinner.
Kinn watches as Vegas and Pete devolve into their fiftieth squabble this meal. "I can't believe this is working."
Porsche, unsurprisingly, looks like the cat who got the cream as he leans further into his boyfriend's side. "You haven't seen anything yet. I've been saving the best for last."
"I don't know how this can get any better," Kinn says.
"Watch this," Porsche whispers. He straightens up in his chair before he speaks once more. "Hey Pete." Pete stops bickering with Vegas to turn his attention to his friend. "You've met Kinn, but I haven't heard any updates about your love life. How is the dating scene going?"
"Awful," Pete mutters as he angrily stabs his steak. "They always get cold feet when I bring out anything spicier than handcuffs."
Vegas' neck audibly cracks from how fast his head whips towards Pete.
"Everyone has car batteries but no one is willing to attach it to a person," Pete continues. His words are alien to the entire table except for the guy he's been clashing with for the past few hours. "I wish I could find someone like you Porsche, but I would prefer someone more…" Pete looks Kinn up and down. "…fun. No offense."
"None taken?" Kinn answers with a quizzical tone.
He risks a glance to his cousin who looks absolutely… constipated.
"What?" Vegas so eloquently manages out as his voice cracks on the single word.
Pete stares off into the distance, somewhere past Porsche's shoulder, before he steels his face. "Right. You rich kids probably haven't done anything more exciting than the standard missionary position." He turns fully towards Vegas with a completely neutral face as if he is about to say something he's said a thousand times before with increasingly more detachment. "I engage in BDSM. It covers erotic practices such as bondage, discipline, dominance and submission, sadomasochism and other dynamics. We are a community built on consent and we require it every time. No. We don't fuck animals. No. We don't rape people. No. We don't-"
Kinn's eyes go wider and wider as Vegas sits in a stunned stupor while Pete lectures him on BDSM.
"Do you want to get married?" Kinn asks Porsche. He checks his silver watch, the gleam of the metal reflects his lovesick eyes back at him. "I can have a venue ready by the end of dessert."
Porsche laughs so hard he falls off his chair.
Vegas stumbles out of the restaurant feeling the most off kilter he's ever felt in his entire life.
He rights his posture as anger courses through his veins. He stands outside in the cool night air without even a single cigarette to keep him company. This is not how the night was supposed to go. He is supposed to be watching Kinn and Porsche fight over the discourse he's sown so he can sweep in and give Porsche a shoulder to cry on. Instead, he is still reeling from the BDSM lecture which made him go completely silent clear through dessert. His brain was so numb he had nothing to say even when Kinn and his boy-toy continuously conversed with Pete.
Pete.
He is pissed at Pete. After all, he is the one who fucked up the entire dinner.
Vegas raises his eyes to the area outside the restaurant and who does he see but Pete standing on the sidewalk. The man's suit jacket is over his right arm as he smokes a cigarette. He looks good like this, his dark clothes blending him in with the night sky. The lights from the restaurant illuminate his face and the moon above casts him in a silver glow. It all makes his eyes pop as they gleam against the starry backdrop.
The heat in Vegas' cheeks is from anger.
In fact, he is so angry he is going to confront this man.
"What's your problem?" Vegas demands as he storms up to Pete purposely invading his personal space.
Pete exhales sending his cigarette smoke straight into Vegas' face instead of the crisp air. "Hm?"
"You've ruined everything," Vegas seethes. "Who are you to interfere with my plans?"
Pete blinks at him without a shred of emotion. He drops his cigarette and puts it out with his boot. He opens his mouth—Vegas thought to respond—but instead erupts into a large yawn flashing his unusually sharp canines.
Then he finally speaks in a slow steady voice.
"Do you get off on it?"
Vegas reels his head back, "Excuse me?"
"I asked," Pete starts again. "Do you get off on it?"
Vegas' mouth runs dry under the intensity of his stare.
"I wouldn't," Pete calmly states. "It takes a pathetic individual to get off on stealing their cousin's lovers."
"I am not pathetic," Vegas hisses.
"Maybe not," Pete says. "You are sad though. I pity you. I know Porsche pities you." Pete pauses for a moment. "Kinn pities you too or else he wouldn't have told me to go easy on you."
Vegas feels like he's been slapped.
"Did you hear yourself earlier when you brought up his younger brother?" Pete asks him. "Do you have any idea how little Porsche posts about him? Do you know how far back you have to scroll in order to even see a single photograph of him? All you accomplished by bringing him up is revealing yourself as an internet stalker. No one likes being stalked, especially not someone who risks obtaining creepy fans every time they do their job."
Vegas' nostrils flare in annoyance. "You are making a big deal out of nothing."
"Am I?" Pete narrows his eyes and a smirk tugs on his lips. He takes a step forward. "Your father died a few dry seasons ago and you didn't attend his funeral leaving Kinn behind to put it all together. You have a younger brother named Macau who you will do anything for but make peace with your cousins. You play with Kinn's former lovers for a while before discarding them because at the end of the day they wanted you for sex, money, and bragging rights. You know as soon as you set them loose they crawl back to Kinn for another chance because it was never you they wanted. You are so starved for companionship you would rather sabotage Kinn's chances than actively seek out your own."
With every sentence Pete takes another step forward backing Vegas up against the front of the restaurant. Vegas squirms under his gaze like Pete grabbed a knife to cut him out of his own skin.
"It doesn't feel fun to be known by a stranger, does it?" Pete questions. He scans Vegas up and down. "You can't get a date on your own, can you? I would say I can't imagine why but your personality makes me look upon you like a bubonic plague victim instead of the handsome man I first saw. Your playground seduction tactics are a last resort because you need Kinn to do the heavy lifting so you don't sit through a million first dates."
Pete sighs as he stares up at the sky, "I suppose it doesn't matter. If you haven't figured out that what you've been doing won't lead to long-term happiness by now, then I suppose you never will. After all, the person who works as Kinn's romantic partner won't necessarily work as your romantic partner." Pete's eyes shoot back to Vegas as he stares through the man before him. "People are complicated like that."
"I know that," Vegas grumbles, averting his gaze.
"They say that is the definition of insanity, trying the same thing over and over again expecting a different result. I can only assume you bask in your own stagnation. That makes you sadder than I could ever imagine."
"Who are you to speak to me like this?" Vegas lashes out. "You didn't exist in my life until a few hours ago."
"True," Pete agrees. "But you've loomed over my friend's; therefore, you've loomed over mine."
Pete looks down at his left hand. He curls his fingers. Then, he looks at Vegas.
Vegas doesn't get a moment to duck out of the way before he is put flat on his ass by Pete's mean left hook. The back of his head hits the wall behind him hard. He slumps down to the side until he collapses on the pavement. Vegas reaches towards his face and touches the side of his mouth where blood gathers. He looks up to see Pete standing over him with a carefully blank expression. He doesn't get a chance to dodge again as Pete reaches out and yanks Vegas' head back by his perfectly styled hair.
Pete crouches down and forces Vegas to look him in the eyes. "That’s for the stress you've caused Kinn." He keeps Vegas' head still ensuring the man can't look away no matter how much he tries. "After all, stress for Kinn is stress for Porsche, and any stress for Porsche is stress for me." Pete yanks at his hair again forcing Vegas' eyes to flutter from the pain. "You've made this a very stressful week."
A grab car honks before it pulls up to the side of the road.
Pete looks at Vegas one last time before he throws Vegas down so violently he hits the pavement once more. Pete stands up and looks down at him, who rubs at the back of his head in searing pain, watching the bruises he created from his own hands swell across Vegas' porcelain skin. "I'm only going to say this once. I don't care how many successes you've had. If you interfere with their relationship anymore then I am going to do a lot more to your smug mug than punch it."
Vegas wheezes as Pete kicks him in the back of the leg with his steel toes before the man climbs into the grab car and slams the door shut behind him. Vegas can only watch the car pull away in stunned silence unable to move for a moment as the shock of the entire evening truly washes over him.
"Vegas?" The voice of Kinn questions behind him. "What happened to you?"
Vegas can't even scramble to his feet. He scruffs his clothes even further as he crawls his way over to where his cousin and his boy-toy stand beside their luxury car. He ignores Kinn's shout of surprise when he wraps his fingers around Porsche's vest. Vegas pulls him downwards until they are eye to eye, his cousin's boyfriend seeing nothing more than frenzied fury in his sharp stare.
"I want his number," Vegas tries to demand but his voice comes out more like a desperate plea. "Give me Pete's number."